Story codes: Mg+, inc, cons, politics
Summary: A convicted child molester writes from prison and asks, who really is the bad guy?
The following work of fiction is written by Admiral Cartwright (a pseudonym) and presented for entertainment purposes only. Copyright © effective 2001. Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a violation of intellectual property law and may result in some serious shit. Unless, of course, you ask the author first.
“Excellent, and thought-provoking. Beautifully done.”
“A work of the highest caliber. It makes you truly think about today’s mores and your own sense of right and wrong, while truly entertaining the reader.”
“A true sensual experience—feel, taste, texture. Real characters with quirks, temperament, personality. Inventive. The opening exchange is dead-on.”
“Steadfastly erotic—and downright sinful.”
“Truly another masterpiece.”
PLEASE READ: written descriptions of sexual activity have been determined by numerous courts and legislatures worldwide to be lawful to produce and consume, including depictions of ‘UA’ characters. However, such law may not apply in your area of origin; further, readers may be required to be of legal age in their respective locations. If your local laws prohibit you from consuming such material, stop now.
The author does not endorse or condone sexual activity involving persons deemed by applicable law to be incapable of consent thereto.
A Letter from Your Worst Nightmare was intended to be the final story ever written by Admiral Cartwright; as a colleague so aptly stated, I had an itch, and I’d scratched it, retiring in 2001.
Fifteen years later, the ‘itch’ returned. For how long? No idea.
A Letter from Your Worst Nightmare
Ms. Castilleja already was waiting for me as I was ushered into the small, simple room this morning. A single wooden bench spanned the distance between four booths, each with no more than a telephone, a metal countertop, and heavy glass teasing me with life on the outside.
We each took our respective positions—hers in a far more comfortable chair—and picked up a receiver. “Good morning, Mister Phelps,” she beamed.
My smirk was almost imperceptible. “I see the television was your babysitter, too, eh?”
“Never mind,” I finished, brushing off the question in her eyes. I held her gaze, however, in an effort to see into the person behind those eyes and, perhaps, to shake her up. Just a little.
“So-o-o-o ...” she began nervously.
“So, miz court-appointed psychiatrist,” I continued for her, with but a trace of sarcasm, “why am I in here, and you’re out there?”
Her tone was more patronising even than my own. “Um, because a court of law decided that you need to be kept separate from the rest of civilisation.”
“I see. And, just what the hell is “civilisation”, anyway?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.
“Consider the man who looks at child pornography, almost every day,” I answered. “He does it at work; he does it at home. He finds his victims and stalks them, relentlessly; sometimes, they never escape. Lives are ruined in the name of his twisted desire. But, he’s convinced that what he’s doing is for your own good, and he’ll convince you, too.
“Sound like anyone you know?”
My shrink-without-a-choice shifted uncomfortably in her chair, gripping the receiver hard, staring into my eyes from the other side of the glass. “The paedophile,” she began evenly, “will say or do anything to justify his actions.”
I smiled; a cold, almost sad smile. “I wasn’t referring to the paedophile,” I explained. “I was talking about the law enforcement officer who persecutes him.”
Ms. Castilleja blinked. Suddenly looking much younger and more frail than her late-20s-and-perfectly-pressed visage, she regarded me for a moment before closing her mouth and hanging up the receiver.
She rose, shaking visibly, then turned and walked out without so much as looking back. I was quite certain I’d never see her again.
My name is Harold Phelps, but you may call me Hal. Yes, I’m in prison.
First, I must serve three years for felony possession of child pornography, then an additional eight years for using it to seduce a child under 14. Okay, technically, I’ll serve eighty-five percent of those eleven years, called a ‘determinate term’; the ‘indeterminate term’ follows, 25 years minimum, to life—the same as if I’d murdered someone.
Why? It’s called ‘Three Strikes and You’re Out,’ and it’s the law in California and many other states. Three serious felonies, you’re imprisoned for good, or awfully close. Only, they managed to pull it off against me, a man with no prior criminal record, all in a single trial.
How, you ask?
Six young girls have come to me over the years—that’s right, they came to me—desperate for the attention they could not get at home. Somewhere along the line, one of them let slip that I had nasty pictures on my computer, or that I was sexually active with them, and law enforcement took over. Detectives and psychiatrists convinced three of my ‘victims’ to testify, on videotape, questioned only by ‘The People’ with no cross-examination, and no objection. I never got to face my ‘accusers’.
True, my attorney was able to interview the girls and, afterward—at my instruction—he presented an unusual and unpopular defense: that each girl would, by her own admission, choose to continue a relationship with me if given that option.
I’ll give you three guesses how the jury responded ...
The bombshell came when the prosecution argued at the sentencing hearing that my ‘acts’ with each of my ‘victims’ should be treated as separate and distinct crimes, thus eligible for a lifetime behind bars.
Probation officers noted my lack of remorse, and agreed; so did the judge. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘throw the book at him’?
My life, as I knew it, was over.
I can thank Deputy District Attorney Art Horst (that’s A. Arthur Horst, Esq., to you) for that. We stayed very close friends even after I left law school to “pursue other interests.” Several years ago, we happened to meet up at a local social function, and he took me aside. “I’ve about had it with my job, I don’t know how much more I can take of this,” he confided.
“Of what?” I asked.
“I’m heading up the Crimes Against Children Arm, and that means I get to put child abusers away,” he started.
“What’s wrong with that?” I countered, honestly.
“Well, these fucks usually have tons of kiddy porn,” he continued. “I have to look through it; I have to find images vile enough to prove my case to a jury, but not so horrendous that I’m making them throw up, and beg off the case.
“Very few people have to look at that stuff, and I have to remember what used to turn my stomach, but only a little. Now, I’ve seen so goddamn much of that shit that I don’t trust my own judgment anymore.”
Up until that moment, I’d never seen a pornographic image involving a child, nor had I looked at anyone much younger than 15 in a sexual way. Seriously. “Oh, come on,” I said, quite familiar with adult porn myself, “it can’t be that bad.”
His look was of disdain. “Tell you what ... meet me at the office tomorrow, and see if you don’t agree with me.”
The look on Art’s face the following morning told me he’d meant what he said—his expression was pure I’d like to be anywhere else but here right now. On his computer was what would turn out to be a rather tame image, by comparison; an obviously adult penis violating the obviously immature rectum of a very young girl. The image was shocking, to say the least ... but I didn’t find it revolting.
Not that I was going to let Art in on that, mind you. I acted as disgusted as I thought appropriate.
“My God, how old is she?”
“About six,” he responded.
Some of the pictures he proceeded to show me over the next 20 minutes or so actually were quite disgusting; many involved masochistic poses, or children crying in obvious pain, forced to endure God knows what wasn’t photographed.
But, there were others.
In many of the images, the child seemed to be enjoying herself—sometimes himself. Most involved a girl fellating an adult male, sometimes deeply; often, fresh semen could be seen shooting onto girls’ bodies, onto faces, into open mouths. One girl smiled as she seemed to be swallowing her partner’s hot load. Penetration usually involved the anus of the younger girls, but many of those about nine years old and up were fucked vaginally, to their seeming enjoyment.
It was then I realised, not quite in horror, that I was enjoying these apparently consensual poses. I was thankful that my tight briefs were hiding the throbbing erection constrained within. How would I explain that to my friend?
“Art,” I began, “you’re right. I don’t see how you can stand to look at this shit day after day.” Every two or three days, maybe ...
I was hooked.
(Okay, let’s be fair: it sounds like I’m blaming Art for this, and I’m not, really—even though he ended up prosecuting me [my counsellor unsuccessfully argued “conflict of interest”]. All he did that day, I’m sure, was awaken a sleeping desire I either wasn’t aware of, or had been suppressing. But, by then, the beast was loose.)
Girl Number One:
At the time I first saw those nasty pictures, my daughter was five years old, but she preferred to hang out with older girls in the neighbourhood. That was both good and bad for Lori: a very intelligent little lady, most girls her own age could not engage her in stimulating conversation, but most older girls often acted, especially in groups, like Lori wasn’t even there. That hurt her, and me as her father.
Lori, at five, was not a sexual being to me in any way. Some of her friends, on the other hand ...
Brittany was nine years old. I don’t think her name really was ‘Brittany’—the rest of her Hispanic family had ethnic-appropriate names—but she was something of an outcast, desperate to fit in anywhere, and likely made up whatever fit the moment.
The girl was born deformed; a problem with the development of her right side had left her shoulder hunched and one leg obviously shorter. It was such a shame that other children couldn’t see past that to her face, because she was amazingly pretty.
Brittany seemed to like the attention I gave the girls when they were playing, and I took a chance one morning. Leaving my bedroom to find that my daughter already had invited Brittany inside to play Nintendo (I gently scolded her for it later), I sat in the armchair beside the nine-year-old and let the head of my penis poke out of my loose-fitting shorts. My first sexual charge came only moments later, when she noticed.
Brittany actually seemed to be salivating at the sight!
Naturally, seeing that reaction gave me a raging hard-on, and all six-and-a-half inches of throbbing adult cock soon were hers to see. I had to readjust my position slightly to avoid showing off to my daughter as well but, when she wasn’t playing her turn, Brittany couldn’t take her eyes off my member. Indeed, she seemed to be ‘killing’ herself at the game far too quickly so she could turn her attention back to our ‘game’.
As if that wasn’t forward enough, the little girl volunteered to retrieve a toy she saw under the chair—and, not coincidentally, under me—to get a closer look at a huge (well, to her) hard-on now pointing straight at her. I certainly did not object; indeed, I leant back slightly to give her a better view.
The question was, how forward would she be, especially with my daughter in the room? (My wife would not be home for about 45 minutes; we worked graduating shifts to avoid having to put Lori in day care, and she also worked some weekends, like today.) Getting an idea, I yawned obviously, and pretended to nod off in the chair. Peeking carefully, I could see Brittany inch closer to me between turns on the Nintendo. Finally, my daughter announced a little too loudly that she had to use the loo and, seconds later, I saw a hand reaching for my pulsing meat.
Brittany took my cock into her hand softly, as if trying not to awaken me, and slid back and forth a few times, getting the feel of my engorged, slightly spongy head and rock-hard shaft. She seemed as knowledgeable as she was gentle, and I wondered just how desperate to ‘fit in’ she’d already been with a man.
Just then, the toilet flushed, and Brittany’s hand returned to her side. With the ice broken, however, she’d soon get even more bold.
Whenever Lori was playing, her nine-year-old friend tried to sit in such a way that she was between me and my daughter, so Lori couldn’t tell what Brittany’s right hand was doing. It was back on my cock in a flash, gently rubbing, prodding, feeling and otherwise playing with her new toy. Once, she surprised me by leaning over and licking the pre-cum from the tip, sending an electric charge that made my hair stand up. I moaned, slightly, hoping Brittany would keep it up (heh heh).
