 ================================================================

 RUNAWAY RHONDA & THE WITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM {Burnt Feathers}


      (Mg, spank, ped, cons, 1st, oral, anal, bd, toys)

  
================================================================

  
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   The following is an adult sex story including events and
   practices outlined in the following alt.sex.story codes:

      Mg, spank, ped, cons, 1st, oral, anal, bd, toys

  If you do not enjoy fictional representations which involve
        those practices avoid reading this story.

================================================================







Runaway Rhonda & the Witness Protection Program
by Burnt_Feathers © 2007




Rhonda stepped into the stranger's automobile.

She had been warned never to do such a thing, but with the heat
of her most recent spanking still warming her backside, Rhonda
did not care.  She had been casting about in her mind for some
way to avenge herself upon Aunt Mildred for her most recent abuse
when the long black car pulled up beside her.  A darkened window
rolled down and an unknown man's voice had offered her a lift.

As she settled herself on the butter-smooth black leather seat of
the limousine, the door closed, a bolt was shot, and the
acceleration of the vehicle pressed Rhonda back into the plush
upholstery.

"Where do you wish to go?"

"I dunno," Rhonda shrugged.

"Where were you going before?"

"Anywhere away from my aunt."

"Are you angry with your aunt?"

"I'll say!" Rhonda agreed, for the first time looking up at her
host.

He was a small well dressed elderly man with a trim white beard
and a neat fringe of like-colored hair surrounding a mostly bald
head.  Brilliant blue eyes sparkled from an even-featured face
whose surrounding wrinkles betrayed a lifetime's habit of
smiling.

"If it's not a secret," the old man began, "would you tell me
what she did to upset you, my dear?"

"She spanked me," Rhonda stated forthrightly with an accusatory
tone.

"Goodness!" the old man exclaimed, "That's terrible.  Was it with
her hand, or did she use a weapon?"

"She used grandmothers' wooden spoon," Rhonda sniffed.  "She held
me over her knee and hit me again and again -- twenty times.  I
know because she counted them."

"That," declared the little old man, decidedly, "was
unforgivable.  Were you going to turn her in?"

"N  -  noo."

"Well I would if anyone mistreated me in such a fashion," the old
man declared.  "But I would be careful to whom I complained."

"Er . . .  why?"

"If you take your complaint to the police, for example, they
would probably side with your aunt, give you another spanking,
and send you home in a patrol car."

"They would?"

"Or possibly they would lock you up in a cell for a week and give
you a spanking every day.  Of course, they would need your aunt's
permission to do that, but from what you just told me, I doubt
that she would object."

"Oooh!"

"If I were you, I would find one of the agencies that have been
set up to protect people against bullies and criminals.  Even
applying to the agency that I run would be better than talking to
the police."

"What agency is that?"

"Have you heard of the Witness Protection Program?"

"Sure," Rhonda agreed, nodding her head, "in movies and on
television programs."

"That's the one," the old man agreed.  "You would have to lodge a
complaint against your aunt, but once you did, you would be the
prime witness against her, and the Witness Protection Program
could find you a place where you would be safe from any
reprisals."

Rhonda looked rather confused.

"A reprisal would be if your aunt spanked you for turning her in.
Most likely, if you weren't safely hidden, she would spank you
until you wrote a note confessing that you had been fibbing about
your aunt spanking you."

"She could do that?" Rhonda was incensed.

"That is the reason why the Witness Protection Program was
created."

Rhonda took a deep breath, held it for several long seconds, and
then, "I'll do it," she declared in a whoosh of expelled breath.

"If that's your decision," the old man replied, "the first thing
we should do is document the evidence."

"How do I do that?" Rhonda wailed.

"It's not very difficult," the elderly man assured her.  "That
just means we should photograph the marks and scars where your
aunt struck you.

"Just where did your aunt strike you?"

"On my bottom," Rhonda replied, bluntly.

The old man leaned forward to open a drawer in the console ahead
of their seat and pulled out a small video camera shaped not
unlike a pistol.  He connected the camera to a long cord and
plugged the other end into a socket below a small television
monitor. Then he switched it on.

Seconds later the screen lit up to show a picture of the video
screen showing a picture of a smaller video screen which showed
an even smaller picture of a video screen, and so on into
infinity, or rather, to that point where the screen's resolution
could define nothing more than a blurry dot.

The old man swung the camera about to point at Rhonda, and in the
monitor the image panned to show a slightly tilted view of
Rhonda's head and shoulders.

