Business trips. For many a curse, for me a blessing. For years I had thrown myself at every opportunity to travel abroad, simply to get away from the car-crash of a marriage which neither I nor my wife would openly admit was an utter failure. To her I was always being forced by my bastard of a boss to travel; to my boss I was always eager to volunteer, and did rather well out of it. When finally we did brace ourselves and leap into the void, the truth came out and Caroline, bless her, simply laughed. Four months later she married my boss.

But all that was still to come at the point in time my story is set. The sordid little tale I'm about to tell you happened at the peak of my depression, at the lowest ebb of my happiness. I was in Chicago for a week, at a huge trade convention, alone. Although there was no doubt that being away from home had its benefits - no blazing rows, not having to sleep in the spare room on the mattress with the broken springs, things like that - it was a lonely existence. I ate most meals alone, not really knowing anyone since we were the only British company to attend, and while my contemporaries went out for raucous parties in the evenings, I retired to my room and read or wrote, and ordered room service when I became hungry, and watched countless hours of ESPN. I attended the same convention in the same hotel and had the same routine for four years running; this was to be my fifth and, I decided, last time.

When I arrived at the hotel, exhausted and dirty from the flight, I wanted nothing more than to book in, get up to my room, have a shower, and catch up on the sleep I had missed. There was, however, a monumental spanner in the works. This was a big hotel, a significant conference venue with three massive halls. Of course there was a chance that another large convention might be taking place. I just didn't quite expect the sight that greeted me. The entire lobby, end to end, front to back was filled with groups of school kids of varying ages. I stopped dead in my tracks, slightly taken aback by the sight. The bag dropped from my hand, and my jaw followed it. Something broke inside my exhausted little mind, and I stood frozen to the spot.

"Excuse me, sir?"

It took a moment for me to respond, coming slowly out of my stupor.

"Sorry, sorry," I muttered to the well-dressed young lady who had appeared at my elbow.

"Not at all, sir. I have a feeling you are not with the chess tournament, no?"

She had a strange lilt to her voice which was rather alluring. Something Scandinavian, which fitted with her blonde haired, blue eyed look.

"Uh, no... no. The lighting convention."

"Very good, sir. Would you like to come this way to check in? We've reserved an office for those guests who are not with the chess tournament. Somewhere a little less noisy. Most of your colleagues will be checking in tomorrow, of course."

"Is that what's happening? All those kids are here to place chess?" I asked, dumbfounded, as I obediently followed her lithe form through the chaos. There were hundreds of them!

"Yes, sir," she said, raising a counter-top and beckoning me through a door into a private office. "They're here from all over Illinois. I sincerely hope they don't disturb your stay. We've made every effort to keep disruption to a bare minimum."

I waved aside her pre-emptive apologies. "It's OK, you have a business to run, you can't turn down that kind of money."

For the first time her professional mask slipped a little. She smiled warmly at me. "Thank you for understanding, sir. Now, may I take your passport and a credit card, please? You may wait here while I check you in. Can I send you in a drink? On the house, of course."

I hesitated for a moment, and she correctly guessed why.

"A whiskey, perhaps, or a beer? Anything you would like."

"Well, actually, I could murder a long G&T right now."

She beamed at me. "Coming right up."

It was the most painless check-in of my life, sitting in an air-conditioned office in a comfortable chair with a truly excellent drink in my hand. Trudi, as her name badge had betrayed, was gone quite a long time for a simple check-in, but I suspected she was rather busy; the badge had also said 'General Manager'. When she returned, looking a little harassed, she gave me my room key and handed me over to one of her employees, who escorted me to my room via the service lifts, deftly avoiding the chaos.

Even the room was nicer than normal, up above the worst of the noise and amply kitted out with a proper, full-sized bathroom rather than the shower cubicles I had grown to expect on my limited travel budget. A little compensation, it seemed, from the gracious manageress, because this certainly wasn't the room I had paid for. I over-generously tipped the guy who'd brought my bags up, and then stood and stared out of the window across the city of Chicago.

I have a soft spot for the 'Windy City', whose inhabitants always treated me with the utmost care, attention, and quite frankly affection. Perhaps it was my accent, something I've cultivated over time, free of regional variation, as close to a BBC newsreader as you could hope to be. It worked for business, especially in the States, in the same way an American accent will always sell a film or music in the UK. We love each other more than we would care to admit, don't we?

As I watched out of the window, the faintest sounds drifted up from below. Sounds of children, having fun, causing chaos. My week was, it seemed, going to be full of that noise. I wondered how easy it would be to go about our business with so many children present, because the reality was that deals were done in clandestine little meetings of two or three in the hidden corners of the conference centre. How easy would that be with the place overrun with kids? Perhaps it might play in my favour if the usual suspects couldn't do business in the usual way and freeze us out. In my mind's eye I imagined the frustrated face of my competitors as their secret rendezvous were interrupted by chattering chess players, and allowed myself a little smile at the thought.

