Chapter 1: The Chance Meeting

It was impossible to tell by looking, the precise racial mix that had produced Naomi. What was certain is that she was by far the most beautiful eleven-year-old in Year Six.

Slim to the point of elegance (a rare characteristic in such a youngster, when puppy fat and gawky clumsiness were the norm for most of her classmates), she had perfect, olive skin, proud, high cheek bones and large, brown eyes with the hint of an oriental curl at the sides. Her cute nose was quite wide and close to her face, and beneath it, her wide, big-toothed smile would beam from her pale, shapely lips, stretching the endearing dimple in her chin. Her coarse, black hair was cut in an unruly bob just above her shoulders, and when the fringe flopped down over her fine, dark eyebrows, which it frequently did, she would absently brush it back with her long fingers.

Though he originally put his name forward to score brownie points with the boss, Mac took his role seriously. His was one of a number of local companies that supported a scheme run by the inner city council, in which volunteer staff spent an hour each week, helping kids read in local primary schools. His own kids were at university now - he rarely saw them, and after a couple of terms at it, he was thoroughly enjoying his weekly sessions, when half a dozen youngsters read him a few pages from their latest books. He made diligent notes and discussed their progress with the grateful teacher and over the year, had been delighted to see a noticeable improvement in all of them.

Except Naomi. She was an enigma.

To Mac, it seemed her mind was always somewhere else. She read mechanically, word by word, not grasping the sense and meaning like almost everyone else her age. The slightest noise or sight of a child passing by in the school library would distract her and Mac would gently prompt her to continue. She was in truth, a bit slow: on the borderline of being categorised as having 'special needs'. He imagined her drifting through life, never quite sorting herself out. He had met a few women like that: his ex-wife being one.

He liked to chat to the children after each had read to him and over the weeks, he had built up an image of Naomi's neglected home life and it went a little way to explain her inability to focus or concentrate.

And his image was remarkably accurate, as it turned out, for one late Spring Saturday afternoon, he was doing his weekly shop (he lived alone, and the whole lot barely filled a single carrier bag), when he felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down to see Naomi's lovely wide smile shining up at him. He was both pleased and ever so slightly worried, for volunteer reading assistants work under strict rules, which included avoidance of any contact outside school, but he was reassured when he realised that there was a young, cheaply-dressed woman behind Naomi.

"Hello, Naomi. Nice to see you," Mac smiled, warmly, casting a glance at the woman. He felt he had better introduce himself and held out his hand. "Mac McAlpine - pleased to meet you - I sometimes help out at Naomi's school." The young woman, whose joint Asian and Caribbean roots were more obvious than the girl's, scowled at the middle-aged, middle-class man who was speaking to her, then broke into a smile of her own.

"Ah, yes. The reading. Naomi has mentioned you quite a few times. I'm her Mum. Karen."

Slag and part-time tom, concluded Mac instantly: log-term divorced, he had some relevant experience in such matters, in recent years, as the lure of night clubs and singles bars became less and less appealing.

Naomi had wandered off to look in a shop window, and to be sociable, Mac talked to the young woman. She asked him about Naomi's reading and he decided to be frank, and explained that actually she seemed some way behind the others - her reading books were several stages back - and he described how he found her rather hard to help in his few minutes each week, due to her low attention span.

Karen smiled tightly, recognising the familiar problem.

"I know exactly what you mean - she's just like it at home. Forgets to do things, goes off without telling me. She spends hours in front of the box, and comes up with the most incredible stories. It's all in her head. Imagine - she still has imaginary friends - at her age! The trouble is I'm so busy being a single mum, I can't be with her all the time."

Mac can't recall how such a thought occurred to him so quickly, or why. Nor how it revealed itself in so much detail as a half-formed plan. But something deep and dark burst out of his subconscious at that moment, as he had never entertained such ideas in his life.

But in an instant, he had it more or less all worked out.

"Tell you what, Karen. I fancy a cuppa and I'm sure Naomi could manage an ice cream or something. Let's pop into that cafe over there and we can have a chat..."

Chapter 2: The Betrayal of Trust

Mac had a massive hard-on.

He sat awkwardly on the small chair in the school library, keeping his elbow across his lap, as he leaned towards the pretty little girl perched next to him. He hadn't noticed before how thin were her legs and arms. How really small and incredibly sexy she was.

"Just read me that last sentence again, Naomi. Naomi? That last sentence again?"

---

"Are you sure you don't mind?" asked Karen for the third time.

"Not at all. It will be a pleasure. I'm sure with a bit of extra practice each week; Naomi's reading will soon improve."

Mac eased himself comfortably down on the sofa in the squalid little council flat. He took the TV remote from the girl's hand and switched off the soap.

"Let's try a couple of chapters, and then you can put it back on," said Mac.

The tiny eleven-year-old cheerfully bounced down next to him.

Mac felt her body pressing against him. He leaned a little closer, ostensibly to look at the book, but his true focus was on the two prominent lumps in the front of her thin t-shirt. Her breasts were just beginning to assume a definable shape - she would be demanding her first bra very soon indeed.

Naomi opened the book. She didn't mind having the tele off: it was nice having a grown-up in the flat who took any interest in her and Mac seemed to like her too.

---

It was no hardship, sparing a couple of hours two evenings a week, to cross town to the estate where Karen and Naomi lived. Each time he left the flat, Mac's heart was thumping: the anticipation was delicious.

