WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual
descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are
offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now.
Any resemblance between this story and a real event is coincidental.
The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative
consequences other than those portrayed in the story. The story is
intended for entertainment and should not be emulated in the real
world.

THE DAY LEONARD R. FISKE BECAME A MOMMY! by Arthur Kay

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wrote this story because there are men who walk among
us, strange men, who are very sick people and operate on a level you
or I will never comprehend. At least not in the foreseeable future.

They live in their own world while they occupy space in ours. But to
know the enemy, as it has been so oft said, is possibly the way to
find a solution, if one can ever be found, that is.

The man, who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart and held her captive for 9
months, had molded her. Molded her to fuck him. Molded her to suck his
cock. Molded her to do his bidding. And he succeeded to such a degree
that, when a cop stopped her on the street, she refused to give the
cop her real name. Well, that intrigued me. 

Call it brainwashing. Call it stupidity. No matter. Elizabeth Smart
was his! At least she was until he was arrested. But what if he had
never been arrested? Or not for years and years, at least? Well, I'll
tell you, if you don't already know, she would have taken,
swallowed, and sucked up gallons of his cum. And did everything this
madman asked of her.

He would have been in her pussy. In her mouth. In her ass. Isn't that
sick? Damned right, but there are men, men who don't care what we
think about it. All they care about is satisfying their own sexual
needs. 

Whether we like it or not, these men will do their darndest to
prevail, and we, as smart as we are, as adamant as we can be, as
educated as we present ourselves to the world, and as many of these
sick bastards that we can catch, one or more will get away with it.
Like Leonard R. Fiske. A sick mother if ever there was one. But a sick
man with a simple plan . . .

* * * * * *

LEONARD R. FISKE, deep down, knew he was a loser, a loner, and an
outsider as far as society went, and he didn't give a shit, a rat's
ass, a fig, or any thing else you can come up with. He just didn't
care. Didn't care what society thought of one Mr. Leonard R. Fiske,
because, at aged 45, and totally whipped by life, he had a plan. The
Fiske plan to change it all.

A plan that he felt would change his life, his future, and his reason
for being alive. A plan. His plan. He'd show them all. With the help
of his plan.

All it took, this plan of his, was to find the right female, a female
so young, so untouched by life, so extremely moldable, he could make
her his. And train her to do anything he wanted her to do. His very
own sex slave.

His sex slave! The very idea drove him, impelled him onward. His! God,
how good that idea was to him. His! And, by God, he felt that if
anyone could make her his, he could. All it took was a woman, a very
young woman. A woman he would have to capture. To kidnap. 

Without worrying about whether or not she was part of the scene.
Without caring about her feelings. Shit, he thought as he laid the
next concrete brick for the foundation he was now building for the
soundproof room he was constructing, once she is in here, she's mine!
Mine! All mine! Fuck you world, me, Lenny Fiske, is now in charge! You
hearing me?

All it took, after the soundproofed bunker was finally built, was the
female. Of any age under five. 

Leonard Fiske knew, deep down, she would never really be his, but he
also knew that if he trained the cunt, she would be, for all intents
and purposes, his slave. Or she'd die. And he had already dug her
grave. Three foot wide by three foot deep. Just big enough for a young
girl of a young age.

Leonard wasn't always this way, this crazy, this so antisocial. Oh,
no.  All who knew him, once considered him normal As normal as you or
I, so to speak. But life came along and fucked him up, fucked with his
mind and ate up him and spit him out. And he didn't like that one bit.
He loved life, loved people, but life and people didn't return that
love. 

Normal people, it seemed, always felt uneasy in his company. Leonard,
to most people, was an odd ball, or as his neighbor once said, to
quote him, a motherfucking lunatic. Leonard failed to laugh when
someone told a joke and everyone else laughed at the proper moment.
Then he'd laugh when no one else laughed. At the most improper moment.
It was as if he was out of step all the time. Which he was. But he
couldn't help himself. He had to be himself, and to be otherwise, he
felt, just wouldn't be him.

So, one day, with nothing in his mind of a criminal nature, but
hurting very deeply inside from the way life, and most people, had
treated him thus far, and in mental pain, he made his plan. The
Leonard Fiske makeover plan. A plan to kidnap a female and train her
to do his bidding. A Leonard Fiske sex slave female. She would fuck
him. Suck his cock. Take it in her ass, even. But he had a problem. A
big problem. A control problem. 

For Leonard R. Fiske, as lonely, as antisocial, and as lunatical as he
was, knew he could never hurt a woman. And he knew the woman would
know this fact. And not be afraid of him. Not really. In spite of his
threats to her of death. He knew, deep down in his soul, that she
would know. And she would win, not he. Unless . . . 

Such was the problem in the brain workings of the loner Leonard R.
Fiske. But a problem such as this, in the mind of such as his, can
always be solved. All it takes is a plan. And Leonard already had
that. All he had to do, in reality, was to modify it. Lower his
expectations, as it were, change his original ideas about it all, and
just do it. Just do it. And, with that in mind, he did just that.

On a Tuesday, on the rim of a park where mothers went with their
children, Leonard R. Fiske snatched a young baby girl. A female baby.
A toddler.

He had watched the four young mothers for two days. On both days, an
opportunity never presented itself. The mothers left the park, passing
less than ten feet from where he was totally concealed behind a thick
group of bushes, in pairs or all at once. While this frustrated
Leonard initially, he knew he'd get lucky. All it took was time. And
he had plenty of that.

On the third day, he got lucky. Twice. But the first mother to leave
the herd, so to speak, and pass right by him, had a boy in tow. Which
made her lucky, though she never knew it. 

Then, expecting the other three to leave together, he got a surprise
and got lucky again. One of the mothers, a very beautiful woman at
that, said goodbye to the other two and started in Leonard's
direction, a blond, blue eyed little girl clutching her momma's hand.
They looked happy together.