"That's me!"  Rhonda declared, brightly.

"Yes, it is," the elderly man agreed as he lifted a blank DVD
disc off the spindle of a stack in the same drawer that had held
the camera and slid it into a DVD unit set to record.

The camera steadied on Rhonda's face and the old man began to
interview her.  He first asked her name and address.  Then, led
her through an explanation of what had happened to her parents.
Covered why she lived with her aunt, and on through her side of
the argument which led to her aunt's resorting to corporal
punishment.

The interview took no more than three minutes, then the old man
paused the camera.

"Now, I want you to describe the beating your aunt gave you," her
elderly protector told Rhonda.  "Don't just say she hit you with
a wooden spoon," he advised. "Instead, you should give as
complete, and as emotional a description as you possibly can.
Mention, if you remember, each blow, describing where exactly it
hit you, and how it made you feel.

"This may seem rather excessive," the old man admitted, but there
is a reason why you should make an effort.  Eventually, a judge
and perhaps several social workers will view this recording.  If
you only say that your aunt paddled your ass, they may conclude
that it did not hurt very much.  They might also conclude that it
was not so traumatic an experience that you were justified in
running away.

"If, however, you can recite where each blow landed and your
reaction to each blow, they will be forced to conclude that it
was a most harrowing and traumatic experience.  Therefor, they
will be far more determined to do everything in their power to
keep you safe from further attacks by your aunt."

In truth, Rhonda could remember the impact of the first blow, and
the second, but the third and all subsequent blows were rather
difficult to distinguish, one from the other.  They all hurt, and
as the spanking went on, each blow seemed worse than the
previous, but they all were blurred together.

That was, until a point about halfway though the spanking.

She had succeeded in hooking a knee against the chair and was
raising herself from her helpless position across her Aunt
Mildred's lap.  As she did, the wooden spoon landed, not flat
upon the plump cheeks of her ass, but at an angle forward of the
apex of her thighs.

The spoon landed vigorously against her pussy, its edge smashing
with punishing force against her already tumescent clitoris.

She had screamed at the top of her lungs, and again with every
successive swat, even though the previously painful concussion of
the spoon against her backside had become an almost soothing
anodyne to the throbbing in her groin.

In fact, as the last swat landed, a shuddering sob and a throb of
pleasure passed through her diaphragm.  In its wake Rhonda had
spurted onto her Aunt Mildred's knees.  She had remained there,
draped across her aunt's moist knees, sobbing hysterically.

With the spanking concluded, her aunt had caressed her abused
backside tenderly, and with calming fingers assuaged the distress
between Rhonda's thighs.

The girl had relaxed while her aunt gently traced her fingers
along the interior of her swollen labia.  Rhonda had sighed, and
opened her loins wide to her aunt, until a probing finger had
prodded her throbbing clitoris.

At even the gentlest touch, Rhonda threw herself bodily from her
aunt's lap.  For a moment they stared into each other's eyes,
then Rhonda turned and ran to her bedroom.

Twenty minutes later she slipped from of her Aunt Mildred's
house, vowing never to return.

Since this was neither what the old man expected, nor what Rhonda
was willing to confide, she made up a laboriously-detailed
falsehood.  This lie she told convincingly, and with feeling.

The old man recognized Rhonda's story as prevarication, but for
his own purposes, he accepted it without any demur.

"Now, comes the difficult part," the old man announced once
Rhonda had finished telling her lie, "You must show where your
aunt abused you, for the camera to record."

"Why?"

"There must be a record of the marks that were made by your
aunt's beating.  How is anyone to judge the severity of the
assault, if they cannot see the result?  And the sooner I
document those marks the better, before they start to fade."

"Oh, all right," Rhonda grudgingly agreed. "What do you want me
to do?"

"Kneel upon the seat facing away from me," the old man commanded.

"Like this?"

"Yes," he agreed, "Now raise the hem of your dress in back."

"It's not a dress, it's a skirt," the girl corrected.

"Raise the hem of your skirt."

Rhonda raised her skirt, watching in the monitor to see what ugly
welts and scars would be revealed.

"There is nothing showing but a pale pink mark leading downward
from under your panties," the old man announced, sounding
disappointed.  "Your aunt was pretty tricky."

"What do you mean?" Rhonda inquired.

"I mean she was careful to strike only where no one would ever
see it," the old man explained.  "Under your panties.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "but you'll have to remove them, or at
least, lower them, for the camera to record where you were hit."