Karen was just relieved to have a bit of help, relishing an hour or two without worrying about her crazy daughter. And unlike any other man who had been to her flat, Mac hadn't tried to chat her up, or paid to sleep with her, or even flirted with her. He was a really good bloke. Genuine. Caring too - Naomi likes him and he doesn't seem bothered at her funny ways. Well he would have to be nice man, to be allowed to help at the school too - they all have to be vetted, you know.

And besides, he's a family man with grown-up kids.

---

The plan came together at last.

He had judged the moment well, and Karen had no hesitation in gratefully accepting his offer to mind Naomi. Mac had successfully earned her trust.

And so on a bright Saturday afternoon, straight after lunch, Karen called her goodbyes to her daughter and left the flat for a few hours' self-indulgence: shopping up West, new hair-do, then a night out with some mates. Knowing that Naomi would be more than happy to be left in the care of the very nice man, Mac.

And she was. More than her Mum realised.

Since she was a very little girl, there hadn't been a friendly man in her young life. She couldn't remember her father and after what her Mum said, she didn't particularly want to meet him.

She was feeling really chuffed. She had Mac's undivided attention for the rest of the day.

Mac wasted no time. No soon had Karen left, than he slipped into the kitchen and prepared a glass of squash for his young companion. With an added ingredient emptied from a small vial in his pocket.

"Here you go, Naomi," he smiled, offering her the tumbler. Finish that off and we'll play a game of Connect 4. Then I'd like you to do a bit of reading before our walk, if that's OK with you. I've a surprise for you."

Her pleasure was plain to see. She grinned expectantly.

"I've written a story for you to read. A special one, just for you."

---

Mac was nervous. He almost bottled it. Time and again he had fretted about the most important part of the plan. What if the drug were fake? Just a sleeping potion or something? How would he know? What if it didn't work and Naomi ended up screaming the place down when he tried it on? The bloke in the pub who sold it to him was a friend of a friend, but that was no guarantee the stuff would do what he expected from his research on the Net.

Worse still, he was still unsure how much to give her. What he had bought was supposed to be enough to handle a grown woman long enough to get her home from a nightclub and soundly fucked, without her subsequent knowledge. But a cute little eleven-year-old - so small her head only just comes up to his chest? Mac stuck with the plan. He gave her a half dose. Superstitiously, he denied himself the thought that there might then be enough for a second session another time - but that might summon up the jinx. No. Let's just see how this goes.

He watched the little girl very carefully, for the first signs. It wasn't easy, as she was so scatty anyway.

His throat was dry. Was that look real? He peered into her eyes as subtly as he could. Her pupils were enormous. That glassy expression wasn't just Naomi being Naomi. Chemicals had much more to do with it.

"Are you feeling OK?" he asked her.

She turned her head as if in slow motion. She said she was fine, but her speech had a distinct slur to it. She was having trouble slotting the counter into the game.

"Come on, should we read my story now?" Mac asked with infectious enthusiasm.

The girl gave him a slow nod. He led her to the sofa, and for the first time ever, touched her. Just a guiding hand, to set her down close beside him. Christ, she looked good in those tiny little shorts. They were tight around her crotch. And her backside practically had a sign on it saying 'Spank Me'! The stapled pages lay on the arm of the settee, printed in large font. He handed them to her and she studied the first page with total concentration.

"Hey," she cried excitedly, "It's called Naughty Naomi!"

Mac chuckled.

"Pure coincidence. Off you go..."

The small girl read slowly and steadily, peering hard at the page. Mac loved the childish intonation of her voice.

"A beautiful little girl called Naomi lived in the city. She lived in a block of flats with her Mum. Naomi's Mum was always busy and she often had to go out to work, and so Naomi spent a lot of time looking after herself."

She stopped and looked up with an amused smile.

"Mac! This story is about me!" She was delighted.

He laughed.

"No it isn't! Really. You'll see. Go on."

She was having to struggle to concentrate.

Naomi read on, unsteadily. The girl in the story sounded a bit like her, and did some things she did and she liked the same music and TV programmes. But the similarity petered out. She stopped reading again.

"But I'm not always naughty!" she complained.

"That's why the story isn't about you," explained Mac. "The Naomi in the story keeps doing naughty things and her Mum is very cross with her. She says if Naomi does anything else naughty, she'll throw her out."

The real Naomi blinked. She was finding it so hard to think. The girl in the story kept doing things that made her Mum angry. But she liked it that the girl was called Naomi. Mac was a nice man, writing a story with a girl called Naomi. She continued reading. Very slowly. The girl in the story had been very naughty: she had crept out to the park when Mum had told her to stay in, and then she had chased a goose round the pond and fallen over. She turned the page. She read more.

"Naomi looked down at her dress. It was covered in mud from the edge of the pond. What would she do now? Mum would be livid! She ran home as fast as she could. Her shoes were so thick with mud; she left them outside the door. She knew Mum was due back soon and she had to do something. Maybe she could wash her clothes so Mum wouldn't be cross. Maybe Mum wouldn't throw her out if she could be clean when Mum got back."

"That's very good," said Mac. "But you sound very sleepy. I tell you what we'll do. Just for a change. You can act out the story! That'll be fun. I'll read and then you pretend to be the Naomi in the story. You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?"

Naomi felt as if someone had turned off her brain. Automatically, she said yes.