As she approached his concealed position, Leonard was so surprised by
the opportunity he found he couldn't breathe. The thought that this
was it, the actual moment, the time to do it, flabbergasted him. He
had to force his mind to remember how to breathe. In. Out. They're
getting closer. In. Out. Now! Do it Lenny, he told himself. And he
did.

He waited until the young mom had reached the curve in the path. He
knew the other two women would be unable to see the event from their
position. When the mother was ten feet into the curve, Leonard struck.

It had been easy, so easy. Coming up behind her, all he did was crack
her on the head, with a heavy blackjack. Just the once. That's all it
took to make her fall to the pavement, unconscious. Still holding her
little girl's hand. The girl looked very startled and had opened her
mouth to say or scream something. But Lenny was too quick for her. 

With one hand firmly over her mouth, he scooped her up and raced to
where he had parked his car. As he crossed the nearly forty-foot
distance, he looked all around. He saw no one, thus he knew no one had
seen him. 

The little girl struggled, but he didn't care, as she was no match for
him. At the car, his hand still over her mouth, he opened the rear
door and deposited her on the seat. The smell of chloroform hit his
nostrils. It was still very wet as it clung to the handkerchief he had
left on the rear seat. As he knew it would be. She was out in less
than ten seconds.

Less than thirty minutes later, his prisoner was lying peacefully on
the twin bed he had placed in the soundproofed room. He stood by the
edge of the bed and looked down at her. He marveled at how easy it had
all been. She was now here, this lovely little girl, in the flesh, and
she was all his. His!

To do anything and everything with, and now, thinking of all the wild
and unbelievable sexual possibilities, Leonard Fiske felt his cock
springing to life and forming the familiar tent in his running pants.
He rubbed it absentmindedly and thought, when you wake up, little
girl, your new friend Lenny is gonna teach you some new tricks. He
rubbed his tent again. Oh, yes, little lady, he said to himself, your
training is gonna be great fun.

But he knew he'd have to wait. She'd be out of it for at least another
hour or more. Which gave him enough time to make and warm up a baby
bottle full of formula. He had no idea if she was still on the bottle
or was breast-fed, or what. He didn't care either way; she'd eat the
formula or die of starvation. 

And, if she were on solid food, he'd find that out soon enough. He had
all the time in the world to learn that kind of mundane crap. What
really mattered uppermost to Lenny was getting her to like the new
food he had in mind. His sperm. 

He smiled down at her and thought, Oh, yes, my little darling, your
diet is sure gonna change! And old Lenny, your new buddy, is gonna
train you to just love it, every baby-making drop! He rubbed himself
once more before heading toward the door. 

At the door, he gave the sleeping toddler one long glance. She looked
absolutely peaceful to him. So innocent. So girlish. So all his! Sleep
my girl, he thought, while I go and rustle up your grub. 

As he mixed the formula, he thought about the little blond, blue-eyed
girl now sleeping in his soundproofed little room. He realized that he
knew almost zip about her.

A female, for sure. A toddler, too. Age? 48 or so months? Name?
Leonard didn't know or care, but, in reality, her name was Martha Ann
Styffe. And, also in reality, Martha Ann Styffe didn't know her own
name beyond Martha, or very much else for that matter, and, like
Leonard, she didn't care, either. 

In fact, and in all truth, Martha Ann Styffe didn't know she had even
been kidnapped. All she knew was nothing much. Which, as wicked as it
may sound, as sick as it may be or is, fit in perfectly with Leonard's
very nasty plan. 

He now had a female, who was now all his. And, to have something to
call her by, he named her Eve. It was short and sweet and very easy to
remember. And, if she didn't like the name, well, tough girly.

* * * * * *

AS HE ENTERED THE ROOM, the warm bottle of formula in hand, he heard:
"Where's my mommy? I want my mommy!" He stared at her.

Christ, he thought, she can talk! Why this fact surprised him, he
didn't know, but he had expected more of the goo goo ga ga from her.
But this was okay with Lenny. It added a nice dimension to it all. And
it could only make her training that much easier. She might even
already know words such as suck and lick. He grinned at her.

"Your mommy's gone, Eve. She's dead and never coming back. I'm your
new mommy. My name is Lenny." He smiled warmly at her. She looked
confused and uncertain as to what was taking place.

"If my mommy's dead, you did it! I saw you hit her!" She started to
cry. She looked at him through tear-filled eyes and blubbered, "And my
name's Martha, not Eve!" Lenny now had some fast 'splaining to do.

"You're too young to understand, but I didn't kill your mommy. It was
her time to die. All I did was my job, which is to help people along
the path to heaven. Your mommy's now in heaven." She was looking right
at him.

"And, following all the rules, as we all must do, it's also my job to
be your new mommy. And rename you. It wouldn't make much sense now, to
keep your old name with your new mommy, now would it?" He smiled at
her again. A warm smile.

She looked completely confused. Lost. Trying to comprehend his words,
but coming up empty. What he said made some sense to her, but at the
same time it meant no more of the mommy she had known all her short
life. 

Don't rush her, Lenny, he said to himself. There's plenty of time.
Work on her, work on her mind. Slowly, piece by piece, a little at a
time. He crossed the room and offered her the baby bottle. To his
surprise and happiness, she took it and immediately placed the nipple
into her mouth. And drank.

"Good girl, Eve, good girl!" He gently patted his new daughter's blond
head. "And you'll see, we're gonna have lots of fun, you and me." He
felt a shiver go through him. "Lots of fun. It's my job as your new
mommy to teach you all about new things. Lots of new things." He
rubbed his tent. 

"Why, before you know it, Eve, you're gonna love your new mommy. Even
more, maybe, than your old one." He patted her little head again. 

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. And trusting. My God, he
thought, it's going much easier than I expected . . .

* * * * * *

LENNY HADN'T RUSHED HER, oh, no. He had proceeded very slowly in his
bonding attempts. One such attempt was getting her to accept her new
name. He made her repeat it many times during the next two weeks,
getting her used to it. 

"What's my little girl's new name, darling?" He had said many times.