The doorbell rang, breaking the spell. Pretending to wake up, I readjusted myself and let Lori answer the door. It was Brittany’s big sister, and our little friend had to leave. “Thanks for coming, see you again soon,” I said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.
A few minutes later, in the bathroom, my own hand felt better than ever!
I saw Brittany again on Wednesday, as I arrived home from work mid-afternoon. My wife already had gone to bed (thank goodness for the heavy drapes in the bedroom) and the older girl was babysitting, more or less. She had to leave a few minutes later, though, and I had no chance to try the next step.
Friday would be different. Friday, Brittany was over to play again, my wife was in bed again, and this time I was back in my shorts and relaxing with a cold beer in a flash. Again, Brittany paid close attention to my cock as it stood from confinement like a lone soldier out of formation.
Asking Brittany if I could play some of her turns on the Nintendo, I sat directly behind her on the coffee table. Turned toward me, she’d get a face full of cock, and she did; but she was afraid to touch me while I was ‘awake’.
So, I tried to take more of a lead.
When it was her turn, or Lori’s, I’d massage Brittany’s back and shoulders, occasionally reaching toward the front and brushing my hands over two slight bumps where her breasts someday would be. Perhaps getting the hint, she began to lean back when I’d rub her, and my hard cock would rest on her cheek. She seemed to like that, but she wouldn’t take any further initiative. Somehow, I had to get the point across that it was okay.
An idea hit me a few minutes later as her head rested against my leg, her face inches from my hard-on. I ‘died’ quickly to end my turn at the game, and told Brittany there was something in her eye. Holding the back of her head, I gently wiped away at an imaginary speck of something while gently touching the head of my penis to her lips. They parted slightly, and I gently pulled her head a tiny bit closer. I could feel her teeth on the tip of my hard cock, and I kept brushing at the ‘speck’ in her eye, hoping her mouth soon would open.
Finally, she obliged, and I pulled her head slightly toward me again. When the head of my cock was fully in her mouth, Lori’s turn ended, and Brittany let me pop from her mouth and went back to the Nintendo. She played a bit longer this time, as if she wasn’t sure she should return to what she was doing with me, but her turn soon was over. Turning toward me again, Brittany seemed to have a question in her expression, glancing between my legs and back up to my eyes.
I smiled, and nodded yes.
Brittany smiled, took hold of my penis with one hand, and let it enter her mouth again, this time much deeper. I tried not to moan too loudly; God forbid Lori should look around and see what we were doing. Her friend hardly was an expert fellatrix, but Brittany was pretty damned good for a nine-year-old.
Like I had any experience on which to base that statement ...
For the next fifteen minutes, we alternated between playing with the Nintendo and with each other, as I occasionally caressed her tit-bumps or her immature pussy through her clothing while receiving slowly improving head. Silently, I showed her how to use her tongue and, soon, the only downside was when it was our turn at the game.
Brittany was busy with the controller when I heard my bedroom door open, and my wife went in to use the bathroom.
Whew. Nice timing.
I didn’t see my new little lover for more than a week after that, and I had to admit I got a little worried. Nevertheless, I had to figure I wasn’t in any trouble, or I’d have been arrested by now. Besides, I knew Brittany had had at least a little experience with a man, so it was less likely that she’d tell; that was the reason I was so bold with her in the first place. Now, though, I wondered if we’d gone too far, too fast.
Sunday morning, I awoke to find Brittany playing games with Lori. Gently chiding my daughter again (“Please wake me up and ask me first, okay?”), I then said hello to her friend. The nine-year-old smiled brightly, with a twinkle of wickedness in her eyes.
That was a relief!
We played ‘Sorry!’ while Brittany occasionally reached under the table to play with my willy, again poking obscenely from my shorts. After a short while, I got the hint, and began caressing her upper thighs and, to my surprise, her naked pussy. She was wearing nothing under her skirt!
Lori got bored soon, and wanted to play with another friend next door. She invited Brittany, and the two of them left. My wife, who usually gets home at about 7:30am, was asked to stay late, and she had agreed, so I was alone in the house and decided to hop into the shower. I was just rinsing off when the doorbell rang; it was Brittany. She said she had told my daughter and our next-door neighbour that she had to go home, and came here to see me instead. I looked out to see if anyone was watching; with no one in sight, I let her in.
Brittany heard the shower running, and peeled off her clothes, pulling me behind her. I didn’t know exactly when my wife would come home, and I told Brittany so. She looked crestfallen.
Except, I had an idea. Shutting off the shower and throwing Brittany’s clothes into the bathroom, I led her back into the living room and laid her on the couch closest to the door. My wife hadn’t taken her keys to work, knowing I’d be home all day, and I locked the door, explaining that she’d have to knock to get in. If need be, Brittany could run into the bathroom and put her clothes back on, and I’d throw my t-shirt and shorts on, open the door, and say Lori’s friend dropped by and had to use the bathroom before heading next door.
It was perfect, or so we hoped.
The nasty little vixen on the couch in front of me had her legs splayed and was rubbing herself the entire time I was contriving our explanations, and I lost all sense of control, diving in to that soft, hairless muff. Brittany tasted good, really good—almost sweet. I allowed the tip of my tongue to trace a gentle line up one tiny pussy lip and down the other, almost as if applying eyeliner. Stopping at her engorged clit, I flicked my tongue gently up and down, then back and forth, causing her legs to twitch involuntarily. Within moments, her hole opened much wider than it should have under pressure from my tongue, and I decided to test her virginity with my finger, only to find it a thing of the past.
How desperate, indeed, I thought.
Standing up, I guided her mouth to my penis, asking her to get it nice and wet. Slicked-up within just a few seconds, I returned to my knees and guided my cockhead to her little hole. My harder-than-usual prick slipped in with only a little difficulty, and Brittany seemed distressed only for a moment; then, her jaw fell open, her head fell back, and she let out a guttural moan that argued with her youth.
All six-and-a-half inches of Hal Phelps slid in and out of this nine-year-old girl’s love hole, and we both seemed to be loving every minute. Her tight sleeve felt like a silken glove made for me alone; I would not be long for this journey.
I wondered, honestly, if this young girl could come with me; I had no idea, not having any previous experience with these things. I tried tickling her nipple-bumps, and she shuddered, riding my cock a little harder. Licking a finger, I moved it to her little clit to see if that would help. Almost instantly, her body stiffened, she let out a short “Ack!” and began to shake as if electrocuted. My building orgasm began at that instant, filling her immature pussy with my hot come, and I pumped until I had nothing left.
Resting on my hands so as not to smother this little girl under me, I could hear only my heart thumping in my ears, and our ragged breathing. It seemed like several minutes before Brittany opened her eyes and smiled at me. I leant down, kissing her for the first time, and her tongue dueled expertly with mine.
“Thank you,” I breathed.
She giggled. “Thank you!”
Brittany used the bathroom, put on her clothes, gave me a goodbye kiss and skipped out the door.
I never saw her again; I was at work when she said she was moving, and bade a tearful goodbye to Lori and my wife.
Girl Number Two:
Kailyn was as opposite from Brittany as two people could be: WASP through and through, Kailyn was towheaded, fair-skinned and well shaped for her nine years. Closer to ten, really, she’d already developed fair-sized breastlets, amazingly soft and spongy to the touch. Her unusually narrow waist set off her developing hips just a bit too much, in my opinion, but that didn’t make her any less sexy.
Apparently, her father thought so, too, but I was convinced he was abusing the little girl. She cringed in obvious fear every time she heard his voice, cross or not. I constantly caught her rubbing her crotch, but in a manner that suggested she was in pain.
Another hint lay in the fact that she was always asking me for hugs.
I built Kailyn’s trust slowly; gently caressing non-sensual parts of her body anytime she was within arm’s reach. Of course, Kailyn was very ticklish, so I had to rub just hard enough to avoid making her jump through the ceiling.
One afternoon, she and Lori were watching something on TV when Kailyn spread herself across my lap, face down, and asked softly for a backrub. With one hand (the other held my drink), I massaged just hard enough to work out the kinks in her young muscles, and she melted into my lap, the warmth almost radiant.
Working ever so slowly, I slipped one narrow strap of her blouse over Kailyn’s shoulder, and rubbed there. Her heart seemed to pound for a moment, then slowed again. Gently pinching the span between her shoulder and neck, I worked gradually to her hairline, easing some more tension and bringing a soft moan from her lips.
The other shoulder strap soon followed its twin, and I made it slowly to Kailyn’s upper back, skin-on-skin. By now, she was downright hot to the touch, and enjoying every squeeze of my fingers. Slowly, I pushed her blouse toward her waist; soon, she pushed it herself the rest of the way.
Leaning forward, I put my drink on the table, and began to rub with both hands. Kailyn jumped, squealing that my hand was cold! (Oops!) Apologising, I rubbed my hands together until they felt warm, and I resumed my ministrations. Lori had heard the squeal and came over to us, asking why Kailyn’s shirt was almost off. I explained that backrubs usually feel better without clothing in the way, and asked her if it was okay to massage her friend.
“Only if I get one, too,” she replied, then returned to her TV program.
Yup. Too smart for my own good. (Yes, she got a backrub later.)
I had never seen Kailyn more relaxed; in fact, I thought she’d fallen asleep. Gently tickling her ribs made her jump and roll halfway away from me, complaining (with a big smile), “Don’t do that!” I smiled back, and noticed that her growing chest was exposed for me to see. “Wow,” I said, “you’re really becoming quite the young lady already. They’re beautiful,” I added, hoping the compliment would stop her from rolling back over.
“Thanks,” she said with a giggle and an honest smile, and no trace of modesty. As if answering my unspoken desire, she rolled the rest of the way onto her back, and began watching whatever it was Lori was watching.
By then, I’d long since stopped paying attention to the TV. You could hold a gun to my head right now, and I wouldn’t remember what was on.
Kailyn’s seeming invitation notwithstanding, I was not about to move too fast, and break her trust. I began a gentle, one-handed massage of her belly. She did not complain when I brushed above her ribcage, so I kept moving very slowly upward. Her breathing did quicken a bit, however, when I ran my hand up her breastbone between two tiny globelets. Geez, even I felt an electric charge as my thumb passed within about an inch of her swelling areola.
Her head turned from the television to face straight up, and her eyes closed. Without any doubt, now, I had her permission to proceed.
Rubbing just hard enough to avoid tickling her, I crossed from breastlet to shoulder to the other side, trying not to pay too much attention to the buds alone. Her tiny nipples distended just enough to scratch my palm slightly each time I made a pass. Kailyn’s chest rose and fell rapidly now, excited by my touch.
“Why is your willy hard?”
Why, indeed, I thought. She was not alone in her new journey to pleasure: my penis was throbbing, and poking Kailyn in the back. “Well,” I answered, choosing my words carefully, “when a beautiful girl enjoys being with me ...”