Mac felt a wave of excitement. He dared to put his arm gently across her shoulders. He drew her towards him. He gave Naomi a little cuddle. She giggled.

He stood up, taking the sheaf of paper from her, and began to read.

"Naomi went into the kitchen and stood next to the washing machine. She wondered how it worked. 'All those buttons and knobs,' she thought. Come on, let's go in the kitchen!"

The small girl followed Mac. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her sweet face pale and devoid of expression.

"Over here!" enthused Mac. He watched her closely. The frigging drug was working! She was like a little zombie. He took a deep breath. This was the big one - now we'd see if it was really working. He read from the page.

"Naomi opened the machine. 'It shouldn't be that difficult,' she thought to herself. She took off all her clothes and put them in the machine. Then she added some powder. 'Two cups of powder should get it all really clean,' she said to herself."

Mac stopped and looked down at the girl. She stared straight ahead. Didn't move. Shit!

"Naomi. Naomi - the story. 'She took off all her clothes and put them in the machine.'"

She could hear Mac's calm, clear voice. She could see Mac. She had to take off her clothes and put them in the washing machine. She didn't know why. But there was Mac and he is a nice man, so it had to be all right.

Naomi pulled her T-shirt over her head and put it into the machine, as Mac held the door open. He was smiling. I'm not naughty, she thought. She peeled off her socks and tossed them inside. Then her shorts. And finally her little pink panties.

Mac was elated.

He watched spellbound as the little girl stripped off in front of him. Her body was fantastic. Everything he had hoped for: dusky skin, tiny waist, the slimmest hips and just the hint of a tummy. And those tits - just spongy enough to squeeze, with the cutest little brown nipples, all firm and ready to nibble. As she stood up and chucked her knickers in the machine he observed the tight muscles in her thighs and narrow bottom and when she turned to face him, his eyes fell on the wonderful little split peach between her legs, a perfect little mound, neatly cleaved in two, with a succulent fold emerging from the crease, simply begging to be lifted and suckled. And only the lightest suggestion of fluff thinly wisping down each labium, dark yet still fine and soft.

He realised he was holding his breath. He recovered quickly, and lifted the story again, to read.

"Naomi set the machine running and hurried through to the bathroom. Her legs and arms were as muddy as her clothes. A bath would fix that..."

Mac placed his hands on her warm, bony shoulders and turned her about. Softly, he murmured, "That's great, Naomi. Now let's go into the bathroom."

She didn't need a bath. She wasn't muddy. It was the girl in the story who was muddy. But Mac wants her to go into the bathroom. Maybe she did need a bath. Mac is a nice man. He wanted her to have a bath. OK.

He propelled her lightly before him, pausing to begin filling the bath before sitting on the edge and drawing her closer to him. He couldn't believe how gorgeous she was. And only eleven. He desperately wanted to feel her body, to roam his hands across her soft, dark skin. But first another test. To be sure.

"Would you like a wee before your bath, Naomi? Of course you would. Sit up there and see if you can do one."

But going to the toilet was something you did on your own. She shouldn't sit on the toilet with Mac watching. But Mac is nice and he wanted her to do it. So she did. He asked her to open her legs a little wider. She didn't know why he wanted her to do that - that would mean he would be able to see her front bottom, and ugh, to see her actually weeing, but she did it, because she liked Mac.

"Stay there until the bath is ready," Mac told her. And so I can get a better look at your lovely little cunt.

He lifted her into the bath. An excuse to hold her properly. She said nothing. Did nothing. Like the proverbial putty in his hands.

He told her to wash and handed her some soap and a flannel. He asked her to stand and soap herself. He asked her to wash very carefully between her legs and around her bottom. Then he resumed the story.

"Naomi scrubbed herself clean. She rubbed her legs and arms hard to wash off the mud."

Mac nodded to her and she took the flannel and pushed it up and down her leg. He watched her bathe, automatically doing whatever he told her. Awake yet unconscious. At his disposal.

"Mum was due any minute. She pulled the plug and stepped out of the bath. She had to dry herself quickly. Oh no! She heard the unmistakeable rasp of the key in the front door. And even worse, she heard voices. Or more precisely, the voice of Frank, Mum's latest boyfriend. She hated Frank. He was always nasty to her. Once he had hit her when Mum was out. Naomi was scared of Frank."

Mac had abandoned the written story and was adlibbing. It had served its purpose.

"'Naomi?' called Mum. Naomi froze. What could she do? Mum was bound to find her clothes in the washing machine and would be mad. Suddenly the door to the bathroom opened. It was Frank. 'She's in here,' he called to Mum, 'and it looks as though she's been naughty again.'"

Mac opened the bathroom door. It was time for him to become an actor, not just the narrator, of this little play.

Naomi stood naked and still a little damp, aware of Mac standing in the doorway, but not sure why he was looking at her like that. Like he was cross with her. Mac is a nice man. She hadn't done anything to make him cross. And who was Frank? Her head felt heavy. She looked down at her arms. She had goosebumps. Why couldn't she lift them and give herself a rub?

"Naomi," said Mac, in a deeper, rougher voice. "Your Mum is really cross. She wants me to teach you a lesson. Come here, you naughty little girl!"

Why was Mac talking like that? But he had told her to 'come here' so she had better do so.

"Are you sorry, Naomi?"

Why should she be sorry? She had better tell Mac that's she is sorry.

"Yes, Mac, I'm sorry," she heard herself say.