Rhonda thought about this for a moment, then hesitantly pulled
the waistband of her panties down her thighs.  Turning toward the
monitor, she could see a crisscrossing of red marks on the pale
flesh of her posterior cheeks.

She watched as the old man panned the camera across, and over the
marks on her sleek bottom, from side to side and from the base of
her spine to just above her knees.  Then, he centered the camera
on what could be seen peaking through between her thighs.

"Lower your head onto the seat," the old man instructed her, and
as she did, Rhonda could see more of her reddened labia presented
to the camera's lens.

"Take your panties off," the elderly man instructed Rhonda, "You
must be able to spread your legs wider so the camera can record
the worst damages of your aunt's attack.

"Here, I'll help," he added, as Rhonda struggled to reach her
panties with her rump in the air and her head upon the limousine
seat, while keeping her eyes turned toward the monitor.

The old man took the waistband of Rhonda's panties in his fingers
and drew them down her thighs to her knees.  While the young girl
rocked from one knee to the other, the old man jerked her panties
past them and down her shins.  He pulled the white cotton briefs
over her ankles, leaving it to hang from one obdurate sneaker.

With one hand at her knee, he guided Rhonda to spread herself as
wide as the depth of the limousine seat permitted.  Then, he made
a close survey of the damage done to her soft hairless pudendum.

"I thought you said she used a wooden spoon," the elderly man
inquired, in a shocked tone.  "There are several round red marks
on your buttocks proving that, but this welt is much too long and
narrow to be a spoon mark."

"I think she used the edge of the wooden spoon," Rhonda admitted,
"when she hit me there."

"Oh!" the old man replied, as he zoomed into a tight closeup of
the upper end of Rhonda's vulva.

"Allow me," the old man said, as he reached forward with one
hand, "to arrange you so that I can photograph where the greatest
damage appears to be located."

Rhonda watched the monitor as she felt the old man's cool fingers
spread her labia, exposing her bruised and reddened clitoris.  As
he did, the old man made the sound of sucking air between his
teeth and exclaimed, "You poor thing!"

With his fingers still holding her open, the camera slowly zoomed
in on her angry-colored clit, now large and perceptively pulsing
on the monitor, while Rhonda felt that pulse throbbing deep
within her vitals.

"That really is a nasty bruise," the old man finally stated.  "In
fact, I am certain that tests should be made to determine whether
any serious damage has been done to you."

"You mean a doctor?"

"Perhaps, eventually," the old man agreed, "but I don't think we
should wait until then.  There are a few preliminary tests I can
conduct myself."

"You?"

"Ordinarily, I would just hurry you to Emergency for treatment,"
the old man assured her, "but in that case your aunt would have
to be called to authorize it.  I feel certain you wouldn't want
that."

"No."

"There are a few tests I can run which will give us a better idea
about how seriously you are hurt.  If the damage is serious, then
I will take the evidence from this examination to a judge, to
have you removed from your aunt's care before you are released
from the hospital.  If the damage is not as serious as I fear it
might be, then you will not have to confront your aunt at all.

"But, it is all up to you.  I have had a lot experience with
these tests, but I am not a doctor.  If you would prefer a real
doctor, and taking your chances with your aunt, I fully
understand."

"No!" Rhonda exclaimed.  "I mean, you do it, please.  I don't
think that I am hurt that bad.  It just throbs a little down
there."

"Yes," the old man said as he slid a finger across the tip of
Rhonda's engorged clitoris, "I believe it is throbbing.

"You are a very brave little girl," he told her, as she flinched,
watching the monitor that displayed his fingers holding her
pulsing pith between callused fingers.

The old man paused the recording, put down the camera and helped
Rhonda back to her normal position on the lush upholstered seat.

He shook two white pills from a bottle and handed them to Rhonda,
followed by a can of pop from the small refrigerator and
instructed her to swallow the pills.

"What are they?"

"A pain killer," he replied.  "Not very strong, but the best that
I have with me.  Two are the most you should take.  It won't make
the pain disappear, but at least it will take the edge off a
bit."

"It really doesn't hurt that much," Rhonda replied.

"It looks painful to me," the old man countered. "Please take the
pills.  I want to be certain that my examination won't hurt more
than it must.

"I've no desire to cause you unnecessary pain," the old man added
with a smile.  "Just swallow the pills like a good girl.  It
won't hurt to take them if they aren't needed, and will help if 
they are."

"Okay," Rhonda agreed, accepting the small white tablets, "Will
the examination hurt much?"