"Eve!" she cried out. "Eve!" She liked the name. The one syllable
name.

"Good girl!" he had said every time, reinforcing the child and mommy
bond. The bond that was growing daily, even during the mommy-gives-
his-little-girl-a-bath stage. Which Lenny made sure happened five or
six times a day. If nothing else, little Eve was one very clean little
girl.

Her first bath had occurred on her first day of captivity, soon after
she had had her fill of the formula and had even wolfed down a bowl of
Cheerios.

He ran a nice warm bath for her, keeping the stopper at an angle to
ensure the water level stayed at around six inches deep. Fully
clothed, he had bathed her. Getting her body, and her mind, used to
his big forty-five year old hands.

While 'go slowly, Lenny,' was foremost in his mind, he had allowed
himself the luxury of speeding things up a tad. By washing her anus
and pussy over and over. He would work on her legs, or some other part
of her, and then hit the anus and pussy again. Washing and rinsing.
Over and over, getting her used to the idea of having his hands all
over her private parts.

All the while talking gently to her, building the child and mommy bond
and driving himself fairly crazy in the doing. Oh, how he wanted to
feel that moist little mouth of hers on his cock! And his cock in her
warm little untouched pussy. But he knew he had to go slowly and not
lay too much new stuff on her all at once.

But his cock just had to have a release. It was way too much for him
to go through, this sweet young body under his hot hands. Way too
much. So, he made another concession to speed. He stripped himself
naked and joined her in the tub. He was amazed she hadn't panic or
showed any fear. She just accepted it as a natural mommy thing to do.
Even a mommy with an 8" erection, that was now pointing right at her.

"Now, Eve," he said, holding his cock with one hand and pointing to it
with the other, "This is your new mommy's magic stick." He rotated the
cock head a few times, making small circles. "It's like a new toy for
you to play with. And it will also be feeding you its magical juice
some time real soon. Here, Eve, reach out and play with your new magic
stick toy." He pushed it toward her slightly.

She looked up at him and, without a word said, reached out and put her
little hand around the shaft of the new magic stick. The jolt of
electricity that shot through him was just too much. His cock head
immediately released a blob of pre-cum that was so big, so copious,
some of it dripped down into the bath water. 

Eve looked down at the water and saw it there, floating on the
surface, white and shiny looking. She reached down with her free hand
and scooped the blob up, staring at it. 

"Is this the magic stick's magical food, mommy?" She looked right at
him, his cum floating in the middle of the puddle in her palm.

"Yes, Eve, go ahead, taste it. Use your tongue." Oh, was he hot! On
fire! It was going splendidly well. Just splendidly. He watched as she
brought her hand up to her mouth and lapped at his cum ball. She made
a slight frowny face.

"It's salty, mommy!" 

"It has to be, dear, that's what gives it its magic. The magic to turn
you into a beautiful woman when you're all grown up. You do want to be
beautiful later, don't you, Eve?" She looked at him and nodded. 

"Good!" he said. "Now, Eve, I'm gonna shake the magic stick some and
see if it will give us some more magical food. OK?" She nodded again,
a look of utter fascination on her face.

Leonard R. Fiske then proceeded to masturbate, right there in the tub,
his feet in six inches of warm water, in a slow and purposeful manner.
He knew he could probably get her, right then there, to put her little
mouth on his cock, but he didn't want to take the chance that it would
be too much too soon. Thus, he wanked away and contented himself with
the sure knowledge that he was getting her used to his magic stick.
And its magical sperm food.

As he felt the familiar nearness of cumming coming on, he cooed at
her, "Now, Eve, hold out your sweet little hand and we'll see if the
magic stick will spit out its yummy magical food. OK?" She held out
both hands, palms up, offering him a choice.

"OK, mommy, make the magic stick spit!" She liked the word spit, it
reminded her of her old mommy, who used to say, a long time ago it
seemed to her now, "I'm so mad I could spit nickels!" Spit! It had a
nice, sharp sound to it.

And spit it did, this Lenny's magic stick. A copious amount of magical
food came out, right into Eve's warm, little left hand palm. "Oooh,
mommy," she said. "It spitted a lot!" And it had. A lot. Glob after
glob came out of the magic stick, filling her palm so full some of it
splashed over the hand-cup's rim and fell down into the bath water. 

"Ooh, Eve," Lenny said, breathlessly, as his orgasm rushed out into
the little palm. "It sure did spit a lot. And it makes your mommy feel
real good when it does. Oooh, real good! Ooh, ooh, ooh!"

She started to reach down toward the water with her right hand, but
Lenny stopped her, fearful she might spill the rest by doing so.

"No, Eve," he barked at her. "Leave that alone! There's plenty of the
magical food in your hand to feed you. Now, darling, lick your palm
clean, don't miss a drop of the magical food." He was squeezing his
cock head now, massaging it and enjoying the after effects his orgasm
had created. "Try not to spill any, OK, darling?"

"OK, mommy," she said as she raised her palm toward her face while, at
the same time, bending her head down to meet it. Lenny watched, afraid
to even breathe, as her pink, wet tongue came out and took a first lap
at the white puddle. He watched as her tongue carried a nice sized
blob back into her mouth. She was tasting it, rolling it over her
tongue. Then she swallowed and he watched her first reaction to this
larger amount. 

She blinked her eyes three times rapidly, made a scrunchy face, and
said, "Salty!" But, before he could say anything, her tongue was back
in the puddle and lapping up some more. 

"Good girl," he said. "That's my good girl. Eat it all up, all the
magical food." And she did, every last drop. Without blinking her eyes
and without making any more scrunched up faces.

* * * * * *

TWO WEEKS, for two solid weeks, he fed her the magical food from the
magic stick. Four times a day and even five times, on two separate
days. Eve not only got used to the taste, she now liked it, even asked
for it here and there. "Mommy, can I have some of the magical food
now, please?"

And, even when he felt utterly drained dry and he knew it would be an
uphill battle to ejaculate, he found the impetus to oblige his new,
young daughter. And he would use the moment to reinforce her training.