It was then I noticed her use of language: a boy’s name for his penis.
“My ‘willy’,” I finished, “enjoys her company, too.”
Staring straight into mine, Kailyn’s eyes betrayed her terror—sheer terror, it seemed—but she made no effort to move. I smiled. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
The nine-year-old actually looked puzzled, as if she’d never been given that option before. Considering the circumstances just for a moment, she smiled, reached up for a long hug, and laid back down over my lap, and the throbbing meat in the middle.
As I resumed my gentle caress upon her young chest, my hands reveling in the silken, marshmallowy texture below them, I decided I’d take things no further than that—just yet.
Kailyn was back the next day, wearing a one-piece bathing suit that showed off her pre-womanly charms all too well. For a while, she mostly ignored me, playing games with Lori instead. Every now and again, though, she’d look at me and smile sweetly.
I wondered for a moment if she was testing my promise that I wouldn’t force her into anything. Perhaps so; it took more than an hour of playtime before Kailyn approached me. When she did, however, she asked again for a backrub. “Absolutely,” I responded, and Kailyn immediately pulled the straps of her suit down over her shoulders, exposing her young buds to me yet again, before settling across my lap.
This time, my cock responded almost immediately; and, this time, Kailyn was more forward.
Sliding slightly off my lap, the almost-ten-year-old moved one hand up to my knee and the other to my hip, allowing my pulsing manhood to touch her arm through the material of my shorts, loose enough to allow my nearly-seven-inch erection to stand almost straight up. She stared at the bulge for the longest time as my hands worked the muscles in her young back, and then reached almost under the bathing suit to the very edge of her round bottom.
As if getting the hint, Kailyn used both hands to pull her suit down over her soft cheeks. As her hands moved back up, one rested quite obviously next to my hard-on.
If I wasn’t experienced with preteen pussy already—if only barely—I might’ve come right there.
I decided to take something of a lead for a moment, and reached toward the leg of my shorts, pulling them up to expose myself, so erect I almost hurt. Leaving the next step to her, my hands then found their way back to the softness of her young ass, and I kneaded her cheeks firmly.
For a while, Kailyn continued to do no more than stare at my prick. Slowly, she moved her hand to my balls and tested them, as if truly exploring a man’s sex for the first time. She tickled and hefted them, comparing the size of each with the other, and my engorged cock truly was in pain by the time she finally allowed her fingertips to explore the shaft.
I almost jumped when her tongue replaced her fingers on the wrinkled skin of my scrotum.
Kailyn was very slow, as if pushing herself to take each step. Like licking an ice cream cone, her tongue traced a line straight up the shaft to the head of my cock. There was no flicking of the tongue, like a more experienced woman would do, but a gentle trail straight from one point to the other. Nevertheless, since this is the most sensitive part of my penis, it was nearly electric.
It took everything I had not to shove Kailyn off of me when I noticed to my horror that Lori was watching intently. Putting my finger to my lips, I urged her silence, and motioned that everything was okay. Lori complied, clearly fascinated.
(Later, I told my daughter that Kailyn sometimes acted as if an adult she knew was forcing her to do sex things—the basic facts of life were explained to Lori already, so she knew what ‘sex things’ were—and I wanted to give her friend the chance to try it at her own pace. Naturally, I also mentioned that adults and kids aren’t really supposed to do it even if they want to, so I was risking a lot of trouble. Lori said she understood, and bounded off to play.)
Kailyn continued to use her tongue tentatively, as if she were afraid of what my penis might do otherwise. I used my fingers to point my hard cock straight at her, and she licked the tip in much the same way.
“I’ll bet it’ll fit nicely into your mouth,” I offered.
“Okay, but don’t push,” she said.
Ah ha. Got it, I said to myself.
Allowing only the head to slide in at first, her tentative lips moved back and forth only a little. When I didn’t prod her any further, she decided I was good to my word, and let a little more slide in. Soon, her tongue was getting into the act; no doubt the result of someone’s previous instructions.
That was all I could take. “I’m going to squirt some stuff, sweetie,” I warned. She stopped moving and began to jack me off with her hand, the head of my penis still inside her mouth, once again as if those were her orders. “You can keep moving your mouth if you want,” I suggested, and she smiled, moved her hand away, and resumed sucking.
“There’s a lot ... get ready ... yeah!” I almost screamed, as orgasm took over my body. My first squirt was powerful, and she almost choked. Kailyn held her breath and moved back and forth in shorter strides, taking not much more than the head past her lips. Pumping repeatedly, I was sure her mouth must’ve been full, but nothing leaked out. She looked into my eyes, and hers were smiling. When finally I stopped ejaculating, Kailyn swallowed and gave me a huge smile.
“Wow, that’s a lot nicer than Da—um, I mean my, uh, you, that tastes really good!”
I wasn’t so drained that my face didn’t show my surprise. Ignoring what she almost said, I asked, “Really? You like that?” Of course, I’d never tasted my own cum; neither had my wife, for that matter—not much into that sort of thing.
“Yeah, that’s good!” she finished.
I looked over to where Lori had been sitting. Seeing nothing exciting, apparently, she’d gone back to her toys.
“Kailyn,” I asked, “may I do the same for you?”
Uncertainty gave way to mild enthusiasm. “Um ... okay.”
Leaning to my side to lie on the couch, I motioned Kailyn on top of me. It took a few moments for her to get the idea; clearly, no one had done this for her before. With a throw pillow under my head and her pretty little cheeks pointing straight up into the air, I let my tongue make its first contact with Kailyn’s soft vulva.
Not surprisingly, she jumped, squealing like a little girl after a poke to the ribs. “I know, it tickles a bit,” I said, “but you’ll get used to it.” She settled back down, and my tongue resumed its journey into this forbidden fruit. The more I tasted, the more Kailyn melted, and soon she was purring over my reawakening cock, kissing and licking it to full staff once again.
I began eating her with a little more enthusiasm, and she took my cock back into her mouth, sucking down more than half. That forced me to crane my neck toward her sex somewhat, but I wasn’t complaining. Seconds later, I felt that familiar twitch in her legs, and she screamed through her nose as her body stiffened; jerking hard, then stopping, then jerking hard again, on-again off-again, until she literally collapsed, accidentally shoving my cock all the way into her throat.
The weirdest thing happened then: I felt Kailyn choke once, then her breathing returned to a ragged-but-regular pace, with my cock still past her gullet! She was breathing fine, so I let her come back to Earth for a couple of minutes.
“Kailyn,” I began when her breathing was near normal, “did you know my willy is all the way down your throat?”
She slid it out completely, then slid it all the way back in. “Wow, I can do that?” she asked, proud of herself.
“Yeah,” I said, “and you’ll probably make me come again if you keep sucking it like that!”
I think she said “Cool!” before I disappeared into her throat again, well on my way to feeding my new little lover for a second time.
For the next couple of weeks, every time Kailyn came over, either she brought another friend with her or my wife was awake. We weren’t able to do anything else for a while. I did notice something, however: Kailyn hadn’t been rubbing her crotch in pain lately.
I found out why soon afterward: Kailyn lived about a block away, but her grandparents were right across the street from our house. She stayed there as often as her father would let her.
Kailyn came over one afternoon when my wife and our daughter were seeing the paediatrician for a routine appointment. Her timing was perfect; since we had only one car at the time, my family would not be home until I picked them up.
As luck would have it, though, Kailyn wouldn’t let me touch her baby-soft pubes that day. She was too sore, she said. She did, on the other hand, want to suck me again, and I leant back to let her go to work. Lifting my shorts, Kailyn noticed that I’d only begun to stir at the thought of another wonderful blowjob from this little lady, and I fought to keep from getting hard too fast. She caressed the blood-filled tube gently with her whole hand, feeling the soft skin before the shaft had the chance to thicken.
“Why isn’t it getting hard?” she asked.
“I’m trying not to,” I answered, “because you looked like you wanted to touch it while it was soft.”
Kailyn smiled, leant over, and took all four inches or so of soft cock into her mouth. Using a technique she must’ve learned recently from someone at whom I could wage a fair guess, she tickled the underside of my cock with her tongue, and I could no longer fight off my erection. As my blood pumped southward, engorging my penis, Kailyn gagged for one brief instant as the growing head passed the threshold to her throat, but she held fast. Soon, an intense hard-on was obvious only by the widened ‘O’ of her lips.
“Whoa, damn,” I breathed. “You’re good!”
Still tracing the underside with her tongue, Kailyn backed slowly off of my throbbing meat until it nearly popped from her mouth, then slid back down just as slowly until my pubic hair tickled her nose. Growing weak from the sheer perfection of the feeling, I let my head fall back into my easy chair and reveled in the pleasure of this nine-year-old’s mouth.
To this moment, I can’t quite describe it. How do you put into words what feels almost like silk, if silk could be hot and wet and slippery?
Even that scarcely does it justice.
With every stroke, Kailyn took it all as if looking for more, where I had no more. A slow boil began from somewhere seemingly beneath me, and I regained my senses long enough to find out just how nasty she really could be. “Open your mouth,” I commanded gently, and she obliged. “Show me your tongue.” Almost the moment I saw the pink wetness, I began to squirt, so hard that the first shot missed her tongue entirely and landed in her throat. Each jet that followed had better aim, covering her little tongue until the pink was almost gone. Kailyn’s eyes were fixed on mine, as if deriving pleasure from my pleasure; the corners of her mouth were turned up in a slight smile.
Admiring my handiwork, I kidded that it was a shame we were out of film, otherwise I could take a really naughty picture. Kailyn snorted slightly with laughter, and I asked, “Would you like to swallow all that hot stuff?” I asked. She nodded.
I smiled. “Eat it all up.”
All patience gone, Kailyn’s tongue was back in her mouth in a flash, and she swallowed what must have been at least a tablespoon of my cum. Suddenly, the ‘little girl’ was back as she jumped up and into my lap, hugging me as tightly as she could.
A few minutes later, I fucked up.
“You know,” I started, “you have a talent most grown-up women will never have. And, when you’re the one who gets to say yes or no, you really love to show it.”
Kailyn smiled uncertainly. “I only wish,” I continued, “that your father could understand that.”
In an instant, tears were flooding her eyes, and she let go, sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder. I held her tightly, my arms jerking with her sobs, until finally she got it all out. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, I don’t know how many times.
When finally Kailyn looked at me again, her eyes red and puffy, she said, “How did you know?”
“You always act like you want to hide from him, and your little pussy always hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Kailyn, sweetie, you have the power, not him,” I said. “Men who abuse little girls get arrested and go to prison because they hurt people.”
The nine-year-old’s tears welled up again as she interrupted me. “I don’t want my daddy to go away,” she wailed.
“I know,” I tried to soothe her as best I could, “but you don’t want him to hurt you, either, right? Sometimes we have to make a choice.