"Under normal conditions, it shouldn't hurt at all.  In fact,
some of it should feel rather pleasant, and at times, more than
pleasant.

"Unfortunately, we have both seen how badly you are bruised from
your aunt's beating.  You're a brave girl, and don't complain,
but with that much bruising, I'm afraid that it may hurt
considerably. As a result, the examination may not be pleasant."

Rhonda swallowed the pills and drank the pop.

The old man anchored a camera mount into the ceiling and fastened
the camera to it.  Next, he withdrew a small briefcase from the
console, removed a thick white cotton pad and spread it over the
seat.

"This will work best if we remove your skirt entirely," he told
Rhonda as he loosened her skirt and drew it up over her head.

Rhonda watched as the old man stripped off her skirt without
objecting.

In truth, she was shocked, both because he had boldly removed her
skirt without so much as asking her permission, and with herself
for not strenuously objecting.  She had intended to object, but
before she was able, her skirt was already gone, leaving her to
sit nakedly blinking like an owl.

With one hand beneath her armpit and the other under her rump,
the old man lifted her from her seated position, and settled her
in the center of the white cotton pad.

He then pressed the girl's shoulders until she lay flat upon the
limousine seat.  He grabbed her ankles and lifted her feet onto
his lap, where he untied her sneakers, removed them, and stripped 
off her socks.

He lifted one foot, pining it between his shoulder and the
backrest of the limousine seat.  The other he placed against his
leg, while he spread her knees as wide as the backrest would
allow her knees to be parted.

"What are you . . . doing?" Rhonda inquired hesitantly.  She had
quite a number of comments and questions she wished to make about
the familiar way that the old man was handling her person, but
could frame those objections only with the greatest of
difficulty.

In the meantime, the old man had removed the cap from a half-used
tube and squeezed a glob of clear goo onto his finger.

Rhonda was wondering about its use when the old man spread the
lips of her labia with one hand, and with the other deposited the
cold greasy substance within her.

"Oof!"

Not content with putting the disgusting stuff where she least
wished to be dirtied, the old man then proceeded to rub it up and
down along the slot which ran beneath her major and minor labia,
then back to her tightly clenching sphincter.  He worked the
slippery goo thoroughly into her slot, warming it, and sending
strange shivers of pleasure into her bowels.

"Well, he did say some of it would be pleasant," she thought.

Suddenly, the digits that plied the shivering flesh of her groove
captured her clitoris, rolling it over and over between the old
man's rapidly moving fingers.

"Aargh!" Rhonda cried out.

He returned to ploughing the flesh of Rhonda's slit, forward and
backward, several times.

Without warning, one finger poked rudely into the centre or
Rhonda's tiny pink anus.  It pressed deep to force a passage 
through her clenching circle of muscle.

"Ooh!"

When the swollen knuckle of the intruding finger was well and
truly inside, the old man pulled it out.  Slowly eased in, yanked
rapidly out, slowly in, quickly popped out, over and over, until
his finger slid easily past the first and second joints.

Before Rhonda could accustom herself to this, the finger thrust
all the way to the third knuckle, then curled to circle within
her nether passage.

"Aaah!" Rhonda cried, her head flung back, spine arching, as a
strange pleasure enveloped her.

"Let's see how your breasts are doing," the old man suggested.

While the finger that diddled her anterior passage continued, the
thumb on the old man's grasping hand stretched forward along her
well-lubricated groove to torment Rhonda's clitoris with a
callused pad.

Meanwhile, his other hand was unbuttoning Rhonda's blouse.

Once the buttons had all been released, he spread her blouse open
to display a small white training bra beneath.

"What is a nine-year-old doing wearing a bra?" the old man
demanded.

With the old man's bifurcated hand stimulating both her sphincter
and her clitoris, it was only due to  great indignation that
Rhonda was able to reply.

"Twelve!"

"Twelve then," the old man agreed.

He hooked his fingers beneath her bra and pulled her into a
seated position.  Grunting as the hand between her loins was
forced deeper by her weight, Rhonda leaned her sweaty forehead
against the old man's shoulder as his arm circled behind to
release the catches on her bra.

With Rhonda still in an upright position, the old man grabbed the
tail of her blouse and raised it over the little girl's head, and
along her arms.

When the old man no longer supported her weight, Rhonda sprawled
backward upon the limousine seat.  Her fall was retarded only by
a brief tug at her shoulders as the departing bra, which the old
man still clutched, slid down the girl's arms.