"Yes, Frank, you mean. Say I'm sorry, Frank."

"I'm sorry, Frank," she muttered. Frank looked like Mac, but she didn't think he was as nice.

"Too late for that, Naomi. Go to your room now. I'm going to have to teach you a lesson you won't forget, you naughty little girl!"

She hadn't been naughty had she? She didn't remember. She thought his name was Frank and he wasn't nice.

Mac guided her through to her small bedroom. The real fun could now begin.

"Sit on the bed, Naomi. I'm just going to take off my clothes too, and then I'm going to spank your bottom."

She sat obediently. The man was undressing. That couldn't be right. Where was Mac?

She felt a hand grip her arm. The room spun and she was looking at the carpet. There was something touching her bottom. A hand. Someone was feeling her bottom. Stroking the backs of her legs. She was on her front. She was across the man's lap, that was it. He was running his hand up and down her legs and touching her bottom. It wasn't right, but she couldn't move.

That hurt! Stop! Ow!

He was smacking her bottom. She could feel his hairy, hard legs under her tummy. He smacked her again. She didn't know why. She was crying because the smacks hurt, but she didn't know why she was being smacked. He stopped. His hands were touching her again. He mustn't touch me there! That's very private!

Mac could barely breathe. In fact he could barely believe this was happening. There she was: so small and skinny and soft and naked, bent over his thighs. She was sniffling, moaning a bit, but not yelling out. It felt so good. He was definitely spanking her: her taut, dimpled buttocks were a hot shade of pink. His cock was rock hard and he could feel the pressure of her wriggling body crushing it against his stomach. He brushed his fingertips over the skin of her backside - it was hot and rough to the touch where his hand had beaten her. He bent down, to look between her legs. He had to push her further over his lap so that he could push her cheeks apart with his fingers and take a proper close look at her dark, wrinkled anus. He slid his hand down the crack of her bottom, curling his fingers between her soft thighs and sensing the cleft of her little cunt. He bent his middle finger and it forced her labia apart.

"That's for being naughty, Naomi. That's for going to the park when Mum told you to stay indoors. This is for making your clothes muddy."

She wanted to scream. Her bottom was really hurting. Ouch! The man was hitting her again, and it was already really sore from the first spanking. Please don't hit me. It wasn't me. It was the Naomi in the story. Oooow!

Man, this was good.

Mac was worried he might suddenly come, he was so turned on. The eleven-year-old bucked and twisted on him, but he held her firmly over his knee and took his time, selecting a slightly different part of her sexy little rear for the next blow. It wasn't a hard spanking by any means. Just enough to keep up the sound of her crying. Yes, even the sound was making him horny, let alone the incredible sensation of having her wonderful, tiny little body under his control.

Naomi hoped he really had stopped. The pain was becoming unbearable. She could feel the warmth of her own tears running down her cheeks. She could hear her own sobbing. And yet she couldn't wipe her eyes, or her nose. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, and yet in a strange way, she couldn't feel it - as if she was looking at a girl who looked like her, who was being spanked - but she didn't know why. She remembered Mac and wondered where he was and why he hadn't been there to stop the man hurting her.

"Time for that lesson, Naomi. Remember? Frank doesn't like bad girls and neither does your Mum. Ask Frank to teach you a lesson for being a bad girl."

Naomi didn't know why she asked the man to teach her a lesson. Only that she was told to ask him. She only seemed able to do things she had been told to do. That wasn't right.

Mac lifted her up and placed her on her bed. She stared right at him, her lovely eyes now all puffy and red, but he saw no flicker of recognition. The drug was marvellous. He arranged her the way he wanted, her head on a pillow, so that he could watch her face, her arms out to the side, so that he could enjoy her thinness, the way each of her ribs were visible under her dark skin.

And the way her legs stayed wide open so that he could play with her cunt.

He climbed on the bed and knelt over her on all fours. He had to taste those tears. His tongue lapped her cheek. Hot, salty. He kissed her lips. Her empty eyes, with their giant pupils, betrayed no emotion, and she lay still as he formed his lips over her soft mouth, and pressed his face down on hers. Her mouth was unresisting and she tasted great.

What was he doing? You mustn't kiss me - I'm only a little girl. EEw! His tongue is in my mouth. Now he is sitting up. That's not right either, touching my titties. Ouch! Stop!

Mac sat on his haunches over her, licking his lips. He fondled her cute little breasts, loving the feel of the squidgy flesh in his palms, so small yet so erotic. He rolled her nipples in his fingers. Suddenly her pinched one and screwed it round between his thumb and finger. Her body jerked beneath him and she squeaked. That was an unexpected bonus: when he hurt her, she made instinctive noises, but nothing like the indignant yell he would have expected from a fully cognisant girl. He twisted the other tiny nipple, to prove the point to himself. Indeed a bonus. The gag he had brought remained in his trouser pocket.

But not the contents of the small bag next to the pillow.

Naomi's eyelids were beginning to droop. She blinked and forced them open, trying to focus on the man sitting across her tummy. Oh my God! Is that what a man's thing looks like when it's erect? She had seen sneaky pictures at school, but never the real thing. Ugh! So big and sort of ugly, with that shiny red end and it's all hairy round his balls. Where's Mum? I'm scared, she admitted to herself.