"Now, Eve, it's gonna be hard work for mommy to shake the magic stick
this time, but if you promise to always be a good girl and always do
what mommy tells you, I'll do it just for you. OK?" It was. Each and
every time.

* * * * * *

MOMMY LENNY was now ready for the next phase of his plan. Teaching his
little girl how to suck his cock. And not just suck it, but to love
sucking it. And love having the magic stick spurt its magical food
directly into her mouth. And asking for more! 

But he waited. For the right moment. The moment he now knew wouldn't
disappoint him by not arriving. And then, it was here, on a morning
and before little Eve had had any breakfast.

"Mommy, can I have some of the magical food, now, please?" 

"Mommy's very tired, dear. I shook the magic stick for you four times
yesterday, remember?" She nodded. "But, what if I show you how to make
the magic stick spit all by yourself? Would you like that?" 

"Yes, mommy, show me!" She was hungry, poor creature. Lenny was
hungry, too, the poor bastard. He told her to sit on the edge of the
twin bed, at cock height, if you will. He then stripped and stood
naked before her, his cock wobbling in the space between them, red and
raging and pointing directly at her mouth. Pulsing. His own head was
pulsing, pounding, a flushed feeling coming over him, as he fondled
his large member.

"Now, Eve," he said, a hoarseness in his voice. "Here's what you must
do to make the magic stick spit . . . have you ever sucked on a
lollipop?" She looked up at him and nodded. Geez, who hasn't?

"Good. Now all you have to do is use your mouth to suck on the magic
stick, as if it's a lollipop. A big one that will spit out its magical
food. But, I want to see if you are a good lollipop sucker. Here . . .
" 

He put his thumb out toward her. "Suck on my thumb first and let me
see how good you are at sucking on lollipops. OK?" She said, happily,
"OK!"

Then she put her mouth on the thumb. And sucked on it. As she had on
lollipops. With no back and forth motion to her head. That won't do,
he thought.

"That's not the way to suck a magic stick, Eve, you've go to move your
head back and forth on it as you suck. Go ahead, try it!" He waited,
his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

Then she did it! Slowly at first, tentatively, then more pronounced.
He could feel the hotness of her little mouth and the wetness of her
little tongue on his fat, old thumb. Heaven, he thought, just heaven!

Then, while she sucked happily away on the lollipop thumb, with both
her eyes closed, he started moving the thumb in and out of her mouth,
feeding no more than two inches of it into her mouth at any one time.
She sucked as he thumb-fucked her mouth, not knowing little girls
shouldn't do this to old, farty men. Especially old, farty perverted
men, like Leonard Fiske.

"Good, girl, Eve, that's it. Suck on it! Go back and forth on it. And
move your tongue around, darling, let me feel your tongue moving." And
she did, her little wet tongue swirling all over this big, fat thumb,
with her saliva escaping her mouth, her saliva falling from the thumb,
while driving his mind absolutely frigging bonkers. 

"Oooh, Eve, that feels great! But are you now ready for the magic
stick?" She nodded her head up and down, the thumb going all along
with the movement. He withdrew the thumb, hearing a sloosh sound as it
exited.

"N-now, Eve," he said, a tremble in his voice. "I-I want you to do the
same thing to the head of the magic stick. Take the head into your
mouth, go up and down on it, and swirl your tongue around. Got that?"
She nodded and looked at the cock head. 

"Mommy, can I lick that off first?" He noticed his cock's tip was
bubbling up with pre-cum. Lots of pre-cum. His pre-cum. Leonard R.
Fiske's pre-cum. And the little darling was asking his permission to
lick it all off! To lick the sperm from his cock head just the way the
women in the fuck films sometimes did. And, in the back recesses of
his nasty mind, he knew it would get even better down the line. Much,
much better!

"You sure can, sweetheart, b-but I want you to keep yours eyes open
when you do. In fact, I want you to keep them open every time you suck
on mommy's magic stick. Understand?" All she said was, "Uh huh!"

He closed the distance between them, his cock's head now less than an
inch from her face. He reached down, placed a hand under her chin and
raised her face up at him. Both eyes were wide open. As was her mouth.
He could even see the pink little tongue, wet looking and seemingly
ready for her first lesson in the Leonard R. Fiske's personal
cocksucker's school for young daughters named Eve. 

"Keep the eyes open, darling!" he said as he put her head back into
the cocksucking position and pushed the head of his cock into the
waiting and eager hot, little mouth. She totally surprised him by
reaching out with her right hand and placing it on the base of his
shaft, much as if she had done this sort of thing before.

He moaned when her lips bumped over the ridged flange, clearing it and
going a good half-inch beyond. Don't give her too much, he told
himself, don't make her gag. He withdrew slightly, but only slightly.

"Now, darling, go back and forth just like on my thumb." She complied,
wetting the cock head up with her movements. Oh, shit, he thought,
feeling the magic her tiny mouth was sending through him, my first
blowjob! How fucking incredible this feels! No wonder guys like it! 

"N-now, honey, move your tongue around, too, while you suck!" She
complied and he now felt her tongue adding to the overall magic. It
was driving him beyond control. He knew if she kept it up, he'd cum in
a very short while. He had to warn her, just in case. No point in
startling her.

"Now, Eve, w-w-when the magic stick starts spitting, don't be scared.
OK?" He heard an, "Mmm hmm" come out of her. She wasn't scared. What
was there to be scared of, anyway? Magical food? No! She liked the
magical food. Even if it was way too salty. Lenny had seen to that.

Eve now sucked on Lenny's cock, going back and forth on it, swirling
her tongue all over the place, feeling the flanged ridge bump her lips
as they crossed over it time and again, the size of the head almost
filling her mouth up. 

All the while not even knowing she was giving her first blowjob to an
old pervert, one who was getting his first blowjob. Two firsts. With
another first looming on the horizon for them both: Swallowing all of
his cum, his magical food, as it came straight out of his cock, his
magic stick.