Something which had lain dormant at the back of my mind awoke at that moment. The Krakken stirred in the inky depths of my soul. My heart beat a little faster, and my stomach became uneasy. I could feel sweat forming on the small of my back. All signs of something I had hidden over the years, even from myself. An attraction to the younger end of the human race. A sexual attraction, as well as an emotional one. A desire for the untainted form and flesh. A need for nubile limbs, undeveloped bodies, fresh and smooth, not old and wrinkled. Bodies where hair did not run rampant, where stale sweat did not mar the perfect scent of youth, where voices were pitched high and where eyes widened in innocent shock at new pleasures found.

It hardly mattered whether it was a boy or a girl. Perhaps a girl, though, perhaps that would be what I preferred. I allowed myself the indulgence of a few moments daydreaming, imagining some unlikely scenario whereby one of the smart little girls wound up in my room, and I gave her the education she hadn't had by playing chess and doing well in class.

A stupid thought, and I crushed it. So many reasons it would never happen, could never happen. Not least the infinitesimal chance that I would make a connection with a girl of the appropriate age. That was the killer, although there were plenty of other reasons; the security cameras all over the place, for instance. Not in my room, but practically everywhere else. I paid attention to that sort of thing - our company might have concentrated on street lighting rigs, but a partner firm was in security, and a fascinating meal spent with my counterpart from that company had opened my eyes to our surveillance culture. I didn't imagine for a moment that things were any different here in the States than they were at home.

I stepped away from the window and looked at my bag. I should have unpacked it then and there, and readied my suits to be straightened out by the laundry. I should have hooked my computer up to the hotel's wi-fi and replied to those emails my phone told me had followed me across the Atlantic. I should then have taken a wander downstairs and sought out the convention organiser, to see if the courier had delivered my stand yet, and if they had, taken it out and set it up to check it over.

I did none of those things. I locked what I had to in the room's safe, grabbed my wallet, keycard and jacket, and went for a walk.

It was still chaos in the foyer. If possible, it was even more packed than before. I spotted the harried form of Trudi rushing around, fielding endless enquiries and directing people here, there and everywhere. Our paths crossed near the door, and she smiled warmly to me.

"Can I get the doorman to get you a cab?" she asked, showing her professionalism even under the most intense pressure.

I smiled and held up my hands. "No, thanks, I'll walk. Besides, you have plenty else to do! Thanks for the room, by the way."

"It's a pleasure," she replied, with another smile. "Think of it as our way of saying 'sorry'!"

I thanked her again, and was then out of the door, propelled away from the pleasant conversation by the tide of people. It was a warm evening, and I enjoyed my stroll around, even though the hotel was one of those out-of-town places with an artificial community built up around it. This one had a nice little artificial lake, with some not entirely artificial ducks on it, and people jogging around, which is a long-winded way of saying things could have been worse. I found a bench and say myself down to have a long hard think about where I was going with my life, and if this was what I really wanted. Of course, it wasn't.

I sat there for ages mulling things over in my head. I knew this was it, this was the point at which I either decided to end things with my wife, or to carry on forever. I began to think that if I didn't make the change now, I might never make it. Leave Caroline, leave the company, leave my life behind and do something I could actually believe in. I was still fairly young, there was time to find someone else. Time to be on my own for a while, too. We'd been together since the first days of university, Caroline and I. She was my first love, and we'd been married not long after we graduated. Somehow I'd drifted into this shitty sales job, and we'd just bumbled along and never really done anything about the fact that it clearly wasn't working. I was only two years shy of turning thirty, and I realised suddenly that I couldn't remember the last time I was truly happy. I wanted so much more out of life, and I wasn't going to get it unless something drastic happened. Still, I wanted something more sure than that. I needed a sign.

With a sigh, the space on the bench to my right was suddenly occupied. Naturally I glanced across, and found myself sitting next to a young girl, maybe eleven or twelve years old (though I was no judge of kids' ages). She looked as down as I felt, and was staring out over the water as if she, too, had an important decision to make.

"Hey, you alright?" I asked. Funnily enough, though I had only recently been having rather indecent thoughts about girls her age, the question arose purely out of concern. I assumed she was there with the chess players, but there was no way of being sure.

"Yeah, I guess," she replied. Her voice was soft and high, and quite delightful.

"Zack," I said, offering my hand. She took it and gave it a gentle shake.

"Caroline."

My eyes widened in surprise, and she noticed.

"What?"

"Nothing much, it's just that's my wife's name. Bit of a coincidence, that's all."

"You're married, then?" she asked.

I nodded. "Not for very much longer, though."

I don't know why I offered up that particular bit of information, but it didn't seem to phase her.