“Kailyn, listen to me: the choice is yours, not his. Remember that.”
It was weird watching Kailyn on the videotape at my trial last year. 15, and beautiful, she was not cooperating with the unseen interviewers at first, until someone lied to her. “We don’t want to put him in prison,” said the female voice, “we just want to get him the help he needs. Don’t think Hal is better than your father just because he didn’t force you. He took advantage of the fact that you were hurt so much, and used you for his own pleasure.”
(Well, okay, that’s not entirely untrue. At least I admit it ...)
“Help us,” continued the disembodied voice, “help him. Please?”
Kailyn then opened up, relating much the same story you’ve just read, until she interrupted herself. “Wait, that’s what you people said about my father, too!” She then started to deny everything, and the tape went black.
When my solicitor finally tracked her down, she was living at a home for teens, in therapy and drug diversion. “Tell him ‘I’m sorry’,” was all she said.
It’s a good thing I’m in here, I suppose; if I ever find the person who raped her emotionally, I’ll ... well, I guess my sentence would be about the same, huh? Then again, some of you no doubt will argue that the ‘rapist’ stares back at me from the mirror.
You know what? I’m not completely sure you’d be wrong.
Oh—before I forget, if you’re wondering about her father, he’s already back on the outside. As far as I know, he’s never seen her again. Good thing ...
Girl Number Three:
Alicia was Kailyn’s best friend. We almost never saw the two of them together, because they tended to ignore Lori when they were together. Alone, however, each came to our house at least twice a week, sometimes more.
Alicia came to me for a different reason from the rest: she’d walked in on her mother and stepfather one day. They let her ask a few questions and touch a few body parts, but turned her away each time she wanted to know more.
She, simply put, was not going to take no for an answer.
I awoke one morning to see Lori and Alicia on their knees on the bed, each on either side of me. (Lori had let a friend inside again; a habit I never did break.) The sheet covered me from about the navel down.
To my horror, I noticed that the girls had ice cubes! Seriously, I have no clue where they got that idea ...
No, I didn’t stop them. In fact, I pretended to remain asleep through their little game. It probably will come as no surprise that I got a raging hard-on as they ‘painted’ me.
Alicia noticed, and started rubbing her ice cube more toward my lower belly. Faking discomfort from the cold (not much of an act!), I moved my legs enough to grab some of the sheet between my toes. Slowly, so as not to blow my cover (heh heh, pun intended), I pulled the sheet downward until I could just see the shaft of my penis under the receding tent. Again, Alicia noticed, and it was only moments before her head was lying on my belly to get a view of my erect cock.
Needless to say, her ice cube found its way slightly southward. I moved a little more, again feigning discomfort, and the sheet fell over, exposing the whole of my meat to the early morning air. With nothing obstructing her view, Alicia lifted her head, and applied ice to my upper thighs.
Pretending to be asleep never has been more difficult!
“Lori, I need more ice,” I heard Alicia say, and my daughter obediently went to get more. Once Lori had left the room, her eight-year-old friend lost her inhibitions and took my cock into her hand. It pulsed, and she jumped, startled. Satisfied that I was still ‘asleep’, she resumed her inspection of my package, moving it around and looking at it from all angles until Lori returned.
Guessing that Alicia wouldn’t touch it again with my daughter present—and, having had enough of the ice—I pretended to begin waking up. Quickly, the sheet was pulled back over me, and the girls left the room, closing the door.
Over the next several weeks, it became obvious that Alicia was nowhere near as bold as Kailyn. A few times, I tried my favorite icebreaker, sitting where possible to allow my penis to poke from my shorts. Alicia glanced at it quickly a few times, then turned away as if embarrassed.
A few more early mornings were different: the girls would gently tickle me (I’d told Lori that ice cubes were a no-no) as I lay in bed, pretending to be asleep. Each time, my increasingly erect penis would somehow show itself, and Alicia would study it as closely as she thought she could get away with while Lori was in the room. When my daughter left, however, her older friend would fondle me again, as if thrilling in her forbidden game.
Once, Lori decided to go outside to see if Kailyn was home (she could call out from across the street, but we didn’t let her go over alone just yet). With my daughter gone, and me seemingly still asleep, Alicia actually kissed my throbbing cock; first the head, then the underside almost to my balls, and back to the head, all very tentatively. I figured it was time to take my chance.
“Alicia?” I said, softly. She jumped backward, almost falling off the edge of the bed. “That feels really good, honey, but we’d both get in trouble if anyone found out you’re doing this.”
(I put a little extra emphasis on the word “you’re”. I didn’t want her to know just yet that I’d be the one getting in the most trouble.)
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to know what it felt like.”
“Did you ever feel one before?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she responded, sheepishly, “But he only let me touch it once. He said he’d tell me more when I get older.”
“And ... you don’t want to wait, huh?”
I tried to look thoughtful for a few moments before speaking up. “Tell you what,” I started. “If you promise to keep it a secret between you and me”—I was getting good at this—“I’ll let you ask questions and try things when you want to.”
“But, listen,” I finished, “if I think you’re trying to go too far or do too much, you will trust me. I’m not going to let you hurt yourself, got it?”
“How would I hurt myself?”
“I suppose you saw someone doing “sex things”; and you wanted to learn, right?” I guessed.
“Did you see his penis, like this one,” I said, pointing to my own, “go inside anything?”
“Yeah,” she brightened a little, “it went inside my mama.”
Mentally, I patted myself on the back; I’d guessed right again. “Show me where,” I said. Alicia pointed to her crotch. “Show it to me,” I prompted.
A bit embarrassed, she hiked up her little skirt, showing me her cotton-clad pussy. “Get your finger all wet with your mouth,” I suggested, and she complied. “Now, move your underwear out of the way, and try to put your finger in where his penis went.”
Alicia pulled her knickers to one side and slid her finger inside her little hole about half an inch, and she jumped; whether in surprise or pain, I wasn’t sure.
“That’s how you could hurt yourself,” I explained. “Most girls your age ... well, your little hole is too small to put anything inside. If you want, though,” I continued, baiting the hook, “I can show you other things grownups like to do.”
Again, her face brightened. At that moment, Lori came back inside, announcing that Kailyn was nowhere to be found. Alicia pulled down her skirt, and I adjusted the sheet over my near-painful hard-on, our lesson over for now.
Except, Lori wasn’t quite ready to let the issue die just yet. “Your penis is hard again, Daddy, isn’t it?” she asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
“Yes,” I said in a pretend-scolding manner, “and you’re not supposed to be looking at it, are you?”
Lori giggled; Alicia looked a bit nervous.
I sighed, a bit too obviously. “Well,” I began, and let the word linger in the air for a few seconds. “I guess I won’t tell anybody if you won’t.”
“Okay,” came two little voices, and our secret was cemented.
True to my word, I let Alicia proceed at her own pace. In fact, she didn’t broach the subject again for almost two months until, one day, she happened to mention something she saw her stepfather doing.
“Isn’t that gross?” she asked, when I explained what his tongue was doing between her mother’s legs.
“Not if you keep yourself clean,” I started. “In fact, some women prefer that to having a penis inside of them.”
“Nuh uh,” she challenged.
“Yeah huh,” I kidded back. “You want me to prove it?”
“Are you clean?” I asked.
“Yeah,” came an uncertain response.
I dropped the bomb. “May I try it?”
Alicia’s eyes got so wide, I thought they would bug out. She looked slowly from my face toward her little pussy and back, glancing off to one side a couple of times as if looking for reassurance from some unseen person.
It was her turn to make a deal. “Um, okay,” Alicia answered, “but if I don’t like it, you stop, okay?”
I led her to the couch and she lay down, hiking up her skirt. I reached to pull off her knickers, and she stopped me. “No, I want them on.”
“But,” I started, and thought better of it. I didn’t want to say I couldn’t do it that way, and give Alicia an excuse to change her mind. Instead, I pulled her cotton crotch gently to one side and began by kissing the slightly fatty area around her prepubescent slit.
“That tickles,” she protested.
“A good tickle, or a bad tickle?” I prompted.
Alicia giggled. “A good one, I guess.”
I grinned, and went back to planting gentle kisses all over her soft vulva. She had an unusually long slit for an eight-year-old—based on my modest experience—and I figured her little hole would stretch, with enough patience.
That was not my goal now, however, and back to kissing I went.
Slowly, my tongue got in on the act; tracing a very gentle line up her young crack, I stopped at her little clit, only now beginning to extend slightly from her folds. With soft strokes, I flicked my tongue back and forth on her growing button, and Alicia jumped, squealing.
“Wow, what was that?”
“That’s your little pleasure spot,” I explained. “It’s why many women like their partners to kiss their—uh, privates.”
To that point, I had no idea what words Alicia had learned about her body parts, so I figured I’d better be careful.
“Sometimes,” I finished, “a woman doesn’t feel that spot being tickled just right with only a penis inside her.”
“Oh,” she responded, and fell silent for a few moments. “Do that again!”
My tongue found its way back to Alicia’s slit, and I used the hand that wasn’t holding her underwear aside to open her little love channel a bit. Tasting the pulp of her young fruit for the first time, I reveled once again in the youthful sweetness of a preteen girl.
Perhaps more addictive than any narcotic, it was at this moment that I knew I was irreversibly attracted to young girls.
Alternating between long, slow licks along her inner pussy lips and quick flicks at her clitoris, I felt Alicia begin to tremble, and the muscles in her legs began to twitch. My little lover was close, and I let her have it: an all-out assault on her little button. A tiny gurgle escaped her lips as her hands found the back of my head and pushed hard, instinctively trying to increase the friction pushing her to the brink. Her pelvis jerked upward suddenly, trapping my upper lip between her mons and my teeth, drawing blood. Through a slight haze of pain, I continued my tongue-lashing of her engorged clit, bringing her to the very height of her newfound pleasure.
It seemed like minutes passed before she finally collapsed. “Ow,” she said, “that hurts.”
I showed her my swelling lip. “I’m sorry, you caught me by surprise, and my teeth kind of got in the way,” I offered. “I’ll try to be ready next time.”
“Your lip’s bleeding.”
“It’s okay,” I soothed, “don’t worry about it. So,” I continued, “what do you think? Do you know why your mom likes that now?”
“Yeah, that was kinda weird, but it really felt good, except for your teeth,” Alicia smiled. “Do boys like that, too?”
Do they ever, I thought. “Well, you saw your mom do it, right? Isn’t that why you kissed mine before?”
“What did you see your mom do?” I prodded yet again.
“Well,” Alicia hesitated; she seemed almost embarrassed again. “She put it in her mouth. I thought it looked kinda yucky.”
“Did you think it was yucky when you kissed mine?”
She giggled, “I guess not.”
“You want to try it a little?”
I leant back into the couch, pulling my shorts to one side. Not that I needed to; my pulsing meat already was exposed to the world. “First, kiss it all over like you did before.”