The girl's breasts had the tang of fresh perspiration. It was a warm day, and their two bodies pressed together were hot. Mac closed his eyes as he sucked her nipples and toyed with them with his tongue, to maximise the pleasure. When he opened them, she was still looking down her body at him, perhaps more drowsily, but definitely wide awake. He wondered how much she could feel, whether the teasing of his tongue had registered anything behind the impassive mask.

He moved backwards, and the tip of his achingly hard cock brushed her stomach. He had to do something about that and very soon.

Naomi watched the man retreat down her body. She could feel his body touching hers. She could see his big chest and that long stiff thing sticking up in front of his belly, but he didn't seem real. Or maybe she wasn't real. She wanted to go home. This wasn't any fun.

Her legs twitched, the instant his fingers alighted on her pussy. He checked her vacant expression before pushing his fingertips down on the delicate segments of soft, brown flesh and slowly, carefully pulling them aside, to reveal the dark, glossy pink innards, and the tiny, hidden hole of her vagina. He adjusted his fingers and pulled her much wider. Emboldened by the absence of reaction, save for a short gasp or two, he stretched her labia wide open, so that her inner lips were also pulled taut. He bent forward, and licked wetly, the smooth, warm depths of her virgin pussy.

No! Mum! The man is doing things to my front bottom! I can see his head down there. He's... he's licking me. Down there! Go away. That's really rude. You mustn't do things like that with a little girl. You... oh!

Naomi's entire body spasmed. Just a tiny bit. But there was no mistaking it. When his tongue wriggled up against the roll of soft tissue at the top of her cunny, and pushed it aside and lapped the miniscule dome of firm flesh beneath.

Mac was drooling. Utterly incredible, this. Here I am, performing cunnilingus on an eleven-year-old girl and it is the most amazing, arousing sex I have ever had, he told himself. His hearing tuned itself to the sharp little breaths she was making, the near-inaudible moans. He loosed a dribble of saliva down the furrow of his tongue and smeared it all over her innermost parts. He followed his tongue down until it slipped into the dint of her vagina. He pushed it a tiny way inside, and for a moment, just a moment, considered abandoning the plan, and shoving his cock there instead. If only...

This isn't right. I feel tingly down below. The man is licking my private parts and yet it doesn't feel nasty. I don't understand. Why is this happening?

He had to do something.

If he didn't, he would just come. Over and over he had debated with himself about whether he should fuck Naomi. He really, really wanted to, and of course there was nothing stopping him. Except the consequences. A grown man can't ram his cock hard up a tiny eleven-year-old's cunt for the first time and not leave any trace, no matter how much she has been drugged. So much so that even if she remembered absolutely nothing, the simple physiological effects would be more than enough to indicate what had happened.

Reluctantly, he sat back up. Her mouth would still do nicely.

He stuffed a second pillow under her head, and knelt across her again. One hand steering the base of his penis, the other on her forehead, he leaned forward and presented his cock to her soft lips. He wiped a smear of pre-cum over them.

"Lick your lips, Naomi," he ordered. "Show Frank that you can be a good little girl, and maybe he'll tell Mum not to throw you out. That's it, can you taste it? It tastes really good, doesn't it? Well you can have some more now. Open your mouth really wide and stick out your tongue. Yes, well done, that's just right. Open a bit wider. Good. Now lift your head up and put your mouth right around the end of my penis. More. More. Now lick it all over. Make it really wet. Oh yes. That's very good."

I want to go to sleep, Naomi repeats to herself. But nobody is listening. Not Mum, not that nice man, what's his name? Mac? She doesn't know where they are. It's really hot, she can feel a trickle of sweat on her brow and her mouth tastes really strange. Sort of salty, or bitter. Something is holding her mouth open. She knows she has to lick it. It is smooth and very warm and she can't recognise the flavour, but she doesn't think she likes it.

What a memorable sight, thought Mac, watching the perfect little face wrapped around his swollen cock. He cursed himself for deciding that the video camera would have been too much hassle. Well worth it, to relive this moment.

And the next, as he suddenly lets the full force of his ejaculation fire a hot string of semen into the roof of Naomi's gently rocking mouth. He throws back his head in total pleasure. The pulses race along his cock and explode in her obedient little mouth. He watches with fascination, as if it can't be real, isn't really filling the back of her throat with his waves of cum.

"Oh, yes, Naomi. Yes. Fuck, that's good. Now make sure you swallow all of it. Don't waste any. You don't to make me cross do you?"

In her head, she was panicking. She knew she had to swallow the warm sticky stuff, but her throat wouldn't work. Her mouth tasted strange. There was a strong sort of chemical smell. It was so hard to swallow with her mouth forced open. She coughed and choked. Mum?

Mac could see something was wrong. He pulled out of her mouth and pulled the pillows from beneath her head. She spluttered when he turned her head to the side. He pinched the end of her tongue and pulled it between her teeth. She coughed and coated his hand with a thin spray of saliva and cum. But she was breathing.

He sighed with relief. And wiped his hand on her tits.

Naomi wanted to yell for help, call out for her Mum. She was drowning, couldn't breathe. But she couldn't form the words. Her voice didn't work. Her throat hurt from choking. What was that funny taste? Wasn't she supposed to swallow something?

He needed a breather. That was a bit scary. He lay down beside the little girl and nestled her into his groin, pressing his softening, wet cock against the warmth of her knobbly spine.

---

The restraints turned out to be symbolic rather than strictly necessary.