"Oh, how come?"

I shrugged. "Not sure, really. We've just drifted apart, I suppose. Sounds like a bit of a cliché, doesn't it? We're different people than we were when we got married."

She sat there in silence, digesting what I'd said. I looked across at her and found her frowning.

"What's bothering you?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing much, I suppose. Just this stupid tournament. I probably won't do very well. Can't seem to concentrate lately."

"Any reason? A boy in your life, perhaps?" I said with a grin, surprised with myself for being so direct.

"No!" she said with a laugh, blushing slightly. "No chance of that."

"Oh, right. A girl, then?"

She chuckled at that.

"That's not what I meant, silly. No, it's just... well, the boys in my grade don't really see me that way. Oh, I dunno..."

She looked so downbeat I just wanted to grab her in a big hug and make her feel better.

"They will do, trust me. Just give it a bit of time."

She just shrugged and looked away. When she turned back to me, there were tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Yeah, sure," she whispered.

We sat in silence for a while longer, watching the sun sinking in the west.

"When's your first match?" I asked, after a while, just for something to say.

Caroline looked down at her watch and groaned. "Ugh. Fifteen minutes. I was hoping I'd forget."

She stood up to leave, and looked over at me with a smile. "It was nice to talk to you, you're not as dumb as most adults," she said, with the innocent directness of youth.

I smiled back. "Thanks. Nice to have met you. Perhaps we'll bump into each other over the next couple of days."

"Yeah, maybe."

Then she was gone, sloping off down the path with the attitude of a condemned criminal going to the gallows. I grinned at the pantomime. Only when she was out of sight did I realise that I had smiled the whole time she sat next to me.

---

Trudi approached me as I walked back through the door to the lobby. I'd never before had so much interaction with a hotel manager.

"Excuse me, Mr McNaught, would you be able to spare me five minutes?"

"Uh, sure."

She led me back through to the office where I'd been checked in, and carefully closed the door behind herself.

"Mr McNaught," she said, directing me to a chair and sitting down opposite me.

"Zack," I replied, to which she smiled.

"Zack. Can I count on your confidentiality in a rather sensitive matter?"

"Uh, sure," I replied. This sounded rather odd; where was she going with this?

"We have a bit of an issue, and I was wondering if I might call on your technical expertise."

"OK, what's up?"

"It's our security cameras. The system has crashed, and we can't get it re-booted. Our installers have, apparently, gone out of business, and I can't seem to find anyone who will come out and look at it. I noticed when I was looking over the lighting conference packs that your company also deals in security cameras."

"Ah," I said, and I could see her deflating slightly when she recognised the tone. "That's actually our partner company, Bulldog Closed Circuit. They have an office in New York, but that's the closest I come to knowing what's going on with those systems."

"Oh, damn. Look, I know this is an imposition, but could you perhaps call them and see if they'll fly someone out? I'll make it worth your while..."

As I was wondering what that could possibly mean, she turned round the monitor of her computer to face me, and there, in all its glory, was one of the top floor suites. "Yours for the next three nights if you can get someone to come out here and fix it."

I grinned at her and fished in my pocket for my phone.

---

An hour later, I was reclining on the bed in my four room suite, wondering how the hell the chips had fallen this far in my favour. When I'd called Bulldog they'd agreed straight away to send someone out - for them, it was a chance to spread into a new territory in the States, so the cost of flying someone over from New York was well worth it. And for me, it meant my stay would be truly luxurious.

I picked up the room service menu, and the words of the hotel employee who'd shown me the room echoed through my head.

"And of course, sir, room service is included free of charge with your room booking..."

America may not be the source of the finest gourmet dishes in the world, but no-one does a better steak, and that night I gorged myself on chargrilled rib-eye, downed half a bottle of red, forgot about troubles back home and fell asleep thoroughly contented with the world.

---

The conference proper started the next day, so I was up bright and early getting my stand set up and ready to be ignored. The reality was that the stands were merely a way to tell people you were attending - no-one at a trade convention was going to walk up and place an order for a product they'd never seen before. As I've already hinted, most of the deals took place in ad-hoc meetings, and were really about sealing contracts which had been in the pipeline for years.

I gave a wave to the usual suspects, people I saw in real life once a year, and online about once a week; we all visited the same trade forums. I renewed a few connections, and then left my stand alone and wandered out for my last chance of a bit of fresh air before the fun began.

Trudi was in the lobby, chatting with a tall, fair-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. When she saw me she beckoned me over, and as I approached I realised who the man was - Pete was one of the guys who'd left Bulldog in the UK to start the New York office. He must have been on the first flight in to get here so quickly. I shook his hand, and said good morning to Trudi.

"Pete's already had a look at the system," Trudi said when our greetings were done. "It'll take a couple of days to get fixed, but he tells me he can make some changes to make it much better."