Rhonda's breasts, now that they could be seen, were small,
delicately-tinted mounds, no larger than half a peach topped with
a puffy elongated nipple.  Under their present stimulation
Rhonda's breasts were swollen and tense, her nipples pointed and
trembling.

"Your breasts are petite," the old man told Rhonda, "but quite
perfect.  Now let us see if they are of any use."

He pulled lightly at one elongated nipple, letting it slide
slowly between his fingers.  Rhonda cried out immediately,
arching her back with pleasure.

"They may be little," the old man said to no one in particular,
"but they are most definitely sensitive."

The old man withdrew his hand from the girl's bottom and wiped it
on a paper towel, then raised her and set her upon his knee.
With a finger he flicked at a defenselessly pointing nipple.

"Oh!" she cried, immediately raising a hand to protect her
sensitive breast.

The old man grabbed the hand and drew it about his neck.  Holding
her upright, he dipped his head until his mouth could capture the
breast she had tried to protect.

"Oooh!" she moaned, as the old man sucked at her tiny breast and
flicked her nipple with his rapidly fluting tongue.

The old man's other hand captured Rhonda's remaining breast and
for several long minutes concentrated upon those diminutive but
responsive mounds.

As he did, Rhonda's head lolled back, her stertorous breath 
hissed between parted lips, her knuckles whitened as her
grasp tightened upon the sleeve of the old man's jacket.

A whimper escaped from the trembling Rhonda, as the old man
raised his head from her breast and moved slowly upward to
capture her lips.

Rhonda's eyes fluttered open as lips pressed to hers and a
foreign tongue forced its way between.

Rhonda knew about kissing.  She had kissed her mother and her
father when they had been alive, although never her aunt.  She
had kissed several girls in friendship, once through puppy love,
and a few times as practice for when she would kiss a boy.  She
had even kissed a boy once, though rather fleetingly.

None of it had prepared her for the old man's kiss.

At first, she disliked his kiss.  It was demanding and far more
intimate than she wished to be with anyone.  As the old man's arm
tightened about her shoulders to hold her breast, teasing its
sensitive elongated nipple, while this other hand drifted
downward over her body, across her flinching abdomen, drawing
ever nearer to her tender, unfledged loins, she surrendered to
his overpowering demand.

A callused palm tightened upon Rhonda's swollen, silky pudendum,
deft fingers parted her labia, slid upward to circle and press
upon her nearly rigid clitoris.

Another palm pressed against her quaking nubile breast while
those equally deft fingers stroked and plucked at the elongated
and formerly puffy nipple, which now was taunt, tense and
trembling in his thrall.

With her head pinned between the old man's arm and his greedy
straining mouth, Rhonda had no choice but to surrender to his
caress.  As all the sensations of stimulation to which her body
was being subjected warmed her, the little girl began to
hesitantly respond.

Rhonda moaned softly into the old man's mouth, as her tongue took
up the challenge of swiveling about the invading tongue.  She
arched her back to press her tiny breast more forcefully against
the old man's palm, abandoning her nipple to his teasing caress.
The little girl rocked her hips, grinding her clitoris between
her pelvic bone and her ravisher's unyielding fingers.

After some time, the young girl's heart hammered to a stop, her
breath congealed within her staining lungs, her mind froze upon a
single desire as her muscles strained to force her spasming body
beyond its present unendurable pleasure, toward some other better
plane of existence.

A lightening flash, containing all the pleasure in the world,
seared along a passage connecting Rhonda's mouth and breasts
through her spine to the newly-found sensuous center of her being
that dwelt beneath her stomach.

Then she was floating, her heart tripping heavily in her chest,
lungs straining to draw breath into oxygen-starved lungs, while
her mind was released to float in a soft featureless haze of
pleasure's afterglow.  Her muscles had turned to water, as the
essence of her first little girl experience with bliss dribbling
from her still pulsing loins, to trickle over the old man's
encroaching hand.

"You little. . . ." the old man began, moving quickly to set
Rhonda sprawled onto her back upon the limousine seat and wiped
futilely at the wet stain she had left on his fine woolen pants.

"That'll teach me not to surpass your limits," the old man told
himself, as he searched inside his briefcase.

He withdrew two vibrators, one in the shape of a small butt plug,
the other a long, thin, rod with ribbing at one stubbly, rounded
end.

He wiped a light coating of lubricant over the prow of each, 
then drew out a collection of straps and fasteners.

First he slipped soft velvet restraints about Rhonda's wrists and
connected the other end to a thick nylon strap which one might
have mistaken for part of a seat belt.