Alicia repeated her exploration from a couple of months ago, kissing first the head, then the shaft, and back up to the head. “Use your tongue up and down the whole length,” I offered. Alicia hesitated a moment, then slathered her tongue up the base of the shaft up to the head.
“Mm, that’s great,” I said, trying to be supportive. “Try to flick your tongue up and down when you do it.”
She tried, but it didn’t feel any different.
“Flick it—wait, let me see your finger a sec.” Alicia offered me her finger and, using my tongue, I demonstrated the technique that would drive me nuts.
“Oh, okay,” she said as the light went on, and she tried again with her own tongue on the sensitive underside of my turgid meat. I felt a shiver climb my spine; she got it.
“Ohhhhhh, yeah, perfect.”
Alicia continued flicking her tongue all over my cock and even down to my balls, again eliciting shudders from somewhere within my being. I was hoping she was ready for the next step.
“Put it in your mouth,” I commanded, gently. Her questioning look brought a nod from me, and she allowed the head past her lips. “Take it in as far as you’re comfortable with, and keep using that terrific tongue,” I coaxed, smiling. Before long, Alicia was taking about half of my modest length, using her hands along the rest, no doubt mimicking her mother.
Just then, Lori’s movie ended, she bounded out of her bedroom to the sight of another friend giving her daddy head. “Hey, that’s what Kai—” she started until I motioned for her to stop. Alicia stopped, embarrassed yet again, and I told her that Lori had seen it before, too, and it was okay.
Alicia shook her head, and sat back on the couch. Apparently, she was not one for an audience. I kissed the top of her head, whispered, “That’s alright, we’ll do it your way,” and headed for the bathroom.
It was like being with two different people; when Lori was in the room, Alicia would all but ignore me, but she’d open up like a flower when we were alone.
Unfortunately, her own little flower refused to open.
Desperate one day to try what she’d seen her mother and stepfather doing, Alicia asked me to put my penis inside her. Trying not to laugh, I suggested we see if my finger would fit in first.
It wouldn’t; no matter how slowly I moved or how much I tried to distract her, she couldn’t relax enough to allow even my little finger in past the first knuckle. Alicia was crushed, but I had an idea.
“Some women like to try it in a hole that stretches better,” I offered, and pushed her legs up higher over her head on the couch. Bathing my finger in spit, I played gently with her rectum for several seconds, letting her get over the initial shock, until I felt her sphincter relax. Slowly, my finger slid in until it was buried to the hilt.
“How does that feel?” I asked.
“I d’know,” came the response.
Clearly, she wasn’t in any pain, so I began a methodical pumping of my finger, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Alicia’s face was flushed, and her breathing quickened. Leaning in to wet a second finger—quite the challenge, I might add—I continued the slow stretching of her anus.
Once the third finger had entered the fray, I knew she was ready.
Instead of leaving her and retrieving some KY—and perhaps allowing her sphincter time to close—I used plenty of saliva on the length of my cock, hoping that would be enough at least to get things started. Gradually, I slid out my fingers and replaced them with the head of my pounding meat.
As I’d hoped, I entered her with no difficulty, sliding back and forth, penetrating a bit more with each stroke. Alicia’s eyes were closed, but gently, and her mouth formed a little ‘o’ as if the new sensation was agreeable, if not stimulating.
Rather than ruin the moment, I kept quiet, and slid my cock almost all the way back out, and in again. As if by instinct, her hand found its way to her little pussy and began a gentle massage. All six-and-a-half inches of my modest meat slid from her rectum and back, much to Alicia’s silent delight, until the saliva wore off, and the movement began to hurt a bit.
“I’ve got an idea,” I said to my little lover, and picked her up by her back. “Hold on,” I suggested, as I walked to the bathroom with the eight-year-old still impaled upon my cock, her arms around my neck.
Retrieving the KY (bought one day when I tried unsuccessfully to convince my wife to try anal sex) from the medicine cabinet, I started toward the couch and, thinking better of it, turned to my bedroom. My wife was at work, and Lori was deeply engrossed in another video.
Carefully squeezing the slick jelly onto the exposed length of my penis, I worked slowly again, allowing the lubricant to make its way up inside Alicia’s intestines a bit at a time. Placing the eight-year-old’s feet on my shoulders, I started a gentle rhythm, thrusting evenly in and out of her asshole. Alicia began humming, literally, and her hand was back at her pussy in no time.
Within seconds, she was making a noise that was neither a scream nor a hum, and her body began shaking almost violently. That sent me over the edge, too, exploding inside her rectum with a force I’d never known. I kept pumping even after emptying my prostate, it seemed; finally collapsing in a heap onto my elbows, hoping to keep the bulk of my weight off my little lover.
“Wow! What was that?” Alicia asked.
“That, honey,” I panted, “is called an orgasm. That’s why adults do this.”
“Oh, fuck,” she said, undoubtedly repeating her mother. “Let’s do that again.”
“No way,” I said in mock protest, “I’m too pooped!”
“Not right now, silly!”
To this day, I wonder who got Alicia’s cherry, if anyone; she’s too horny to say “no”, but too shy to say “yes”.
We were able to ass-fuck several more times until my family had to move, since I’d found a better job 500 miles away. Amazingly, Alicia stayed true to form; she was at her most emotional when saying goodbye to Lori. My wife and I got no more than cursory hugs.
Girl Number Four:
Brady didn’t really come to me in the classic sense. She showed all the signs of wanting to get close, but it took months to get her to open up.
Nine years old when she and Lori first became friends, Brady was something of an enigma, alternating between self-consciousness about her body and a willingness to run around the house completely nude, with my daughter right behind.
Brady probably weighed nearly half again what my daughter did. Happily plump, not really fat, she was still conscious of her weight, but gradually became more at ease with me when I didn’t seem to mind her nakedness.
The girls would often shower together, and one night I got an idea. Walking into the bathroom and announcing rather loudly that I had to use the toilet and that they were not to peek, I had the desired effect on Lori. Pulling the shower curtain aside, my daughter playfully wolf-whistled at the sight of my pecker. Brady looked, too, and I made something of a show of turning slightly toward them under the guise of reaching for the curtain to pull it back.
Lori and Brady soon began a taunt of their own, coming from the shower into the adjoining master bedroom (where I often sat at my computer, working mostly when I felt like it) and wiggling their bare little butts at me. Threatening to bite them, I often made good on that promise—gently, of course. That meant I got hands full (and, usually, a mouthful) of naked little-girl flesh, and they didn’t seem to mind one bit.
It didn’t take long before my role in the during-the-shower game escalated into pretending I was going to pee on them for peeking. Squealing in mock fright, the girls would almost knock each other over trying to move away from wherever I was pointing. Of course, I made a point of trying to be half erect the whole time.
Brady tried to use that against me one afternoon during a tickle game when, beaten, she announced that she’d tell her mother that I was showing off my penis. Almost without skipping a beat, I countered with, “Fine, you do that ... and I’ll tell her you’re always sticking your naked butt into my face.”
“Okay, never mind.”
For a second, I was honestly a bit scared. Now, I knew I had her.
Speaking of games, the girls also liked some of the games on my computer, and I’d intentionally start playing something they were interested in each time their shower neared its end. That way, of course, they’d want to butt in, literally, each sitting on one of my knees to play. Of course, I’d massage their naked backs, and I slowly worked my way around Brady’s front side.
I got a little more bold each time, and she mostly let me continue, silently moving my hand if she felt I was going too far.
Brady had some seemingly unspoken rules about how I could caress her, and I quickly learned those rules, allowing her to feel in control. My thumb could gently tickle her growing breast as long as my hand remained on her belly. My fingertips could gently caress her hairless sex as long as my thumb stayed well above her waist.
Lori either didn’t mind my rubbing Brady, or didn’t notice. My wife usually was downstairs watching television as I worked on the computer.
Which meant, if Brady didn’t mind, I was in the clear.
The now-ten-year-old also didn’t seem to mind when I got aroused, my penis often poking from my shorts and rubbing against her leg. She’d glance downward to see what was touching her, and then mostly ignore it.
That changed one morning.
Brady, like many children, often pretended she was a cat or some other animal, and was constantly walking up to my wife or me and licking an arm, or something. Naturally, she listened only for a moment when we told her not to do that. At the same time, Lori picked up the habit, and received the same admonishments.
So, of course, an idea hit me: one night during a sleepover, each girl licked me in turn as I said my goodnights. Feigning irritation—and knowing full well that my wife was on the early shift the next morning—I said, “One of these mornings, I’m going to wake up and the two of you will be licking me.”
As I crawled into bed a few moments later, I said to myself, Okay, Lori, don’t let me down.
My breath came exploding from me as Lori jumped on me to awaken me from a pretend slumber, Brady well behind her in the doorway.
I knew Lori got the hint; the twinkle in her eye the night before told me so. Perhaps it got lost in something else the girls were planning but, in any event, that was not the wake-up call I expected.
Not on that day, anyway.
For the next several weeks, I saw Brady mostly in passing, and mostly as she played with Lori on our new Nintendo 64. Most of those weekends, at a time when we might allow our ten-year-old neighbour to stay the night, she was visiting her father on the other side of the county. Brady spent virtually every afternoon with us, though, as she quickly tired of the I’m-in-charge-here attitude of her twelve-year-old brother.
The classic latchkey kids, the two were alone until their mother arrived home, usually a few minutes after I did. The older boy had no problem whatsoever with letting his sister come ‘bug’ us for a while.
Brady did sleep over with Lori once during this time, but my wife was off—and at home—the next day.
When finally a sleepover matched my wife’s schedule (for me, anyway), I made sure to lick each girl’s cheek as I said goodnight. “Yuck,” came Brady’s response.
“Yeah, what’cha gonna do about it?” I asked in my best little-boy-brat voice.
Lori whispered something in Brady’s ear. “You’ll see,” Brady said, snickering.
I hope, I thought.
I was not disappointed this time, but I did get the surprise of my life. Well, actually, several.
Early the next morning, the girls were on my bed, both completely naked. They indeed were licking me all over, although entirely from the belly up, and I gradually moved my leg to a position where I could grab the sheet with my toes. Lori beat me to it, however, and pulled the covers all the way to my feet.
The girls snickered upon seeing my cock, fully erect from the stimulation by two little tongues. When, moments later, I felt the first tongue make contact with my modest prick, it was Lori’s!
If Academy Awards were handed out for acting in real life, my continued ‘sleep’ would have aced one. I’ve never pulled off anything that difficult.
Through my earplugs (I know it’s hard to believe by reading this, but I love my wife—we just didn’t show it very often, and she just happens to snore louder than creation), I heard Lori say, “C’mon, Brady, you gotta do it, too.” Brady giggled, trying to be quiet, and leant in to join Lori with a tentative tongue.