Then he felt it coming upon him, the about-to-cum moment. He reached
down with his right hand and started massaging his scrotum. Slowly and
purposefully. She then surprised him. She started moaning! "Mmm mmm."
She did this over and over as she sucked him off. 

Then the little minx surprised him again. She had placed her left
hand, her free hand, on his scrotum and was massaging away at both his
balls just as she had seem him do. 

It was much too much for old Lenny. He felt himself start to spurt.
And spurt and spurt and spurt. With an intensity he had never felt
before. He was looking down at her little head as it went back and
forth, sucking him, taking his cum. And not a peep out of her along
the lines of a complaint. She was taking his cum and swallowing it at
the same time. And still moaning! "Mmm mmm." Over and over. 

When she had swallowed the last of it, she started to move off of the
cock head. "Keep sucking the magic stick, darling, until it goes soft.
That's how you get it to make more magical food for the next time.
OK?" It was. She bobbed her head up and down in a yes making motion.
And sucked away on the magic stick. Still moaning here and there. "Mmm
mmm."

Finally, the magic stick went flaccid. He withdrew it and tilted her
chin up to him. She had a blob of cum on her bottom lip. He watched as
her tongue did a quick flick out and clean if off. She was blinking
rapidly, but there was no sign of the frowny, scrunchy face. In fact,
she even looked contented to him. It was now the Lenny question and
answer time.

"Did you like that, sucking on my old magic stick?" She said she had
and it had felt really good, too. Lenny liked that answer. "You did a
wonderful job, Eve, going up and down on it. Did you like going up and
down on it?" She said she did. And, when he pressed her, admitted just
how good it had felt in her mouth.

"Did you get a lot of magical food and did you like the taste?" She
said yes to both, her face seeming to glow.

"And, Eve, it was wonderful feeling when you played with Ike and
Mike."

"Who's Ike and Mike?"

"The magic stick's two hairy best friends." He pointed to Ike and
Mike. "Ike's the one on the left, your left." He pointed to his right
ball. She reached out and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Hello, Ike!" She
then grabbed the other hairy, skin-covered egg. "And hello, Mike!" She
giggled. It was nice making new friends. Even if they were silly
looking. And droopy. And hairy.

Sensing her amiability and willingness to explore, he said, "Why don't
you show Ike and Mike you like them by giving them each a big, wet
kiss. OK?" 

It was. She planted a kiss on Ike first, then one on Mike. Lenny was
in hog heaven. "Now, Eve, darling, just like you did with the magic
stick, I want you to really show them you like them by taking each
one, Mike first, into your mouth and sucking on it. OK?" It was. 

Mike went first this time, and then Ike felt the wet, hot virginal
mouth work its magic. He had her suck on them, going one to the other,
until both were sloppy wet with her saliva. 

"Good girl, Eve, good girl!" he said over and over as his newly
trained personal cocksucker became his newly trained balls sucker.
"Good girl!"

He heard her moan from time to time as she laved his testicles. Little
Eve, it seemed, was enjoying making her new Lenny mommy happy. And
Lenny, bless his black heart, was very pleased, indeed. So far,
everything had exceeded even his wildest earlier imaginings.

He looked down at her small head as it worked on him and thought about
the future . . . 

* * * * * *

THEIR FUTURE. A future sure to be filled with other exciting new
things. And new firsts. For both of them. Like her first deep-
throating lesson. He could picture it vividly now. Yes, it would take
a lot of training to keep her from gagging on him, but he had read a
lot on the subject matter. He knew just how to get her to kill the gag
reflex's natural ability to want to eject big, fat intruders. Like his
big, fat 8" intruder.

And fucking, oh, lordy, fucking, how wonderful will that feel? And
anal! Oh, God, anal fucking her! My big, old Lenny pecker buried deep
in her virginal ass hole, right down to the hilt, the home base of Ike
and Mike, the magic stick's hairy little buddy pals. 

Oh, yeah, he, Leonard R. Fiske, could now picture it all. Even to the
point of the dirtiest of things, teaching his little Eve how to lick
and suck his asshole. And to drink his magical piss straight from the
magical source. And to like it all, even. 

And, at some point, he would start filming their little lessons. And
use them to teach her better technique. To make her the world's
greatest and most unbelievable cocksucker. And the world's greatest
piece of ass. He would also, he knew, show her his personal collection
of fuck film and they would watch them together, discussing the finer
points, the finesses, if you will. 

And he knew, oh, God how he knew, that he would be there for her first
orgasm! Brought to her by one Leonard R. Fiske, the 45 year old
Leonard R. Fiske, her new mommy with the magic stick and its two best
pals, Ikey and Mikey. An inseparable trio, if ever there was one.

And her teenage years! When tits formed and her shape became
womanlier, her ass blossoming out, and the curves of womanhood, his
Eve's womanhood, beginning to show. What bliss, what un-fucking-
fantastic bliss. 

Without ever ruining it all by getting her pregnant. He had even
thought that through, so clever of him, and had had a vasectomy. A
permanent, irreversible one.

Would she miss having friends? Other people? No doubt, but she'd just
have to learn to live with it. And schooling? The only schooling she
was going to get was her Leonard R. Fiske type of schooling. That, he
reasoned, was all the smarts she's ever gonna need.

All he had to do was make sure the outside world never found out about
the new daughter he kept in his soundproofed basement room. But that
shouldn't be too big a problem. His house was miles from his nearest
neighbor and, shit, they never came near him any-hoo-ha. The bastards,
he thought, can't get enough distance between us. 

No one, he knew, had even knocked on his front door in the five years
since he had inherited the big house from his mother, along with
enough money to never have to work again. Shit, the only guy who ever
came even near his house was the gas meter reader. And he did it all
from outside. Shit, he recalled, I don't even know what he looks like!
I wouldn't know the fucker if I tripped over him!

Eve looked up at him. "Mommy, I'm still hungry! Can I have some
Cheerios? Please." She wiggled her small behind around on the edge of
the twin bed. He smiled warmly at her.