"Yeah, the set-up's a bit of a lemon," Pete said with a grin. "Shame that company went out of business, or you could have sued them! Perhaps that's why they're no longer around. Anyway, we'll upgrade the control computer, shouldn't cost too much. The cameras and the control panel are all pretty much up to date, it's just the computer which let things down. Fried its hard drive trying to shift the video around!"

I laughed along with Pete, though it really wasn't that funny. Managing to extricate myself, I wandered out of the building, intent on finding the same spot in which I had met Caroline the day before. She, it seemed, had had the same idea, and had beaten me to it. She sat, wearing a rather pretty floral pink dress, one leg bent up beneath her and a battered copy of the Hunger Games in her hand. She was utterly absorbed, and didn't seem to notice me sitting down. I left her to read for a few minutes, before the chance of talking to her outweighed my desire not to interrupt her moment of peace.

"Hey," I said, softly. She looked up from her book, taking a moment to focus, and then beamed at me.

"Oh hi, it's you!" she said, sounding genuinely pleased to see me.

"How did your first match go?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe it! I lasted about five minutes before they got me check-mate! So stupid. My dad was real mad."

"Oh, sorry. Did he shout at you?"

"No, nothing like that. But you can tell when he's mad. I have to win the other two games in my round or I go out. At least my brother is doing OK."

"He plays too?"

"Yeah, but he's actually good!" she said with a laugh.

"Is he older, younger?"

"The same. He's my twin. Not identical - he got the brains, I got the looks."

It was a throwaway comment, but with her sitting there in that little dress I suddenly realised that she was right, she had indeed got the looks. Do something with her rather flat hair, get her out of those glasses and a few other Hollywood make-over clichés and she really would look rather attractive, especially to a man of my particular tastes.

"Well, I'd rather be sitting here talking to you than him, then!" I said, which got a laugh from her. "Won't your dad be wondering where you are though?"

"Nah, it's cool. He thinks I'm practising on my iPad."

She reached down and pulled the premium chunk of metal, silicon and glass out of her bag, and handed it to me. I unlocked it and discovered she'd managed to do something really quite clever - she was pitting one automated chess player against another.

"He checks my account to make sure I've practised. He has no idea."

She said it in the way a lot of kids talk about their parents and technology - with pity.

"Does he really make you practise that much?" I asked. The idea of someone being that strict on their child really bothered me. It reminded me of the book I'd read about Chinese 'Tigers Moms', who push their poor kids to academic extremes, sometimes to disastrous effect.

"Yeah, but only at tournament time. He makes Logan play even more than me. But Logan likes it."

"Did your dad ever play?"

Caroline laughed as she shook her head, seeming genuinely amused.

"No, dad's not really the thinking kind," she said. "He used to be a pro football player. He's not stupid, but he's not exactly clever either."

"That's why he's so driven, then?"

"Yeah, I guess so. He's always been really competitive. I think he used to get mad at Logan because he was no good at sports, but when he found out Logan's good at chess he got all 'yeah, let's play chess!' all of a sudden."

"Do you even like playing?" I asked.

"No, not really. I mean, it's fun to play once in a while, but if you play every day it gets kind of boring."

"Yeah, I imagine it would."

"Hey, what do you do for work?"

"Uh, I'm not sure you want to ask that," I replied.

"Why? Will I be shocked?" she asked, suddenly taking a great deal more interest in the conversation.

"Oh yeah, I'm a porn star."

The joke left my mouth before I'd even considered whether it might be appropriate for the audience. Hint: it wasn't; but that didn't stop Caroline breaking into gales of laughter.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said when she could breathe again. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be mean about it. It's just you're so... well... British!"

I laughed along with her now. The very thought of me being a porn star was ridiculous, especially in my slightly crumpled suit, which if I was brutally honest wasn't exactly tailored to my body.

"Yeah, no. I sell street lights, actually," I said. "There's a big convention here for the next couple of days."

"A convention about selling street lights?" Caroline asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, really. It's big business. Think about it, how many street lights must there be in America? They can't last for ever, so every year a certain number need replacing. That means someone has to sell them a new street light. That's what I do."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Boring, isn't it?"

She giggled at me. "Kinda. Sorry."

"Don't be, I'm the one who's sorry! I'm getting out anyway. I need a change. It's not as if I like street lights. I only joined the company because I needed a job doing something - anything - when I left university. It's not exactly my dream job."

"So, what is your dream job," she asked. The Hunger Games lay abandoned between us on the bench. I picked it up and glanced at the cover.

"Writing. Writing books."

"Are you any good?"

"Ha, no, not really. But I've got some stuff written, maybe now's the time to see if anyone will read it."

"Can I read it?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," I replied, without thinking. Then I remembered why I should have said 'no'. "Except..."

"What?"