Her little buff-coloured body was his for the using. He could pose her as he wished and she would dutifully remain however he placed her, compliant and unknowing. But in his mind's eye, during the weeks of preparation, he had envisioned her tied like this, with her bottom in the air, and so he bound her anyway. He used four pairs of cheap tights - less chance of making telltale marks on her wrists and ankles. His domination was now demonstrably complete. And he could concentrate properly on sodomising her.

And it was a great position. Dramatic. Accessible.

Having peeked in her room on previous visits to the flat, Mac knew that layout and arrangement of furniture and the shelving over the girl's bed had provided the inspiration. He tensioned the second pair of tights and finished the knot. There. All ready. He just had to tie her wrists to the end of the bed. And put the towel he had brought under her arse - no point in leaving hard-to-explain stains.

She looked at the pillows and her cuddly toys piled on the bed and wondered why they were like that. Then she was being pulled around and pushed on her back and her legs were floating over her head and she was looking at her own tummy button, with her chin pushed down towards her chest. She was bent double. The pillows were being pushed under her back to support her and she could see her favourite teddy poking out to one side beneath her waist. She could look up and her knees were high above her, out to the side. She couldn't understand what her feet were doing, right up there, next to the shelves over her bed. It wasn't right.

Getting Naomi upended and tied, spread and on display, had restored Mac's hardness. He had also got his wind back after the literally breathtaking and spectacular experience of using her mouth. He flipped the cap off the small bottle of lubricant and poured a thin line over his fingers.

There was that man again. Wasn't his name Frank? How strange that she could see him between the 'V' of her own legs. She could see his big thing again. Briefly, she remembered him pushing it into her mouth. That couldn't be right: that would be a terribly naughty thing to do to a little girl.

Something was tickling her bottom.

Mac was in absolutely no hurry whatsoever. He had been looking forward to this for weeks and with Naomi's mother not likely to return for hours, he could afford to take his time. He studied her.

This was amazing: her innocent, sweet young face stared impassively above her wantonly spread legs, her cunt and anus daring him to touch them. Like a gourmet faced with a table laden with haute cuisine, he was spoilt for choice. Between the delicate halves of her cunny, the tiny, dark, pear-shaped void of her vagina proved too much to resist. He shuffled up close to her. Gingerly, he pressed the tip of his forefinger over it, and slipped it inside. He played with her for a while, easing the tip of his finger in and out. He dared go as far as the first knuckle, but since she might not react if he pushed too hard, he didn't want to risk damaging her.

Naomi felt the tickling. It wasn't too bad. What was doing that?

He decided to masturbate her, to kill enough time for his erection to gain sufficient hardness. Mac was pleased with his stamina. Despite being the wrong side of forty, he kept himself in reasonable shape. His weight was under control and best of all, he could be ready for repeat sex as quickly now as when he was in his twenties. In fact, he reckoned he was better these days - could control himself better and put off coming much longer. Which was going to be useful shortly.

He spread more lubricant over her labia, watching her blank face as his fingers explored her pussy. Then very softly and carefully, he began to massage her clitoral hood.

The little girl could feel an added warmth down below. It puzzled and intrigued her. Quite nice it felt, a bit like after she had needed a wee badly.

Mac's eyes flitted constantly from Naomi's shiny, delicate pussy to her beautiful face. It was a good four minutes before he noticed that from within her drug-induced fug, her body was sending her signals that were being received. There was a distinct sheen to her skin. Her tiny tits were rising and falling just a tad faster. Those gorgeous young lips had relaxed and her mouth was open. And her eyes had closed just a shade.

It was fascinating. And incredibly arousing. In her semi-conscious state, it was as if he was witnessing pure pleasure, untainted by other emotions. Her tongue darted across her big front teeth. There was the faintest of blushes in those hollow cheeks. Every now a then, her thighs would move up and down above her, as she flexed them.

He knelt up and as he rubbed her slippery little clit, he ran the fingers of his other hand softly over the hot skin of her thighs and bottom. He stroked all about her pubic mound and rested the pad of his middle finger in the entrance to her cunt. Her ribs were rising and falling steadily. He heard her suck in her breath. He heard her little gasp. He felt warm moisture on his finger.

Mum? Where are you? What's going on? It aches so much between my legs. My tummy is all tight. I want to squeeze my legs together but they won't move. It's ever so hot. It doesn't hurt but I'm frightened. Mum?

There was no mistaking that shiver. Her whole body twitched. And that little whimper - so little girl. Yep. I reckon I've made the little cunt come, thought Mac, thrilled. Now it's my turn again.

Naomi was panting. Her body was tingling all over. She desperately wanted to grasp herself between her legs, and press her hand hard against her private parts. That would be so naughty. So rude. But the ache was more than she could stand. Why was this happening? She wanted to cry out. Mum! Stop the ache! She wanted it to stop but then she didn't really. Aaaaah! She felt the body around her shake. She was suddenly cold. She could feel her whole body so clearly, the tingling in her hands and feet, the tightness in her tummy. The ends of her breasts had a dull itch that she so wanted to scratch or rub away. And her front bottom was on fire!

Mac licked the greasy mucus from his finger. The best he had ever tasted. He dipped back into her wet little cunt and collected another drop, which he delicately smeared over the glossy glans of his cock. His penis twitched in gratitude.