As he patted her head, he said, "You sure can, my little darling, and
then we're going to watch a movie together while you eat. Would you
like that?"

"Yeeessssss!" she said gleefully. She had forgotten that movies even
existed. "What's it a movie about?"

"You'll see, sweetheart, you'll see! It's a real grown up movie." She
wiggled her small little ass on the bed again . . . "Oooh, goody! I
like that!"

Eve wiggled her cute backside once more . . . 

* * * * * *

FISKE didn't know it, couldn't know it, but two police detectives
were, this very moment, talking about him, even though they hadn't a
clue to his real identity. He was their daily topic of conversation.

Detective Sergeant Gabe Caber, and his partner, Detective Ron Mills,
had been assigned the Martha Ann Styffe case from day one, almost two
long months ago. And they were no closer to solving it now than they
were then. There just weren't any clues, of any kind. And no
witnesses, either. The man was very clever or very lucky. And, most
possibly, both.

The only bright news thus far, was that the mother, Ms. Stephanie
Styffe, had only suffered a mild concussion, and she had made a full
recovery. 

If Caber and Mills didn't have much to go on, they did have hope.
Along with the arduous task of following up the more than one thousand
leads that were generated from the Amber Alert and various media play.
It was busy work of a sort, and so far none of the leads had panned
out, but it gave them something seemingly positive to do.

More busy work came from checking out the over four thousand known
pedophiles within a hundred mile radius. And, as Ron Mills had said at
one point, his eyes widening up, "Shit, Gabe, and these are only the
known ones . . . !" 

* * * * * *

DETECTIVE CABER was at his desk forty-five minutes earlier than he had
to be. There was no point, he felt, in being at home and rattling
around his bachelor apartment. Not when he could be here and just
might get lucky.

He looked at the long list of call-in leads displayed on his monitor
screen. They had been prioritized, the most promising put to the
front. Most of them looked nebulous, and very everyday sounding. Woman
called in. Saw strange man with little girl, who looked like Martha,
sitting in a Dunkin' Donuts shop. Man kept touching girl's knee. Name
and phone number. 

Caber read a few more and sighed. It was going to be another long and
tedious day, but he knew it had to be done. And with zeal. Thus, he
treated every lead as if it was precious to him. And to little Martha.

He was about to reach for the phone to start his first hot tip
interview of the day when he saw Ron Mills heading toward him. The man
looked more chipper than usual. Caber remembered the last thing Ron
had said to him as he went home the previous night, "Shit, Gabe, if I
don't get some sleep tonight, I'm gonna find out, personally, just how
much damage my Glock can do to the human brain!" Caber knew exactly
what Ron meant.

As Mills approached, a beaming grin on his face, Caber said, "Holy
crap, Ronnie, who painted you with the sunshine stick?" Mills seemed
to beam even brighter, if that was even possible.

"Got an idea, Gabe, a good one if a bit of a long shot. Came to me
last night, right out of old blue. Wanna hear it?" 

"Sure, but if I think it's a real rotten idea, I'll tell you straight
out, and then we can do it anyway. OK?" He grinned at Mills, who
grinned right back, then grabbed a chair and pulled it closer to the
front of Caber's desk. He sat and leaned forward, placing both
forearms on the edge of the desk.

"Well, since I couldn't sleep last night . . . what else is new? I
started my usual trolling for pedos on the Internet. As usual, I would
type a word into the search engine and see where it led me." He paused
as if making sure he had Caber's full attention. "Well, in my never-
ending search for new words to try, I came up with a doozy . . .
Mommy!"

"Mommy?" For pedophiles?

"Yeah, Mommy. It just popped into my head." Caber imagined it would
have to. "Well, there being a mere four million hits, I decided to
peruse them as a substitute for counting sheep!" He laughed. "And I'll
tell you, Gabe, with twenty hits per screen, it does make one a tad
tired around screen number ninety-five!" He laughed and Caber joined
in.

"I'll bet it does!" Caber laughed out.

"Well, as you can imagine, most of the sites were innocent enough, but
I ran into one called Mommy's Little Girl dot com. Oh, it tried its
best to look innocuous enough, but when I read it had the word love in
its normal sounding message, well, my ears perked up." He leaned back
from the desk just as Caber leaned forward, placing his hands on the
desk's edge.

Caber said, "Hmm. Mommy, eh?" It made sense to him somewhat.

Mills nodded, and then said, "Yeah. Well, I went to the site and lo
and behold, a new pedo joint for me to add to my collection. It had
the usual stories and what have you, but a link caught my eye." He
paused, as if he was about to reveal the killer in the last five
minutes of the play. Caber just sat there, waiting, humoring the man.

"It showed the plans for building your very own and secret,
soundproofed room!" He waited for Caber to say something; something
that would indicate he saw the meaning of it, too, but all Caber did
was stare at him as if looking at a new species of lunatic. 

All Caber said was, "So?" It was interesting, but so what?

"So, my fellow Sherlock, we know the guy who grabbed little Martha was
a very clever, careful little boy . . . "

"Or just plain lucky . . . "

"That, too, but let's assume he's a wee bit more clever than he's
lucky, just for the sake of argument, shall we?" Caber nodded,
stifling a yawn. "Well, we both know the careful type doesn't just hit
and run with a rape and murder. They stash the kid so they can, well,
you know." 

Caber knew. He said, "So, where's your plan in all this, Ron?"

"Well, the plans called for using those common concrete builder's
block, you know, the ones about eighteen inches long and . . . " Caber
broke in.

"So, there you are, on screen umpty-ump, bleary eyed and more dopey
than usual, and you get the brilliant idea that we should go out and
find any guy who's bought a ton of concrete bricks lately. That about
it?"

Mills nodded, sheepishly. "Bad idea, huh, boss?"

"Bad? It sucks and sucks big time, old pal." He scowled at Mills.