Guys, if you’ve never had two young mouths working on your meat at the same time, you have no idea what you’re missing.
Brady gasped as Lori let the head of my prick slide between her lips and into her mouth. So did I; but, fortunately, both girls missed it. “How can you do that?” the ten-year-old asked my eight-year-old daughter.
“I’ve seen—you know, I’ve seen people do it before.”
“Wow,” Brady continued, awed. “Doesn’t that taste yucky?”
Matter-of-factly, Lori answered, “Nah, it just tastes like skin. Try it.”
For a change, my daughter was taking the lead, and she clearly enjoyed it. Brady, a doubtful look on her face, bent over and slid her lips past the head of my penis, then let it pop back out. Regarding what she’d done for a moment, the older girl evidently didn’t find it too disgusting, and went back to work.
Unfortunately, having never sucked on a man’s penis before, she wasn’t particularly careful with her teeth, and I jumped involuntarily, the ruse permanently over.
Neither girl moved. Frozen in fright with an oh-man-I’m-in-deep-shit look, Lori and Brady both waited for me to scream at them, or something.
With a mischievous grin, I maneuvered myself onto my knees, and said, “Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” Grabbing at Brady, I began an unmerciful tickling of virtually her entire naked body, breast buds and pussy included.
(Like she was in any position to complain.)
Writhing underneath me, squealing the whole time, Brady somehow managed to get her legs up around my waist, opening her little treasure just an inch from the head of my pounding penis. I arched my back slightly to force contact, and she jerked upward, impaling her surprisingly wet little pussy upon the head of my cock.
I stopped, stunned. Brady gasped slightly.
Lori spoke first. “Dad, your penis is inside her,” she announced as if no one else knew it.
“Um,” I started, searching for my voice, “Brady, are you alright?”
“Have you, uh, had anything up inside you before?”
“What?” I continued.
“My brother makes me do it,” she said. “He says mom told me I have to do everything he says, and he’ll tell her I’m a little whore if I don’t let him.”
“Where did he learn how to talk like that?” I asked.
I didn’t want this to seem like an interrogation, so I asked if she wanted me to take it out. Surprising me yet again, she said no.
Instead, I pushed slowly in, backing out a bit and sliding in a bit further. “Wow, Dad, you’re doing it,” Lori nearly shouted.
“Yes, and if you don’t want us all getting in a bunch of trouble, you’ll keep it down a bit, okay?”
“Okay,” Lori said, and lay down to watch.
Brady’s little pussy was soaking wet, but incredibly tight; obviously, her brother was much smaller than I am (makes sense, after all). Yet, the sheer heat of her pleasure kept the juices flowing, her passion fruit leaking onto the bed.
I’d never known up to that point that a girl so young could be so turned on!
Putting an arm around her back, I lifted her up and fell slowly backward, letting the young girl straddle me from on top. Pulling Brady’s ample cheeks apart, I told Lori she could get a great view from between my legs.
My daughter was getting a lesson in sex-ed that I’d never quite intended, and Lori was eating it all up.
Brady’s head was on my chest, meantime, and her hands were behind my shoulders, gently hugging me. This was no ‘he’s making me do it’ posture; this was a gesture of lovemaking, if not love. As wet and wanton as her pussy was, the rest of her body seemed content to bask in the moment.
So, I let her.
With my hands gently grasping her round buttocks, I moved her up and down the entire length of my shaft with even strokes, establishing a slow rhythm. Her young pussy continued to lubricate accordingly, and the vise-like grip her muscles maintained about my erection never became uncomfortable; quite the contrary, in fact.
Lori tried something she once saw Kailyn doing, reaching between my legs to tickle my ball-sac. I jumped slightly, and Brady squeezed me tighter. Squeezing her cheeks a little harder, I began to increase our tempo until, eventually, the sounds of our bodies slapping together filled the room. Brady came first, squealing almost like a guinea pig and digging her little fingernails painfully into my shoulders.
That’s probably what kept me from coming at the same time.
As Brady came down from a wicked orgasm—it turned out to be her first ever—her body changed positions slightly, forcing me from inside her little channel just as I began to squirt. As I reached to jack myself the rest of the way, Lori beat me to it, surprising me yet again. Her little hand pumped up and down, then I felt her mouth engulf the head.
She came off with a pop, and a cough. “What is that stuff, anyway?” she asked.
“‘That stuff’,” I answered, “makes babies when you’re old enough. Remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” she answered. “So why do people eat it?”
“'Cause they like to, I guess. Some people hate the taste, though.”
“Let me try,” Brady said, suddenly reanimated from a seeming slumber on my chest. Sliding off of me, Brady licked some of the hot jizz from Lori’s fingers and, as contemplative as a ten-year-old can be, announced, “Ah, that’s not too bad.”
We all laughed.
Later, I told Brady that her brother would probably go to a home for troubled youth if anyone found out he was forcing her into sex. “Tell him you’ll call the police, and get out of the house. Come over here if you have to. He will stop, I’m sure, so you probably don’t have to tell anyone.”
“Ya think so?”
“I’m pretty sure. You probably shouldn’t have told me about it, either,” I continued.
“But, you asked me,” she countered.
“I know, but what if someone else asks you, too? Will you tell them about me?”
“No, you didn’t force me.”
Not quite satisfied, I played my ace anyway: “I won’t tell either, okay? You know, they’d put me in prison until after you’re all grown up, and then they’ll find out about your brother, and he’ll go to a home, and they might even put you in a foster home because your mom will still have to go to work. I don’t think that’s fair, do you?”
To her credit, Brady looked more angry than upset. “No,” she reasoned.
“Good,” I said. “Maybe, if you want to play again someday, we will, but I’ll never force you to do anything, okay?”
“And, I’ll never tell,” I finished, sealing the deal.
Talk about timing. Later that same day, Brady’s mom came over—a rare thing, indeed, causing my heart to pound for several seconds—to tell us that she and her sister, Brady’s aunt, had pooled their money to buy a large house in a rural area about 10 miles away. They would spend the next couple of months fixing it up, and the women and their respective kids would move in. That meant Lori wouldn’t get to see her best friend very often, and she was very sad.
The girls spent as much time together as they could in the interim, and they did join me in bed once more, Lori mostly watching, as if she understood she could do no more than that just yet.
I taught Brady a few of the guidelines for giving good head, such as avoiding her teeth, and using her tongue. She caught on fairly quickly, and soon was accepting about half of my average cock into her hot little mouth. “Wow, she’s really wet, Dad,” Lori announced from the foot of the bed, and I told Brady not to move as I slid out from underneath her.
From behind, I pulled my 10-year-old lover to her knees, pointed my spit-slicked penis toward her hole, and slipped it home. Tight as she was, I’m still amazed that I slid in with no hesitation.
Perhaps my average penis is a blessing, I thought at the time. Little did I know that it would also prove to be my undoing.
Leaning back onto my hands, I told Brady to set her own pace, as fast or as slow as she wanted. She began slowly, but it didn’t take long before she was moving back and forth almost violently, as if trying to shove my cock deeper inside her. I should have been slamming hard into her cervix, I thought, but neither of us was in any obvious pain.
I wanted to shatter little Brady’s world, and to show Lori a little trick, too. Pointing my daughter’s attention below the junction of her father and her best friend, I wet a finger and began to tickle the swollen clit of the older girl. “This’ll make her have a big orgasm,” I explained to my fascinated daughter, just as her friend’s body stiffened and lurched back hard, stopping its momentum. A slight “Ungh” escaped Brady’s lips. Using my other hand, I pushed her slightly forward and went back to slamming her little pussy, and Brady screamed into the pillow as her body resumed a back-and-forth motion for several more seconds.
Brady was coming so hard, she couldn’t take it any more. “Stop!” she screamed. I let go, and she collapsed onto the bed just as my orgasm was beginning.
“Lori,” I said, thinking quickly, “make me squirt on her back!”
My daughter grabbed my jerking meat and slid her hand along its length. My cum spurted almost to the wall, leaving a trail up Brady’s backside and into her hair. By the time I was done with my own powerful orgasm, most of my baby-juice had collected in the small of her back.
“Fuck!” Brady whispered.
Lori giggled. “Don’t say that naughty word, Brady.”
“Fuck,” the older girl repeated, more emphatically. “Oh, God, fuck, wow!”
“Are you okay?” I asked, genuinely concerned.
“Oh, fuck,” Brady repeated yet again. She rolled onto her side, curling almost into a fetal position for a moment, then flopped back, her arms and legs going limp. A weak smile was all she could manage.
“I think she’ll live,” I announced, smiling.
Lori looked at her hand, then licked a gob of my cum from her knuckles. “That’s not so bad, I suppose,” she said.
I gave Lori a big bear hug.
Girl Number Five:
A new family had moved in to our apartment complex a few months before Brady and her family left for their new home. Diana looked almost Asian, despite her family’s Hispanic name, and she looked like a frail little flower.
Oh, can looks be deceiving!
10 years old, Diana was very slim, like Lori. Her young breasts had just begun to grow, and not much beyond the areolae. Her little-girl hips were only beginning to hint at her womanly future.
Diana’s face was olive, but otherwise reminiscent of a porcelain doll. A real beauty if ever I’d seen one.
Save one, she’d also turn out to be my favorite lover, but for unexpectedly different reasons—and not until almost a year later.
Diana was quite shy at first; barely making a peep when she’d join Brady and Lori at whatever game they were playing. Despite being the older and taller of the three, Diana seemed content to let someone else lead.
Usually, that was Brady, until she decided Lori had complained enough.
Sometimes, I’d join the girls at the Nintendo or one of the many board games they enjoyed, especially one with a Pokemon theme. As was my usual poison, I constantly tried to sit across from Diana with my penis poking from my shorts. Her attention always seemed to be elsewhere, though, and it took a couple of months for her even to notice.
When finally she did, her expression was different from anything I’d ever seen: fascination, mixed with unadulterated fear. Diana seemed almost to cringe at the sight but, at the same time, she couldn’t take her eyes from it.
It’s hard to put into words what her face was saying ... it’s as if she was beckoning to my cock with all her being, all the while preparing to jump up and run away if it came too close.
Before very long, whenever Diana came over, she’d look at my crotch first, and often. That never failed to arouse me, and within seconds she’d be staring straight at a throbbing adult erection. The look in her eyes was always the same; simultaneously saying she desperately wanted it, and desperately wanted it to go away.
This went on probably for about six months. Diana didn’t make any move to approach me, and something unspoken told me not to approach her.
One day, however, when it was time for Diana to go back home from her visit, Lori gave her a hug—something my daughter loves but, for whatever reason, had never attempted with Diana. Her now 11-year-old friend (Lori was a couple of months shy of 10) didn’t respond at first, but slowly raised her arms to return the embrace. Seeing my chance, I asked Diana if she’d like a hug from me.