Next, he slid broad, velvet-covered, nylon reinforced straps
about each of Rhonda's thighs, just above her knee.  The end of
each strap crossed behind the little girl's back to slide through
a fastener on the alternate leg's buckle.  The buckles controlled
both the tightness of the loop about each thigh and how close to
her body Rhonda's leg was bound.

These he tightened, first on one side, then upon the other, until
the girl's knees were lashed within inches of her shoulders.
Properly tightened, they raised, spread, and restrained her
thighs, leaving the little girl exposed from anus to vagina.

Although the necessary disturbance had troubled Rhonda's sleep,
causing her to mutter inarticulately, she had not become fully
conscious until her legs had been tightened against her
shoulders.

"What?" she muttered muzzily trying to shake off the great
lethargy which had overwhelmed her.

"Remember the examination I told you about," the old man reminded
her.  "It is now time to carry it out."

"Can you untie my hands?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You will see," the old man promised, as he picked up the already
lubricated butt plug.

"Now," he asked as he thrust it slowly past the girl's sphincter
and adjusted it to lock against either slipping further in or
sliding further out, "do you know why your hands are tied?"

"Oh, take it out," the girl commanded.

"Does it hurt?" the old man inquired.

"Yes, it's uncomfortable."

"You'll get over that," he promised as he switched the vibrator
to its lowest setting.

"Oh!  No. Stop that! Take it out, please."

The old man picked up the second dildo and slid it along Rhonda's
crease.

"What don't you like about it," the old man asked, as he pressed
the dildo against the opening of Rhonda's exposed vagina, "That
it is inside you, or that it vibrates?"

He turned the vibrator to its second setting.

"No!  Stop.  Don't do that, please. Please!  Anything but that."

The old man turned the vibrator off but left it still stretching 
and blocking the girl's sphincter.

"Okay," he replied, "but you understand, that you are now out of
options.  If you ask me to stop again, I am free to ignore you."

Rhonda watched in horror as the old man lowered his mouth toward
her immobilized groin.  His lips lightly touched her nether
aperture.

Like their earlier kiss, the old man's tongue speared forward
between her tender lips, entering her, and as before, his
versatile tongue soon found a sensitive object upon which to lath
exquisite sensations as he  violated her with that searching
organ.

Sharp teeth nibbled at Rhonda's distended clitoris, griping it
securely while a flashing tongue darting behind those sharp
teeth, flickered over the tip of her captured clit.

Meanwhile, the old man's fingers explored between her body and
her upraised knees, kneading the dainty flesh of the little
girl's immature breasts and tugging gently upon her thickening,
elongated nipples.

"Gu-uh-ah."  Rhonda stuttered as her body slowly sank into a
gathering maelstrom of sensation.

Before she realized, one hand teasing her breasts had quit, to
transfer attention to her parted loins.

Slipping beneath the old man's chin, its fingers entered the
girl's wide stretched labia to inscribe a cabalistic design upon
her vulva.  This called forth an increased flow of lubricant,
aiding the old man's intrusion of a fingertip within the
constricted passage at the mouth of her pristine vagina.

The old man continued these ministrations until the little girl
was crying out, rolling her head from side to side in a frenzy of
sensations.

The old man flicked the setting on Rhonda's anal vibrator from
its lowest to a midrange setting.  Before the little girl could
react, he bit harder upon her clitoris, while he rammed the
finger he held at the mouth of her vagina through the thin
membrane of her hymen.

"Ow!" the little girl cried, thrashing her head side to side, the
only motion of which she was capable.

For a moment, the old man held his finger still, as he suckled
upon her engorged clitoris and the dildo radiated strange
sensation from her anus.

He withdrew and lathed a thick layer of lubricant jell over his
finger, then holding the mouth of the tube over the girl's vulva,
squeezed out a large dollop, guiding it into her stretched ajar
vagina.

With short strokes, he guided the lubricant through the narrow
opening to ease his way along that newly-opened passage. 
Gradually his strokes plunged deeper into the heated softness 
of Rhonda's virgin vagina, until his fingertip touched the 
little girl's cervix.

Turning his hand as he stroked deeply within the girl's core, the
old man continued the stimulation until he could feel her body
tighten and clutch upon the agitating intruder.

Neck arched backward, a guttural growl sounding low in her
throat, features flushed with color and covered with
perspiration, Rhonda surrendered to the unknown sensations that
shook her being.