"Well, I'd kind of forgotten this, and it's a bit embarrassing. There are a few... adult scenes in the book."

Her eyes went wide, and she grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

"No way! You wrote a dirty novel? I definitely want to read it now!"

"It's not a dirty novel! It's just that there are some bits which are..."

"Dirty?" she supplied.

"Ha, yeah. OK. Dirty."

"So, when can I read it?"

I should have put her off, or turned her down completely. That would have been the action of a mature, responsible adult. But of course I did not. In the back of my mind, the part which thinks with hormones instead of neurons, I had the vague notion that it might be worth my time encouraging whatever this was, and for some reason certain words echoed in my mind... 'the security cameras will take a couple of days to get fixed...'.

"Look," I said, my heart hammering in my chest. I was take a serious gamble here. "It's on my laptop, and I really don't want that to leave my room in case someone steals it."

"Oh, I see," she said with a rather-too-knowing grin. "I'll have to come up to your room to read it then, won't I?"

---

I should have returned to the exhibition hall. I should have said to Caroline that perhaps it was a bad idea for me to let her read the story, especially in my room. I really shouldn't have taken the chance I did, either in inviting her up to my room - in a roundabout sort of way - or in then going through with it.

I did take the risk, though. I was intrigued. Caroline and I were acting like an adult couple taking the first steps towards a relationship. It didn't feel like she was a 12 year old girl hiding from her dad and I was a middle-aged lighting salesman four thousand miles away from a crumbling marriage. It didn't feel like I was being predatory, didn't feel that I was luring an innocent, naive girl into a den of iniquity. The difference in our ages didn't even cross my mind, though with hindsight I realise that my attraction to her was at least in part due to her youth.

Why I made that decision is easy to justify to myself, if I'm willing to face the awful truth - I took Caroline up to my room that day because I thought there was a good chance I would end up having some sort of sex with her. Worse, I was still sufficiently in control of my faculties to ask her to wait, and to take an alternative way up to my room, even though I knew the cameras would be off. The only mitigation I offer is that she was a willing and knowledgeable participant. She smiled and nodded when I explained the need for secrecy. She knew what we were doing had to be hidden from those around us. She understood how illicit it was, and I can't help but be certain that she knew exactly what she was getting into, even as we sat by that lake plotting.

---

The knock came ever so softly at my door. I walked on socked feet across the thick carpet to open it, and smiled at her as she slipped inside. Following my lead, she dropped her strappy little shoes by the door, and according to some innate sense of neatness I lined them up next to my own. I felt my stomach lurch to see how small they looked in comparison.

She wandered around the suite in awe, amazed at the size of the place.

"I thought you said you sold street lights?" she said, wandering from the living room to the half-enclosed balcony, which held a secluded hot-tub.

"Ha, yeah. There's a bit of a story here. This wasn't the room I booked. I did the manager a favour and she upgraded me."

She wandered back through to the main room, her eyebrow raised.

"Not that kind of favour," I continued. "I helped her sort a problem with some computers."

"Must've been a big problem!" she said, to which I just shrugged. "So, where's this story, then?"

"Oh," I said, trying to be casual, "I left it on my bed. I'll go and fetch it, and you can read in here."

"No, it's OK," she said, heading straight for the open door of the bedroom. "I'll read it in there."

I followed her into the bedroom, glad that the maid had already been and tidied up the mess I'd left. She climbed straight onto the bed and flopped down in front of the computer, tapping on the space bar to wake it up, making me once again marvel at how comfortable kids are with technology. My mother, bless her, wouldn't even have been able to work out where the power button was, let alone realise that the blinking light in the corner of the chassis meant that the computer was merely sleeping, not shut down. Caroline's generation would be growing up in a different world.

The file wasn't open, so I had to join her on the bed to find it. I sat down next to her and leaned forward to operate the machine, and in doing the softly sprung mattress tipped us together. Her shoulder rested on my side, then her arm snaked around my own, gently trapping it in place. I revelled in the softness of her skin against my own, and the heat radiating from her, and the gentle scent of her perfume. Somehow I'd missed that scent before, and wondered if she had actually been wearing it. Her hair fell against the skin of my arm, tickling it. I didn't realise until that moment quite how I had come to miss the casual intimacy which had been missing from my life for the last few years.

"Stay here while I read, OK?" she said, her voice suddenly less sure than it had been, less imbued with confidence. She was nervous, too.

I hadn't even bothered to try to be clever; I opened it and took her straight to the bits she would want to read - the sex scenes. Besides, there wasn't time for her to read through the whole thing just to get there. I watched her as she read, fascinated by her reactions. Her eyebrows shot up at one point, I guessed where the hero plunges deep into his conquest and brings a howl of tortured pleasure from her, and after a while I noticed the most gentle rocking of her hips, side to side, as if she were squirming in discomfort. God, had it really had that sort of effect on her already?