Applying another dose of lubricant to his fingers, he turned his attention to her dark, wrinkled little anus, lovingly coating her velvet skin all around it before wiping the residue directly into the dimpled centre. Then he pressed down.

Something was poking her bottom now! It was tickly. Stop that - leave my bottom alone! But whatever was pushing gently but relentlessly couldn't hear her yelling because she couldn't make her mouth work. It just kept tickling her and, and ow!. It was pushing into her bottom. She could feel it, something firm and warm, pushing past the circle of tightness. No! That's dirty. Go away! Please. Mummy?

He didn't want to be too rough. In some respects, having her so drugged was a drawback, because he wasn't receiving much feedback. Never mind, conceded Mac, if I take it really slowly, and work her lovely little arse open nice and steady, she won't come to much harm. And that is what he did. He made himself comfortable on the bed and gentled her sphincter open, patiently sliding his finger past the ring of muscle that clenched against his probing. Once he had overcome the resistance, it became easier. He could slip in and out, gradually applying pressure to all points of her anus, encouraging it to relax and dilate and accept the invader.

She was screaming inside. Nothing Naomi could do would stop it. She could feel this thing inside her; there was a throbbing pressure inside her bottom, constantly pushing up into her. Nothing would make it go away. The pressure grew, climbed higher inside her. She wanted to cry but she didn't know how.

Mac deemed her ready. His cock was oozing pre-cum constantly. He spread it over the tip of his knob. Drawing the foreskin tight back, and grasping firmly, he positioned himself over her anus. Slickly, he withdrew his finger and pushed the point of his penis into the still-dilated, oily little hole. The girl's tiny body was being pushed away from him, so he held her by her hips and pushed steadily. His glans disappeared between the cheeks of her bottom. He felt her anus struggle to defy him, but her persisted and rested, with the whole tip now inserted. To go further, he began a series of short thrusts. His foreskin passed into her and her held her still and rocked on his heels, pushing a shade harder with each forward movement. From the back of her throat, the girl began to answer each thrust with a quiet, breathy little gasp. Her little cries became addictive. Mac varied his force, experimenting to find out if the strength of her involuntary gasps was in proporti on to the momentum of his cock filling her virgin rectum.

It was. She almost cried out when he was rough. Her eyes were watering. Mac paused and took in the scene. Could he really have tied up a little eleven-year-old girl on her own bed and be buggering the stuffing out of her? He scarcely believed it. How long could he keep shoving his cock in and out of her? How deep dare he push it?

Naomi didn't believe it either. Briefly she focussed on the naked man framed by her spread legs. He was red in the face and was rocking back and forth and each time he moved closer, the huge pressure inside her bottom got even worse. What was a man doing on her bed? Yet another throbbing pain gripped her. Why couldn't she cry?

The answers to his questions, Mac discovered, were fifteen minutes and almost the whole length. He was astounded by how much of his penis she took. Eventually her anus dilated and relaxed sufficiently for him to enter her without his having to assist by holding it. That was exactly the point he had been dreaming of - a proper fuck, with the tiny girl's body squeezed beneath his own. He moved closer against her and arched his back so that he leaned between her legs and could look directly down at those wonderful big, brown, uncomprehending eyes. Leaning with his forearms either side of her shoulders, he placed his hands on the top of her head, interlacing the fingers. He had her in a vice-like position - not only were here limbs held by the tights, but her little frame was gripped top and bottom by Mac's own body. He pressed gently down on her head and began to fuck her arse.

A brief moment of lucidity for Naomi. It terrified her. It was as if a fog cleared and she could see nothing but Mac's face, flushed and red, panting above her own. And below her, something hard and hairy was pressing down rhythmically between her thighs. Her bottom felt so hot and sensitive. And full to bursting. Her fuddled brain was still trying to make sense of it all when the fog descended again.

Mac desperately tried to prolong the experience by pausing regularly, but even resting and looking back underneath his was arousing: the creases of her tiny, dark tummy beneath his body. The glimpse of his hairy crotch, poised above her delicate pubic mound, split asunder by his thick penis. Her flat little tits, glistening with a sheen of perspiration. Such views only served to reinforce the erotic sense of power over her, confirmed the unimaginable pleasure to be had, fucking a fragile young body little more than half the size of his own.

And there was the unknowing face of a woman-child, passive and beautiful. Her slack lips had to be kissed. His tongue had to lick them, had to dance over those oversized, white teeth, explore and nibble her ears and the sides of her neck. She smelt fresh. And scared.

It was too much. Struggling to avoid being too rough, he launched into a frantic pummelling, pumping his cock up into, accompanying the crescendo with a salvo of obscenities whispered directly into her unhearing ear.

He groaned loudly when he came, simultaneously pushing her body towards his groin, and squeezing his penis hard against the slick membrane of rectum. His cock spat a thick stream of semen into the confined orifice.

Naomi could hear a man's voice in the distance. He was saying rude words. He was saying dirty things about her. Mac never says words like that. He's always nice to Naomi. She thought that her bottom hurt, although she wasn't sure.

---

There was still fun to be had, but now she was comatose - nothing would wake her.

He had untied her and pulled her body into his, spooning her as he recovered, basking in post-sodomy euphoria, stroking her breasts and nipples, nuzzling behind her ears.

By the time he was ready to get up, her eyes had finally closed and she had entered a deep, drug-fuelled sleep that would presumably last until morning. It was only early evening. He cleaned himself up, watched the sports results on TV, and had a large pizza delivered.