Quickly replacing his finger with the thin, ripple-surfaced
dildo, the old man switched it on and tested her depth.  From
without the narrow opening of her vagina, the bluntly rounded rod
thrust down the little girl's silken passage, to butt and vibrate
against her cervix, then withdraw to repeat the process over and
over again.

As time passed, the old man increased the tempo of the vibrations
in both dildos, as he continued to agitate the shaft moving it in
circles to produce a stirring motion at the cylinder's deepest
point of penetration.

Her mouth gapping open, the red-faced girl greedily gulped air as
her tears mingled with the perspiration that had dampened her
hair.  Her tiny  breasts were tense, covered in gooseflesh, while
her long, hardened nipples vibrated with emotion.

Her straining thigh muscles worked and shifted in a futile
attempt to free themselves from their restraints.  Her buttocks
tightened and clenched about the sensations produced by the
vibrating butt plug, while her abdomen constricted in opposition
to the cresting spasms of rapture that the dildo was churning
deep within her bowels.

She cried out, her body trembling in rigidity, as the old man
felt a pressure first pushing to expel the vibrating dildo, then
reversing to pull the instrument deeper.  She cried out again,
and droplets of liquid spurted out around the dildo.

The old man quickly removed the cylindrical rod as a second
discharge erupted.  Three times more, liquid spurted from the
little girl's spasming vagina, an ounce or two all told, no more.

Although the young girl's body continued to spasm for some time,
no further liquid was expelled.

Finally, her body no longer rocked beneath her orgasm, and for
all intents and purposes, she was unconscious.

The old man stopped, and removed the butt plug, putting both it
and the hand held model away in his briefcase.

With handiwipes and paper towels, the old man cleansed and dried
the girl's abdomen and groin.

He closely inspected the ooze that he had wiped from the aperture
of the little girl's vagina.  Although there was a pink
discoloration in the liquid he had mopped up, he could find no
trace of fresh blood.

Carefully, he applied an antibiotic ointment to the opening of
her vagina, where most of the damage had been done, and blew
gently across the silken tissues exposed beneath his eyes.

Next, he unbuckled and removed the restraint's hobbling her legs,
and then the straps which secured the little girl's wrists above
her head.

He rolled the girl's socks onto her feet and up her legs, then
tied her sneakers in place.  Holding her upright, he passed her
head and arms through the opening of the skirt and let it drop
about her waist, after which he shuffled her arms through the
armholes of her blouse.

With her once more in a recumbent position, the old man buttoned
the blouse over tiny breasts crowned with nipples that were long
and puffy once more.  He shoved the tail of the blouse beneath
her short skirt and fastened it in place about the girl's narrow
hips.

Rhonda's panties and her training bra, the old man shoved into
his coat pocket.

He spread the little girl's skirt so that it would not protect
her naked flesh from contact with the soft black leather
upholstery beneath her bottom.  In addition, he parted her legs
to insure that contact was also made with the little girl's
vulnerable, hairless genitals.

Then, the old man awakened the girl from the deep sleep which had
followed her unaccustomed exertions.

"Rhonda, wake up!" he demanded, giving her a shake.

"What!  W - where am I?"

"Remember me?" the old man inquired as the girl opened unfocused
eyes.  "We are nearly at the safe house."

"Safe house," Rhonda repeated, dumbly.

"The safe house operated by the Witness Protection Program," the
old man reminded her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, coming fully awake.

"Are you not curious about the results of your examination?"

"What?  Oh, m-my e-examination," the little girl stuttered with
mortification.

"That's right," the old man continued, ignoring her chagrin.
"From all I could determine in a moving car, there is no need for
you to go to a hospital.  That much I can assure you."

"Th - thank you."

"My pleasure," the old man replied.  "Which brings me to a
confession.

"As soon as I was certain you need not be rushed to the hospital,
I instructed my driver to take us directly to the safe house.

"In truth, you could just as easily apply directly to Children's
Aid, and let them house you until your case is settled.  The
advantage with that would be that you would be with other boys
and girls your own age, and could continue your schooling without
interruption.

"The reason I decided for you, is because Children's Aid usually
tries to work through a family conflict using confrontation.   I
hate to think what might happen if they forced you to live with
your aunt while trying to work out your differences,"

"I'm sorry," the old man apologized, "I had the best intentions,
but it really is your decision, not mine.  If you think you can
work out your problems with your aunt. . . . "

"No!" Rhonda exclaimed. "I never want to see my aunt again."