I pulled my hand free from her grasp, drawing a surprised protest from her lips, which I quelled by placing my freed hand upon her back. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if the touch was unutterably wonderful, and then allowed her chin to fall forward onto her folded arms. She went through the motions of continuing to read as I gently stroked up and down her back, but her occasional suppressed whimpers and writhing hips gave the game away - she was far more interested in the artistry of my fingers on her back than in the screen. After a minute or two, her head fell to the side and I could see that her eyers were closed, a half smile curling the corners of her lips.

As the minutes passed I allowed my fingers to extend their range, taking possession of her whole ribcage at first, then expanding into the hills of her shoulder blades at the northern extreme, and down to where the tie of her dress encircled her waist at in the south. Then, with desire bolstering my arm I stripped away the last vestiges of the disguise. This was no friendly back-rub, this was a seduction (dammit!), and my hand made sure she was aware of this by slipping across the gentle rise of her backside.

Acceptance comes in many forms. It can be a lack of resistance, or a full-on embrace. It can be resignation or relief. Or neither. It can be whimpering, leg-writhing submission to a pleasurable sensation, as Caroline demonstrated. My hand lingered in place, happy to be wanted, keen to continue its good work. She whimpered again, and pushed herself up at me. I had paused, and that could not be allowed. When my hand moved once more, its work was rewarded with a low, contented growl.

I shifted and dropped onto the bed next to her, letting my grip on her slip for no longer than absolutely necessary. Young blue eyers fluttered open, staring into mine, searching for something. Reassurance, perhaps? A need to know that I wanted her as much as she wanted me? She surely must have known that by now. I leaned forward and she rolled away slighltly, making herself available to me. Our lips met, mine roughly searching, hers soft and submissive, and inexperienced. My hand left her body to reach up and hold her head, drawing her to my lips as we locked in embrace, keeping her there until her own desire for this new sensation kept her there of its own accord.

This left my hand free once more, and now it rested on her flank, and continued its gentle mission to excite her skin. On the upward stroke my thumb would swipe down over her chest, making no effort to hide my intentions. I wanted her immature breasts in my hand, and judging by the manner in which she pushed forward her chest, she, too, desired it. No more time to be wasted with subtle seduction now. My hand went straight to her little hillock where it strained against the thin cotton fabric of her dress; nothing but that fabric hindered my exploration. The nipple was a small, hard pebble, still that of a child. I roughly pinched at what I could grab between forefinger and thumb, and she groaned into my mouth.

I rolled her onto her back, leaning over her, my hand continuing to work at her chest as my mouth assaulted her lips. I pinned her wriggling legs with one of my own, and for the first time let my aroused manhood press up against her, albeit separated from her skin by our clothes. She was so small beneath me that for a moment I hesitated, lifting off her and looking down at her dazed expression, the expression of a child within whom something more adult, more primal had awoken. She might have played at maturity before, but now, for the first time, she was experiencing it.

She reached up and grabbed my head with one hand, pulling me down towards her to once more lock our mouths together, and with her other hand prized my over-sized fingers from her chest and pushed them down, down between her thighs, down to the furnace which was her sex, desperate for attention in the throes of our passion. I pushed hard against the soft folds of her immature mound through the double layer of her dress and knickers, and felt rather than heard the groan which escaped her lips, only to be entrapped by mine. She writhed and squirmed beneath me, on fire now, her face flushing deep red.

I broke the kiss again, this time to watch her face for signs of disapproval as my groping fingers bunched the hem of her dress up above her waist. But no signal came to stop. She stared up at me, full of wonder at the new sensations coursing through her body. Her knickers I deemed an unnecessary obstruction, and so they, too, were removed, roughly pulled down to mid thigh by my hand, and ejected completely as she wriggled free of the encumbrance and pushed them away with her feet. As much as I wanted to glance down at her exposed sex, I could not tear myself away from her face, and so my fingertips became my eyes.

They found no adornment on the rolling hills of her sex, no coarse addition of hair to mar the perfectly smooth skin. Dipping between the folds they found her inflamed clitoris; each swipe of my finger was a glorious torture made apparent in her pained expression. Too much, too much, her eyes said, and so I relented, diving instead into the deeper folds of her flower, finding that gentle hollow so apt for catching a wandering fingertip and inviting it inside, inside. Past the heat and the pressure, and beyond into the warm, impossibly soft interior, where big, rough fingers provided more pleasure than soft, girlish ones ever had.