Tentatively, the older girl approached and put her arms around my waist. As my hands gently caressed her back, Diana held me tightly, as if afraid to let go.
Shocked as I was, I had no idea what was still coming.
Diana came over one day when Lori and her mother were out shopping, and I was working on the computer, as usual. From the upstairs window, I told her that the girls were out, and she asked if she could use our bathroom. “Just a moment,” I said, and put on some pants.
(Alone with Diana in the house, however briefly, I didn’t feel like leaving myself open for any potential accusations.)
I let her in, and walked toward the living room to give her an unobstructed path between the bathroom and the front door.
Just then, I heard the deadbolt click. That’s odd, I thought. As I turned, I saw Diana walking toward me instead of the bathroom. Without hesitation, she grabbed my hand, and used some martial arts maneuver to lay me out onto the floor!
The tiny girl quickly sat on my chest and looked into my eyes with nothing less than an animalistic ferocity. “If you move, I’ll scream,” Diana said, almost without emotion.
Oh, my God, what the hell’s going on here, I asked myself. Stunned, I could only watch as she peeled off her tank top, revealing the beginnings of her breasts, and pulled up her skirt, showing her bare, almost hairless sex.
She, like Brady before her, was dripping wet; literally leaving a pool of her little-girl juices in the recess of my neck!
Sliding down my legs, Diana fumbled with my belt and undid my pants, sliding the zipper down almost impatiently. My still-flaccid penis seemed almost to irritate her, and she began sucking noisily, trying to bring it to life.
She succeeded, still taking it to the root after my cock became fully engorged, despite the haste with which she seemed to be working. Her technique hardly was the soft, loving fellatio I’d come to prefer. Undoubtedly, however, Diana was in no mood to care.
Sliding back up, the wanton young girl on top of me positioned herself over my now raging prick and slammed it home without so much as an ounce of preparation. She moaned, more from her gut than from her throat, and began riding me with a passion I’d never known before from a girl her age. I reached up to caress her tiny breastlets, and she fairly growled, “Don’t touch me!”
Okay, whatever you say ...
Instead, Diana’s hands rested on my upper chest, sliding within minutes toward my neck, her thumbs almost digging into my throat. I seriously wondered if I shouldn’t be afraid of this little girl!
“Come, damn you,” she screamed, as if her voice was speaking someone else’s words. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna COME,” she repeated.
Diana’s eyes seemed to glaze over just before her face pointed up toward the living-room ceiling, and she screamed, “God, yes!!” My orgasm slammed into me then, sending us both careening into the stars now emblazoned across our retinas.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggh,” I heard from somewhere in the cosmos. I have no idea whose voice it was.
When finally I’d regained my senses, Diana had just finished pulling on her shirt and smoothing her skirt. Without looking back, she turned the deadbolt, opened the door, and simply walked out into the afternoon sun.
I lay there for the longest time, staring at the door, disbelieving.
What the fuck just happened?
Something of an explanation arrived a couple of weeks later. Diana had visited Lori a couple of times since our little tryst—for lack of a better word—and, interestingly, had betrayed no sign of the nearly demonic little ball of pure passion I’d seen that one afternoon.
Her mother came to collect her one day, and she began discussing the subject of her young daughter with my wife. In honest curiosity, my other half beat me to the question: why is Diana so quiet?
“She usually doesn’t talk to adults until we tell her it’s okay,” came the response. “She was viciously molested by her uncle a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” said my wife. “Her uncle did it?”
“My brother,” the woman said, hanging her head. “He’s in prison now. He told her,” gesturing toward her daughter, “that if she ever said anything, he’d kill me and her father, and her, too. So, Diana let it go on for months without saying anything, until we caught him.
“That was two years ago, and she’s still slow to open up with anyone, even other children. Your daughter’s the first person she’s really had any fun with in a long time.”
I’m not even going there, I said to myself. Out loud, I offered, “Well, Lori likes playing with her, too, so she’s welcome any time.”
(I meant that for my daughter’s sake, foremost. Lori and Brady often fought like sisters; she and Diana always seemed to enjoy each other’s company, since the older girl was content to follow whatever my daughter suggested.)
“Yeah, she needs the company,” my wife echoed, “and it sounds like Diana really needs a friend right now.”
I’m not entirely sure what she needs, I thought.
The next time Diana came over, the girls were gone again, and I said so from the upstairs window. “Okay,” came her answer, and she trudged off slowly.
I never heard the door open, or close. I never heard her sneak up the stairs. I have no idea to this moment what she clocked me with.
When I awoke, I was sprawled out on my bed. I’m not exactly a lightweight; that must’ve taken some effort, even if the bed is only about fifteen feet from my desk. The first thing I noticed, other than a roaring headache, was a roaring hard-on being engulfed by an eleven-year-old girl-with-a-vengeance. She heard me moaning in a combination of pain and pleasure, and let my penis pop noisily from her mouth.
Straddling my body, she moved up until her hips were almost parallel with my face, and then took hold of my hair, hard. Shoving my face into her almost hairless snatch, she commanded me to eat her.
Saying no was not an option.
As much as I hate her uncle for what he did to this poor girl, I was thankful at that moment that he’d not been any worse. It was painfully obvious—literally—that I was to be her outlet; her way of proving to herself that she was in control of her own life, in whatever form that took. I had two options, it seemed: to stop letting her in the house when I’m alone (and to remember to lock the fucking door!), or try somehow to re-channel this behavior into something more constructive.
After all, it appeared as if I was the only person who could ...
Diana came in my mouth, and she quickly mounted my screaming erection again, riding it much like she had the last time. Again, I respected what I assumed was her continuing wish that I not touch her. Again, her hands were nearly around my throat, and I had to adjust my neck and flex its muscles to be able to breathe.
Again, we rode the throes of orgasm; only this time, I had to fight to keep consciousness as her grip tightened, and as the bump on the back of my head reminded me of its presence in no uncertain terms.
Diana, meantime, let out a scream that seemed to come from her gut, in an eerily deeper voice than should have been possible.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn at that moment that she was possessed. That assumes I know better.
The 11-year-old girl suddenly returned, collapsing upon me in a heap, whimpering almost like a puppy, until she’d caught her breath only a few minutes later. Within moments afterward, she was standing up, getting dressed, and walking downstairs to let herself out.
It took me fifteen minutes before I could stand up, my only incentive being the aspirin bottle in the medicine cabinet.
The Jekyll-and-Hyde effect was stunning, as the delicate flower returned a number of times in the ensuing weeks to play with Lori. Still quiet, still all too willing to let my daughter be the leader, Diana seemed to be the same unassuming little girl I’d met several months earlier. I made a conscious decision to play with the girls as much as I could, hoping Diana would see that I was interested in her as a person. If I avoided her, I guessed, I might further validate her view of her uncle and, perhaps, all men save her father.
Of course, I was assuming again.
The next time I saw Diana alone, school was back in session, and my daughter was staying afterward for band practice—she’d taken a sudden liking to the flute. My wife was at work, and virtually my entire workload was done from the computer at home now.
This is it, I thought.
Diana asked to use the bathroom. I let her in, and she shut the door, flipping the deadbolt behind her. Walking up the stairs, I stopped just inside my bedroom door. Within seconds, Diana had followed me inside.
God, I hope this works.
As the little girl approached, I held my hand up in a gesture to stop. Amazingly, she did. To her confused look, I smiled in response, and said, “This time, we do it my way.”
For a moment, anger seemed to flare in her eyes, but I held my hand up again. Finding the corner of the bed, I sat down, and motioned her toward me. Diana approached tentatively, and stood between my spread knees. Slowly, I reached for her soft shoulders, and pulled her gently toward me. Reaching behind her, I gave Diana a soft, but firm, hug. Slowly, she returned the favor.
After several minutes, I pushed her gently away until her face was about six inches from mine. “My way,” I repeated, and drew her slowly toward my parted lips.
Diana acted like she’d never kissed anyone before; come to think of it, that shouldn’t have surprised me. Kissing would hardly have been in her repertoire up to that moment.
“Just do what I do,” I prompted, and she began to respond. Gently brushing my lips across hers, I let my tongue join the party slowly, but surely. Again, she responded, and soon our kiss was passionate, if lacking the urgency she’d displayed before.
I let my hands wander under her shirt from behind, gently rubbing the soft skin of her back. Slowly, I coaxed the material upward, reminding Diana’s body with gentle strokes that there would be no force here. Her arms gently moved from around my neck to above her head, letting her clothing come off without any complaint.
Her arms found their way to my shoulders again, and my hands returned to her back, illustrating that I was in no hurry. Moving from her lips to her neck, my kisses continued a loving path southward, but stopped as I realised I could go no lower than her collarbone at that angle. Gently, I turned her toward the bed and lay her on her back, resuming my gentle kisses before she could miss them. Diana squealed in surprise as I surrounded her growing breastlet with my mouth, and I looked up into her eyes.
I saw shock; pleasant shock! She actually smiled in surprise, and her hands found the back of my head, gently.
I bathed her tiny bud lovingly with my mouth and tongue, and moved all too soon, it seemed, to the other. Diana’s moans were worldly, but different this time, like something you might hear from a young girl.
Diana’s body responded as I kept my hands busy, gently massaging everything not busied by my tongue. When my fingers gently stroked her sex, her legs stayed open, but writhed back and forth as if unsure of what to do. My lips nibbled at her young navel, and her hands were back behind my head, gently urging me downward.
Looking back, that was her turning point; no longer commanding me to do her bidding, she was ready to let me go at my own pace, with only a little help.
Just a little.
Accepting the hint, I traced a gentle line from her belly button to her little clit, which I tickled with the tip of my tongue.
“Mmmmmmm,” she sighed.
I savored the faint taste of her juices. Used though this poor girl was, she still was sweet, with a gentle scent of ... I don’t know how to describe it, really, almost like eucalyptus. My tongue affected gentle circles around first her outer lips, then the inner labia, stopping occasionally to tickle her little button. Diana’s hands, instead of pulling on my hair, now were gripping the sheets, pulling in sheer ecstasy.
Her legs began a familiar twitch, and Diana whimpered in disappointment when I stopped. Climbing quickly between her legs, I looked her deeply in the eyes and said, “Trust me.”
My cock actually tingled as it entered her, and I kissed Diana gently. My pace quickened, bringing her to the edge of orgasm again, and I slowed down, letting her bask in the feeling. Again, I rode her hard, and slowed again as her peak was near. Diana looked up at me, half in frustration, half in joy, and I brought her just to the edge once more.
She knew I was controlling her body, and she wanted it.
Rolling quickly over, I let her straddle me. Taking her face gently between my hands, I said, softly, “Making love is the joining of two people; two minds, two bodies—each willing to lead the other, each willing to give in to the other.
“Only now can the two become one.”