"All right," he agreed readily, "In that case, you have another
decision to make.  You may enter our program, and try to take
care of yourself, wherever the program places you, or you may
remain as my permanent guest at the safe house."

"I'll stay with you," Rhonda replied without pausing to consider.

"Ah, your response is gratifying," the old man declared, "but you
should hear all the conditions before you decide.

"The safe house is not truly set up as the permanent residence of
a little girl," he said.  "Or, indeed, for anyone of any age.
People usually pass through in a day, sometimes in hours.

"I am the only permanent resident.  I have never invited anyone
to stay longer than necessary, before.

"You, however, have impressed me with your pluck and
determination," he told her.  "Of course, you are pretty and
intelligent, but so are many other girls.  Unlike others, you
have courage.

"This was the first time you ever had an examination like that,
was it not?"

With her cheeks pink and her ears a fiery red, Rhonda looked at
the floor, and nodded her head.

"I thought so," the old man exclaimed.   "I know that such
examinations hurt everybody a little bit the first time they have
them," he explained.  "I knew that you felt some pain, and yet
you didn't make a big fuss about it.  You merely waited for the
pain to ease.

"It did hurt, did it not?"

Still looking at the floor, Rhonda nodded and said "Only a
little," in a tiny, hesitant voice.

"But other sensations caused by the examination soon allowed you
to forget your pain, am I correct?"

"Y - yes."

"Some people find that these examinations cause unendurable
sensations, while many find them rather pleasant.  A few enjoy
the feeling so much that they look forward to such examinations
whenever there is a need for them.

"It is difficult to be certain, but I believe you found those
sensations rather pleasant, did you not, Rhonda?"

With her cheeks matching colour with her ears, and her ears
radiating heat, Rhonda addressed the floor.

"Y - yes."

"Good!" the old man exclaimed, as he placed a hand upon Rhonda's
knee, pressing her flesh between his fingers.  "Little girls who
dislike those sensations, or dislike being touched beneath their
clothing, grow up to be very unhappy women," he proclaimed.

Slowly he slid his finger up the inside of Rhonda's bare thigh,
watching as her body tensed, until his fingers closed over her
soft, hairless mound.

Rhonda gasped a ragged breath inward, but said nothing.

"Do you hate being touched like this?  Do you not care much
either way?  Do you think that it feels rather pleasant?  Or, do
you absolutely love it?"

For some time Rhonda's lips twitched, but no sound emerged,
except the rasp of her ragged breathing.  Finally, she spoke.

"L - love it!"

"That's good to know," the old man stated, "because of what the
examination disclosed.

"You have an inoperable condition which, while not serious, must
be kept under regular observation, to make certain that it never
becomes serious.

"At a hospital, they would simply give you a couple of injections
with a needle and stand you in front of a big machine every
couple of months.  No big deal.

"But it is inadvisable that you have any regular contact with the
hospital if you remain with me at the safe house.  So, instead of
the simple hospital exam I just described, I would be forced to
give you regular examinations, similar to the one you just
received, several times a week."

Minutes passed while the girl, her eyes still downcast, watched
the movement of her skirt over her parted thighs where the old
man's fingers toyed with her nether lips.   She tried to speak,
but each time that she opened her mouth, a ragged breath rasped
in her throat, instead.

Finally, she spoke.

"D - don't m-mind exam.  Hate n - needles," the little girl
declared.

"That's okay then," the old man agreed.  "This will be a new
experience for me, too.  I never had a little girl share the safe
house with me.

"Later on, you must teach me what games you like," the old man
advised her.  "I'm afraid I only know a few games one can play
with a little girl like you.

The fingers which had been spreading wide and pinching shut
Rhonda's hairless labia, held her ajar while a third finger
crooked to slide back and forth along her defenseless slit.

"The safe house is still more than an hour's drive from here,"
the old man told Rhonda.  "Which would you rather do -- curl up
on the seat and get some sleep, or come here and sit on my knee,
and let me tickle you under your dress?"

Rhonda rose quickly peeling her sweaty bottom from the leather
upholstery, and crawled onto the old man's still dampened knee.

She paused to arrange her skirt so it was not tucked between old
man's knee and her pert bottom, then settled into place.

Rhonda raised the hem of her skirt in front, as a little girl's
invitation for the old man to reach beneath.

As his callused fingers traced an arcane pattern upon the soft
tissue between the little girl's parted thighs, Rhonda closed her
eyes, exhaled a gusty sigh, and leaned trustingly against the old
man's narrow chest.







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