Her eyes were briefly wide, but glazed and lost focus as I plundered her hidden treasure. Her fingernails dug into my upper arm where she grabbed me, the tension in her muscles the only way she could stop herself falling into the abyss, blacking out with the pleasure, or perhaps screaming. She ground her teeth together, eyes shut, a single tear squeezed out to roll gently across her cheek, leaving a dark trail in its wake. Her breath exploded from her lungs, then she was panting, panting to get it back, to get oxygen in to muscles wrung taut by my actions. Her back arched and she squeezed inside, trying to expel the intruder, but there would be no relief until I was satisfied that she was satisfied, and with the renewed assault on her breasts led by my teeth, sheathed in the cotton of her ever-present dress, I brought her to that place so special. As the ultimate pleasure ripped through her body, sending her into a writhing, growling fit I plunged my mouth onto hers, accepting her muffled cries as proof of her joy.

She grabbed me to her, forcing the air from my lungs with a grunt, her grip supernaturally strong. It was love and lust and gratitude and relief all in one. Her hand entwined in the hair at the base of my skull, grabbing a handful as if letting go would mean she lost me altogether. She crushed my face into her shoulder, whimpering slightly as I gently slid my invading digit free of the now-slick confines of her most secret place. I grabbed her hip, rolling over with her on top of me and held her there, comforting her, aware of her fragility, the mask of her maturity lost in her girlish orgasm. She had given herself up to me, not completely yet, but partially, and with intent to finish what we had started.

Not now, though. Now as I held her the insistent ringing of her phone penetrated our sacred space. She rose groggily, smiling down as me as she wriggled her hips in one last act of torture on my still-clothed manhood. She trotted on unsteady feet to where her bag lay discarded, and answered the phone, having an insistent conversation with whoever had called. Her father, I suspected from the tone.

As she stood there, sunlight burst through the window and lit her up, setting the thin cotton fabric of her dress alight, showing her frail, juvenile body in silhouette beneath. I groaned at the sight, wishing I had a camera to capture that perfect moment. Enough, enough teasing now, enough resistance. I roughly pulled my clothes from my body and encircled my engorged member with one hand, watching her on the phone. She turned toward me and her hand flew to her mouth when she saw my nakedness brashly displayed. Still taking on the phone, now clearly in argument with her father, she padded across to me, standing by the bed and reaching out a hand to replace my own.

Oh, what a thoroughly depraved and exciting scene, the young girl inexpertly masturbating me as she spoke on the phone with her father, her protector. I snaked a hand in between her thighs as she stood there, and grinned as she stuttered, faking a cough to cover herself. Her sex was hot and still damp, the insides of her thighs sticky with pleasure and perspiration. When I could finally hold back no longer, her eyes grew wide in shock at the force with which I coated my chest in spilled seed, and she stopped talking altogether. In the silence of the room I could hear her father's voice on the other end of the phone, growing increasingly irate. Smiling wickedly at me, Caroline very deliberately hung up and threw the phone onto the bed.

---

She had to go, of course. Her father was angry that she wasn't in her room as expected, but so far he had no idea she was with me instead. There was still time to avoid dealing with that thorny issue. She had a match to play before lunch - it was still just mid-morning - and I needed to have a shower, and consider taking a wander down to the convention. I'd already missed two hours, but things barely warmed up on the first morning anyway. There would be time to have a quick few stand-up meetings, and then after lunch a few more, before an early finish and the chance to relax and do nothing with most of my afternoon.

Caroline left me her mobile number, and promised she would try to get away from her father later in the day to, as she put it, 'read some more stories'. It was a delightful little euphemism for having sex. I told her that next time she came up we could try the hot tub together, and she gave me a wicked smile. A quick but passionate kiss later and she was gone, trotting off down the corridor, her hair still a thorough mess from rolling in the hay.

I could think of nothing else all morning. I ought to have been relaxed and confident, because I was on top of the world, but the reality was that I just wanted the day to be over so that I could retire to my room and hopefully have the pleasure of Caroline's company once more, if she cold get away from her father. Truth be told, I was beginning to think the convention was a complete waste of time - the usual suspects spoke to their usual suppliers, and although there was some polite interest in what I was doing, there wasn't really any solid interest. It was a shame, because we were selling a cheaper, longer-lasting and more efficient product than all of our competitors, but because we didn't have a track record we could make no headway in the market.

Still, at that point in time I really couldn't have cared less.

My phone buzzed in my pocket just after lunch, when the convention hall was beginning to fill up a little. It was Caroline, and the message intrigued me: 'Meet me @ the bench ASAP'. I made my excuses to those around me and abandoned my stand, heading out of the door without caring who saw me leave.

When I reached the bench she was sitting there with her legs tucked up under herself. She beamed a kilowatt smile at me as I sat down.

"Guess what," she said without any preamble. "I won! I won my match, and Logan lost, and now he has to go into a play-off round this afternoon."

"And you?" I asked.

"I've got one match in about twenty minutes, but it's timed so it won't take long, then my dad said I could do what I want all afternoon because he wants to be there to coach Logan."