Mills said, the grin back on his face, "You want I should make the
list of lumberyards, or do you want to hog that honor for yourself?"

"You make it, Ron, I've got call-in lead interviews to conduct . . . "

* * * * * *

THERE WERE NINETEEN lumberyards and do-it-yourself places in the
immediate area. Besides Mills and himself, Caber assigned four other
detectives, two two-people teams, to the foot-working task. The
nineteen places were broken down among them as evenly as possible,
with Caber and Mills taking seven.

Amazingly, at lumberyard number three, Caber and Mills got a hit. The
clerk, a young man in his late teens, who handled the concrete brick
concession, so to speak, remembered a man, just nine months ago or so,
who had purchased a ton of the bricks.

"Yeah," he said. "Guy wanted four hundred of them, which, I can tell
ya, don't happen that often. We special ordered them for him and
delivered them, if I remember rightly, just a few days later."

Mills said, "Did he say what he planned to do with that many bricks?"

"Yeah, said he was gonna build a soundproof recording studio in his
basement. But, ha ha, he didn't seem to know diddly squat about making
musical recordings. He couldn't follow me when I started talking
equalizers and the like. Struck me as odd at the time, know what I
mean?"

Both men nodded. Caber asked, "What did he say about that?"

"Oh, he tried to recover, so to speak, by telling me he was only
making recordings of voices . . . you know, for those books on tapes,
but I felt he was lying about it. I figured he was one of those
freako's, who wanted to hold orgies in the cellar without the
neighbors hearing." He laughed. "But, hey, guys, you haven't told me
what this is all about yet. He some kind of wife-swapping perv?" The
kid looked all ears.

Mills adroitly lied to him. "Just routine crap. We're looking for a
guy we suspect of making pirated DVD's." That seemed to satisfy the
guy.

Caber said, "Any chance you have this guy's name and address on file?"
He hoped so, and suspected they did.

"Shit yeah, with our new system, I can call him up on my PC in
seconds! C'mon, I'll show ya." He led the men to his information
stand, an island kiosk in the center of the do-it-yourself section of
the store. 

"Watch this!" He typed in the words "concrete block" and in seconds,
as he had promised, a list of names, addresses, and even the type of
credit card used, came up. 

In the "Amount Ordered" column, most amounts were in the fairly normal
range. Two, four, even eight and twelve. No one, it seemed, ordered an
odd amount of the things. 

But one amount stood way, way out from the rest of the pack. 

On April 12th, of this year, one Leon Fiske, of 12 Pine Street,
Wallpine county, had ordered, and received, 400 gray builder's blocks,
size 6"x8"x16." He had also ordered and received, at the same time,
600, 12" square, 3/8" thick, vinyl soundproofing tiles. He had
returned two weeks later for an additional 16 bricks and 30 more
tiles.

"Well, I'll be!" said Mills, writing down the Pine Street address.
"Could be out Mr. Fiske is a pirate!" He chuckled. Caber chuckled,
too. The kid didn't.

On the way to their unmarked car, Caber said, "Well, this sure looks
promising, Ron, but we still have the four other stores . . ."

* * * * * *

BECAUSE all six detectives couldn't uncover any one else in the do-it-
yourself soundproofed room business except Fiske, he was the only one
Mills ran through AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification
System. While they lacked his fingerprints, they could run a name
search.

Fiske's name drew a blank. His prints were not in there. He had never
committed a crime. Of any nature. 

But when Mills ran "Leon Fiske" and "Leonard Fiske" through the police
crime reports files, the name did come up in connection to a crime. An
attempted kidnapping of a six-year old girl. Mills printed it out,
read it, and then showed the printout to Caber.

After reading that a guy had tried to grab a girl in a bank's parking
lot, two years ago, Caber asked, "They arrest him?"

"Nah, he was merely interviewed, along with eleven other men, whose
faces showed up on the bank's ATM camera. But . . . and this is
interesting . . . the mother of the girl was conked on the head from
behind as she was getting into her car. Knocked unconscious, just like
the Styffe woman." He smiled at Caber.

"Hmm, you said attempted, Ron, I take it the girl got away from him."

"Yeah, she did. It was winter, and when the guy slipped on some ice,
the girl squirmed loose and made a beeline for a supermarket. She
doesn't know just how lucky she was."

"For sure. No witnesses?" Mills shook his head. "Even the girl?"

"Nah, she was too shook up to see a thing. Plus the guy had his gloved
hand over her face." 

"So they interview this Fiske character and let him go. And, because
the girl is all right, they promptly forget all about him and
everybody goes home, happy and content." Caber looked up at the
ceiling. "Well, Mr. Leonard R. Fiske, looks like you're back in our
collective memories."

"Amen!" said Mills. "Well, I'm gonna run Fiske through every system I
can get my hot little hands on. He's still a long shot, but he's got
promise." He turned to leave and get started on knowing all he could
about the man named Leonard Reginald Fiske. Over his shoulder he
yelled back to Caber, "Besides, what else do we have to keep us sane?"

Caber quipped, "Psychics?" but it was doubtful Mills heard him . . .

* * * * * *

FISKE was under round-the-clock surveillance, and had been for ten
days now. So far, the man was reclusive.

"Shit," Mills said. "This guy never leaves his house. In ten days,
he's gone out just once, to do grocery shopping. Out a whole two
hours."

"What he buy?"

"Well, only two items a child might like to eat. Six packages of Ring
Dings, and three boxes of Cheerios. Granted, it don't mean much on the
surface, but with a suspicious mind such as I have, the man is guilty
as sin." He chuckled.

"What was it, Ron? The Ring Dings?" Caber laughed.

"That, and the fact that no normal guy buys three boxes of cereal at a
time. Never! If that ain't suspicious, I'll eat the cardboard boxes
they came in." He laughed. "Without sugar!"

"Well, until they revise the Cheerios purchasing law, we can't do shit
but sit and wait. And hope he gets careless somehow. If he's even our
guy, that is." Caber looked dejected.