She was still curled, naked and peaceful, on her bed, sucking her thumb quietly. A messy dribble from between her legs had been caught by the thoughtfully-placed towel.

Businesslike, Mac decided that he had perhaps two more hours before either there was the risk of Karen's early return, or else he could not be confident that the drug's full effects would not have begun to wear off, even if she remained asleep. He had to clean her up, and tidy her bedroom, but two hours should be enough to play out one or two more fantasies.

Naomi was no longer party to Mac's enjoyment of her body. Real dreams had replaced inexplicable mirages.

He spent a long time cleaning her body.

He had carried her through into the lounge and placed her on the coffee table in front of the sofa. He fetched a bowl of warm water, flannel and soap and from the bag in which he stuffed the remains of the tights, he produced cotton buds and scent-free moisturising cream. The bizarreness of it all made him grin: sitting there in this grotty flat on a warm evening, sipping from a can of cheap lager, with his head buried between the thighs of a tiny brown, sleeping girl, examining and burnishing every little crack and fold of her anatomy like a trainee gynaecologist.

Once Mac was satisfied she was clean, he wanted to play with her again.

She was little more than a life-size doll, flopping in his arms. He sat her naked little body straddled across his lap as he watched the television news, her chest pressed to his, her sleeping head resting on his collar bone. And his finger hooked up beneath her, idly caressing her pussy. He carried her into the kitchen.

Setting her down on the breakfast bar, he unfurled her carefully, on her back. Mac eased her legs over the sides of the worktop, their weight opening her pussy. He wanted a quick trial run - to check out some ideas. Just in case another opportunity might arise another time.

He swigged another beer, cheerfully rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, for the things he needed.

Excellent!

Mac threaded a short length of string under the girl's buttocks, leaving a few inches each side. The drying rack yielded half a dozen plastic clothes pegs. His experiment was quite successful: three pegs attached to each half of her labia, threaded to the string, held her delicate little pussy beautifully open. What a shame she wasn't awake - he would have loved to hear her squeal when he applied the pegs.

Why the fuck had he left the camera behind?

He watched her dainty nipples harden and her aureoles shrivel as the ice cube melted against them.

They tasted so good.

He was hard again.

But his cock was still so sensitive from the marathon reaming of her tight little arse that he abandoned his earlier intention to have some final form of sex with her. The thrill of risk; the overwhelming sense of domination; the wonderful sight of her smacked bottom, glowing red; her soft mouth filled with his cum; the ecstasy of such a long, slow fuck then the mother of all climaxes right up her arse: all had exhausted him.

With resigned recognition of reality, he dressed her in her thin pyjamas and put her properly to bed.

---

Mac had been dozing and the sound of Karen's key in the lock stirred him. He made a quick getaway, deliberately failing to respond to the tipsy gleam in her eye. A couple of innuendoes and a deft pass and he could almost certainly have ended up spending the night.

But there was only one person he would have liked to sleep with that night, and she was already in the deepest of sleeps in her little room.

"Good as gold. We went on a massive walk. She's absolutely shattered: not used to all that exercise, probably. Probably be stiff in the morning! Must go - the night bus will be along any minute."

Karen flopped on to the sofa. It had been a good night out and she was half-cut. Idly, she flicked through the stapled paper that was on the cushion beside her. In her drunken state, she squinted at the words. It was a kid's story: 'Nicola and Uncle Frank Go To The Park', about some girl who falls in a pond when out feeding the ducks with her favourite uncle. Had Mac done all that just for Naomi?

You know, he really is such a very, very nice man!

Chapter 3: The Prospect of Things to Come

Karen was too drunk to take much notice of a frightened, confused little girl, climbing in beside her in the middle of the night.

She was too hung-over the next morning, to pay any attention to the urgent, incoherent babbling of her dopey daughter. Silly, garbled rubbish, about someone called Frank, who hurt her because she was muddy. All that cheese on the pizza: must have given her nightmares.

She was too busy earning a quick fifty quid on her back that afternoon, to have time to listen to any more of Naomi's stupid stories.

But when Mac called in midweek, for the last reading session before the start of the school holidays, she was more than eager to listen to his modest, almost apologetic suggestion.

"I've a bit of leave saved up and I wondered if I could give you a bit of space over the summer holidays? I don't want to be interfering or pushy - it's just I enjoyed so much being with Naomi on Saturday, I thought that every now and then I might take the day off and spend some time with her? Maybe take her to a museum or the zoo or something like that."

Mac looked down at Naomi and winked at her. The young girl was still in her school summer dress and the tiny white socks set off her slim dark legs to perfection.

---

Ten days later, the start of summer holidays at last, and - typical - the sky was dark grey and the rain unrelenting.

It was the first of Mac's days with the little girl. He had a vial half-full of clear liquid in his pocket.

"What should we do, Naomi?" asked Mac. He knew exactly what we would like to do, but that was still debating whether to go ahead. He had got away with it once. Next time he might not be so fortunate.

"Let's go to the park," beamed Naomi.

Mac looked out of the window at heavy sky.

"But it's tipping with rain," he complained.

"I know," said Naomi, grinning up at him with a truly mischievous twinkle in her lovely big, brown eyes. There was something about her enthusiasm and the ambiguous smirk on her pretty lips that deeply unnerved him.

"I want to go splashing about in the puddles next to the pond. I want to be very naughty and get very dirty!"