I slammed home my penis as I drove home the point, driving us both over the top. Orgasm slammed into us together, turning her understanding smile into a picture of sheer pleasure. We hugged each other tightly as the waves overcame us, sending our first true coupling into mutual orbit.
As I returned to Earth, I noticed that the little girl on top of me was crying uncontrollably. I brushed the back of her head with my hand, and she raised her head to look at me, red, puffy eyes and all. “Welcome back, Diana. You’ll be fine now. Everything’s going to be just fine.”
She smiled, and cried some more. I smiled, and joined her.
Diana and I made love on three more occasions after that, each time pushing our limits only a little. Our swan song featured my cock deep in her ass, and a dildo I’d bought for my wife years earlier deep in mine. After all, Diana reasoned, if she could do it, I could do it.
In short, we were learning to trust each other.
Her mother said I’d performed a miracle. “How did you do it?”
I couldn’t exactly answer that question with the whole truth so, instead, I said, “I guess I was able to convince her that there are only a handful of people in the world like her uncle, and the rest of us are pretty much okay. Including her.”
Martina gave me a bear hug, tears rolling down her face. “How can I ever thank you? You gave me my daughter back!”
How can you thank me? I repeated, as a wry grin screwed itself into my features. Just don’t ask me for the gory details ...
Watching Diana on the videotape last year was just plain weird. Then 12 and, impossibly, even more beautiful, she was playing the shy flower again, barely lifting her chin from her chest.
The only other thing I really remember about that ‘interview’ was one exchange that must’ve taken all of 30 seconds. “What did Hal do to you?” came a disembodied female voice.
“He didn’t do anything to me.”
“He didn’t do anything to you.” It was more a statement than a question.
“He didn’t do anything to me,” Diana repeated.
“I see. Did you do anything?”
“I fucked him.”
“I fucked him.”
The off-screen voice was incredulous. “You fucked him?!”
Diana’s face broke into a wide grin.
“He had no choice.”
Girl Number Six:
“Why don’t you ever fuck me?”
Stunned, I yanked my face from the newspaper. “Uh, Lori, we don’t use that language,” I said, evading the question.
“You didn’t answer me. Why haven’t you f—um, made love to me? I’ve seen you with my friends, and they love it so much. What’s wrong with me?”
I knew I’d hear that someday. “Well,” I started, trying to find the right words, “you’re my daughter. You trust me, and you have to be able to trust me. I really believe I’d be violating your trust if I tried to take advantage of it.”
“But why not me? My friends trust you, too.”
“I know, but ...” I hesitated. “They all ... they pretty much learned about sex the wrong way and, I guess, they wanted something better. I didn’t—well, that’s not true, I wanted them to make me feel good, too, and I didn’t think it was right for me to feel that way about you.”
By now, Lori was 11 and the most beautiful girl on the planet. Of course, that’s her father talking, but I mean every word of it. An early bloomer in certain aspects of her development—her hips began a womanly curve at the age of eight—she’s finally getting breasts, only now as developed as, say, Kailyn was at nine. (Takes after her mother, I guess; but, then again, I never liked more than a mouthful anyway.)
Without a doubt, I had a little stunner.
I backed away from the table and let her crawl into my lap. “Maybe,” I finished, “I was just waiting for you to say it was what you wanted.”
As serious and as sensual as an eleven-year-old can be, Lori looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I want you to make love to me.”
I will never forget the look in Lori’s eyes as I set her gently from my arms onto the bed: it was the same look her mother gave me 14 years ago after our wedding. A sharp pang of guilt hit me at that moment.
It was not an easy thing to ignore.
Kissing my daughter was something I’d done thousands of times, but I hesitated. The question was not whether Lori was ready for this; rather, was I ready? As if reading my mind, Lori brushed my face with her hand and said, “It’s okay, Dad. Really. Please?”
The wall now broken, I smiled, and leant in to kiss my own offspring in a way most fathers never get to enjoy. Soft lips made slight contact, caressing mine in prelude to the sheer passion still ahead. I kissed first her upper lip, then the lower one, swimming in the contact. Lori let me take the lead, responding in like fashion to every touch, every brush, every squeeze of two lips. My tongue soon begged in, applying a gentle coat of moisture, and she simply lay back and sighed.
Pressing my lips again against my daughter’s, I felt her tongue greet mine in a soft, loving interplay, like a dance improvised as it went. Lori’s mouth was hot, and her passion grew as my hand swept softly across her cheek to her neck, to her shoulder, to the buttons of her blouse. She’d not worn her sports bra today, thank goodness, and I could feel the heat of bare skin under my hand as the last button gave way to my nimble fingers.
Instinctively, her head sank deeper into the pillow as I kissed Lori’s neck, nibbling slightly at each earlobe before tracing a line down the center of her chest. Her opened blouse still covered her tiny breasts, and I brushed away the material on one side with gentle kisses, my lips finally landing on an already-hard nipple. Lori gasped out loud as my tongue introduced itself, flicking and rolling its way around the little nub before I took it full into my mouth and sucked, gently.
“Oh, Dad, yeah,” came her voice like a slight breeze.
Her other nipple reacted much the same way, but Lori herself was much more turned on. Eight young fingers curled up in my hair, pulling painfully as I explored her young tit with my mouth. It had been a while since I’d felt a tugging quite like that.
For a moment, I wondered if my head would survive what I had planned next.
Working the drawstring on her shorts as I kissed her ribs and tummy, I was able to slip off her last bits of clothing just as I arrived at her hairless treasure. Lori jumped involuntarily as my lips made contact with her bare vulva, and especially when they found her young clit. My tongue began much lower, at the still-tiny vaginal opening at the base of her slit. Tasting her preteen juices for the first time, I marveled at the faint sweetness.
Ah, yes, ‘forbidden fruit’, I reminded myself.
Slowly, so slowly, I worked Lori toward a peak she’d never climbed, while trying to keep her from going over the edge. I didn’t want her muscles so contracted from orgasm that she couldn’t go all the way.
“Da-a-a-a-a-ad!” she protested when I stopped.
“I know, baby, but I can’t make love to you if you’re tense, you have to be relaxed,” I soothed, and her head found the pillow again. Wetting a finger with my saliva, I pushed it gently into her love canal, only to find her hymen an instant later.
“Sorry,” I responded. “Hon, we can do this two ways: either I can take your virginity with my finger and slowly stretch your little pussy, or I can just try to push past it with my penis.
“That’ll hurt,” I finished. “Maybe a lot.”
“I don’t care, I want you inside me.” Always the trouper ...
Climbing up to my knees, I positioned the tip of my cock to her opening and pushed gently, only to feel no give whatsoever. “Stay here,” I said, as I arose to find the lubricant. Seconds later, I was trying again, and the head quickly popped inside to Lori’s obvious discomfort.
Tears welled up in her young eyes, but I heard no complaints.
Pushing slightly farther in, I heard Lori whimper. “I can’t do it, Dad, take it out!”
My daughter was clearly frustrated. “Why could my friends do it when they were younger than me, but I can’t?” she asked. Not all of them could, actually, but that was irrelevant.
“Because,” I helped, “they already had done it by the time they came to me. Sometimes they hurt even worse the first time than you do now.”
“Can you try it with your fingers?”
I smiled. “Sure, baby.”
I lay back down and rested my head on her leg. Rubbing lubricant onto my fingers, I gently slid one inside Lori’s hole. It came to rest at the first set of her muscles, and I heard my daughter grunt just a bit. Wiggling it gently, I tried to worm my fingertip through.
“G’ow, Dad, that hurrrrts,” Lori complained.
“I know,” I soothed, “I’m trying to be as gentle as I can.”
“I know,” she said, somewhat returning the favor.
The muscles finally gave way, and I heard a slight “Oof,” but my finger was inside, and Lori didn’t seem too distressed. Slowly, I worked my finger in and out until soft moans came from my daughter, and I pumped a bit more rapidly. Pulling almost all the way out, I put a second finger to her entrance and pushed gently. Giving my eleven-year-old only about an inch at a time, I worked in and out a bit until both fingers were buried.
It must have taken half an hour, but Lori was ready, and I told her so. “Oh, God, do it,” she breathed.
I had to choke down my laughter, lest she be insulted. How old are you?
On my knees again, I guided my again-throbbing penis back to her vaginal opening and slipped the head inside with no difficulty. Pouring on a little extra KY, I kept a slow but steady pace of entering her a fraction of an inch, then pulling out slightly, then pushing in a bit more. Lori and I stared into each other’s souls through our eyes the entire time, and she never showed any pain again.
Indeed, when I hit bottom, her face virtually burst with joy.
We kissed, hard, swapping tongues as her young juices mingled with the lubricant, making her just-initiated sex even more slippery. Like animals in heat, we picked up the pace, obscene slapping sounds filling the room.
I tried to warn Lori that I was about to come, but I couldn’t find my voice. Instead, I moved my hands to her face, each caressing a soft cheek, and I kissed first her forehead, then her nose, and finally a gentle peck on the lips.
My back arched upward even as her fingernails won their tug-of-war with its muscles. Lori’s hips matched mine thrust for thrust, as if made for each other. My daughter and I exploded together in a fireball of sensations, their tendrils dancing inside my eyelids, shooting stars that refused to die until the Grand Finale had its way.
Somehow, I managed to fall to one side as I collapsed, so I wouldn’t smother Lori under my dead weight. How much time passed ’til we woke up, I have no idea.
I love you, Lori.
Yes, Lori’s friends were toys; I’ll admit it, even if I truly did care for them. Until now, the last I’d known true lovemaking—seemingly years ago—was with Lori’s mother.
Just like that, I knew it again; this time, with the forbidden fruit of her labour.
It would be, ironically, the last time I was able to touch my daughter. As if written in the script of my life, I was arrested the following morning.
Lori, bless her heart, refused to testify. She knew her father would be going to prison if a jury found him guilty, and she was going to have no part of it.
Today, all of my appeals are exhausted—which took several months—so, it’s prison life for me, for a minimum of 29 more years. If I live that long.
My only salvation would be if certain ‘Three Strikes’ provisions were overturned in a Federal court.
Meantime, I’m adjusting; child molesters are kept separate from the general prison population, but most of the guys here are predators. Nasty types, too; some have murdered your kids. There are a few guys like me, though: child lovers who find our cellmates reprehensible. We have our own little clique; otherwise, I pretty much keep to myself.
I have no choice ...
So, dear parent, what do you think? Am I where I belong? Should people like me rot here for the rest of our days while your kids instead learn the most efficient ways to kill each other? Or, to kill you?
Basically, there are two types of parents: those who think I’m the scum of the Earth and should die behind bars; and those who wish they had someone like me to teach their child what it’s like to love someone, so they’d grow up to have healthy relationships with the significant others in their lives—instead of becoming the next divorce statistic or victim of domestic violence or, perhaps, the cause.
Two types of parents: those who are there for their children, and those who are not.
Which parent are you?
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