"Yeah, sit and wait, while he's doing lord knows what to the child.
If, as you say, he has her that is, which, by the way, I feel in my
gut, he has. So there!" He scowled and then added, "Why don't we go
and knock on his door and have a little chat with him, real friendly
like, just to see his overall demeanor. It might shake him up a bit,
and make him nervous enough to want to move her."

"No, Ron, I don't think we should telegraph anything to him. Might
make him overreact and do something desperate with her. But how about
we pull some ruse, like using the fire department, or water works
people?"

"How about we just break in his fucking door and . . . "

"My favorite career buster! No stinkin' search warrant for us. No
probable cause. Just the straight old strong-arm Gestapo technique of
smash and grab . . . count me in, sieg heil, mein führer!" He laughed,
and clicked his heels together under the desk.

"Why not? We knock on his door and invite ourselves in. If he's got
nothing to hide, he let's us pass. On the other hand . . . "

"You know, Ron, why not? We can tell him we heard a women scream from
inside the house. You heard her, didn't you?"

"Sure did, she was real loud, too."

"Fuck, let's do it! It beats waiting . . . "

* * * * * *

LEONARD R. FISKE was in the middle of fucking Eve, in his soundproofed
basement room, so he didn't hear the two detective knocking loudly on
his front door. He also didn't hear them when Caber used his skills to
pick the lock. They both knew that the door had been open when they
went to inspect the cause of the women's screams.

Fiske had little Eve on a table, naked, her small butt even with the
edge. Her legs were resting up on his shoulders.

"Doesn't that feel good, my darling?" he asked.

"A little, but it also hurts, too." She winced, making her point.

"Don't worry, in time it will stop hurting and feel only good all the
time. You'll see." He pushed in and out of her, bottoming out at a
mere six-inches. He knew she would be able to accommodate his entire
length in time, as she grew taller.

"Ooooh, Mommy's gonna cum, sweetheart. Oooooh!" He came in her,
bareback, his cum sloshing out around the base of his cock. He
rebelted his robe and told Eve he was going to prepare her some
dinner. He went to the secret door and opened it. And there they were.

Once glance over Fiske's shoulder and Caber and Mills both had their
Glocks drawn. And pointed right at Fiske. Mills said, "Move a hair,
motherfucker, and it's the last hair you'll ever move. Put your hands
on the back of your head! Now!" Fiske complied. In mere seconds, Mills
had the man's hands behind the back and handcuffed. Caber rushed over
to Eve.

He quickly covered her nudity up with the small robe he found lying on
the floor alongside the bed. "Hello, Martha, I'm Gabe, are you okay?" 

She nodded and said, "That's my old name, Gabe. My new name is Eve. My
new mommy named me." She pointed to the handcuffed Fiske. Caber
sighed. He had seen this shit before.

"Well . . . Eve . . . we're going to take you out of here, back to
your real mommy. She's been missing you something fierce." He smiled
at her. She looked perplexed.

"My real mommy is dead and in heaven. My new mommy told me so." Again,
she pointed to Fiske.

"Well, he lied to you, honey. Your mommy is alive and just fine.
You'll see when I bring you to her." Caber looked around the room, but
the only clothing he could see for her was a pair of pajamas. He put
them on her.

"Now, sweetheart, let's get out of here . . . "

* * * * * *

LEONARD R. FISKE spent exactly four days in jail before he was
released, a free man, with no charges whatsoever being filed against
him. While the DA was totally sympathetic, the flagrant violations of
Fiske's rights by the two detectives meant that no evidence in the
house, including Eve herself, and even Fiske's sperm in her, could be
used against him. 

". . . and we were lucky," added John Moore, DA, to his diatribe,
"that Fiske didn't sue our asses off! What were you two clodhoppers
thinking? You break into his house; using the lamest probable cause
story I've heard in years, and blow any chance we have of making a
real case against him, clear out of the water. Christ, the Nazis had
less chutzpah!"

"Yeah, well," said Caber. "I'm glad we did. And, amazingly, so is my
Chief. He didn't even ask us to resign."

Mills tossed out, "That's right. And, John, old law book, for your
information, Martha's folks think we're pretty neat, too. They've got
two capes all picked out for their latest superheroes. Ta da!"

"You can laugh, you clowns, but this means that Fiske is free to do it
all over again. He's sold his house and moved out of town somewhere.
So tell me, Batman and Robin, what good will those capes be when
Fiske, now much smarter, grabs another Martha?" 

Mills said, looking at Caber, "I told you, Batty, we both shoulda shot
Fiske for wearing that summer robe on a winter's day!" He grinned at
Moore.

Caber said, "Is that still against the law in this state, Robby?" He,
too, grinned at Moore.

"Oh, yeah, Batso, and it's still a capital offense, too." Caber and
Mills now both grinned at Moore.

Moore just glared back at the two men . . 

* * * * * *

"HOLY MOLE SHIT, BATMAN!" Mills said. "Looks like we won't be needing
our capes after all when it comes to battling the evil Fiske." He
chuckled, and handed Caber a crime report printout.

It read, in essence, that one Leonard Reginald Fiske, aged 46, was
found in his car, six hundred miles from here, a victim of foul play.
A person, or persons unknown, had pumped six shots from a small
caliber pistol into him as he sat parked in front of the entrance to a
small park. 

The kind of park young mothers took their children to . . . 

The End.

Dear Reader: While fantasy and imagination are wonderful things, all
the Leonard R. Fiske wannabe's out there, and you know who you are,
who want to turn fantasy into reality, should keep one thought firmly
in mind: It's quietly becoming commonplace for parents to have a
satellite tracking chip implanted somewhere under their child's skin,
even at birth.

And you know you, Len, with your rotten bad luck, you'd end up as the
permanent day and night mouth and rectal servicer to a cellie called
Buster, who, along with his dozens of gang chums, will teach you, old
Lenny, real quick like, to call them more than just mommy!

As it has frequently been said, and it's the plain truth, "What goes
around, comes around . . . "