My heart skipped a beat at the thought of Caroline doing what she wanted. I fervently hoped it would line up with her doing what I wanted.

"How angry was he earlier?"

Caroline waved it away. "Not very. He was just annoyed that Logan had lost. I told him I'd gone for a walk so I could be ready to win my next game and he bought it."

"So," I said with a grin, "what time are you coming up to try out the hot tub?"

---

Caroline looked stunning in her two-piece bikini. It really was a rather adult design, but she had enough curves to make it look right, even though the breast cups were unfilled, and her slender hips struggled to hold onto the strings at her waist. She eased herself down into the hot tub, and watched me with a smile as I did the same, sitting opposite her.

Immediately she was flirtatious, running her foot up the inside of my calf, her face host to the most thoroughly lewd of grins. I upped the ante, going straight for the ultimate prize, pressing the pad of my big toe between her thighs and directly onto her sex. She gasped at the contact and pushed my foot away, but when I did the same thing again she relented and allowed the wriggling intruder to remain. Her eyes glazed over slightly as I gently pleasured her.

Her hips joined the action a few moments later, gyrating beneath the water, trying to force the rhythm which was most enjoyable for herself. She moaned when my foot withdrew, and glared at me accusingly from behind her long eyelashes.

"Why did you stop?"

"Did you know," I said, casually, "that in the information for this room it reassures visitors that the hot tub is totally private and cannot be seen by anyone else in the hotel."

Caroline looked at me in confusion for a moment before realisation dawned, accompanied by a filthy grin. Without further ado she reached below the water, and with a wiggle of her hips freed herself from the confines of her bikini bottoms, sending them to land with a wet 'splat!' beyond the edge of the tub. Her top followed, and so did my shorts, and suddenly we were both naked.

She rose and came to me, water cascading from her slender body, lending her the air of a water nymph. Thin fingers gripped my shoulders as she knelt over me. Her immature breasts were targets for my thumbs, even as she lowered herself into my lap, and for the first time touched her sex to mine. She shivered, her limbs shaking beyond her ability to control them, fear and excitement taking control. I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply, delighting in the feeling of our wet bodies sliding past each other. My hands roved freely over her back and down to where the twin globes of her behind formed a perfect resting place for my over-sized paws. A perfect handhold to pull her to me, to force our bodies together, to excite her as the underside of my hardness crushed her immature sex against the unyielding bone of her pelvis. We kissed and writhed, and moaned and whimpered, and yet were incomplete.

She was ready. She signalled as much, for there could be no misinterpretation of her actions. Rising up above me she reached down between us to grasp the spear upon which she planned to impale herself, to commit her childhood to history, to become a young woman. Her hand worked along its length for a moment, sensing its size. Her eyes hinted at the fear she was feeling, but her clenched jaw showed her determination to see this through. One hand planted on the wall behind my head, the other still holding my straining shaft, she slowly lowered herself into my lap.

Her eyes squeezed tightly shut and the shaking in her arms grew stronger as she sank down, her body reluctantly accepting me. It had no choice, because Caroline wanted me to be inside her, and nothing was going to stand in her way. Her tunnel gripped tightly around my shaft, meaning progress was painfully slow, literally and figuratively. When at last Caroline settled upon my lap - when there was nothing more I could give her - she sobbed and slumped forward. Her face pressed into the crook of my neck, and the hot droplets of her tears ran down over my chest.

When Caroline's tears dried up, she looked up at me with a weak smile.

"I did it," she said in barely more than a whisper.

I nodded. "Yep, you're a woman now," I said, wiping the tears from her face.

She laughed, her humour born of relief.

"It feels so big, so much bigger than I thought it would. And it's so hot inside me!"

"You're pretty hot, too," I said, giving her a peck on the nose. "You did so well to take it all in."

She blushed. "I kinda practised with a carrot, but it was never as thick as your thing, and never went in so far. What happens if I do this?"

With that I felt the most exquisite torture I'd ever known, as her already vice-like grip on me was tightened further as she flexed muscles deep within. I groaned and felt myself tipping toward release, but she let me go before it happened, laughing at the discomfort her pleasure-giving had inflicted. Then she wriggled her hips, and the hot tightness of her insides rubbing across the sensitive skin of my manhood awoke the beast in me. I needed to fuck her now.

Grabbing her flanks, I began to lift her up then drop her down, feeling the obscene pleasure of stretching her to her limits. Each downward stroke brought a grunt from her, but as the seconds passed her pained, concerned expression melted away, leaving her open-mouthed and panting, her eyes closed in pure bliss. I hadn't expected her to take such pleasure from her first union, but suddenly I could feel a twitching inside her. Her impending peak triggered my own, and I pulled her her to me in a bear hug as my seed surged powerfully into her immature vagina.

She collapsed against me, and I too collapsed, leaning bag against the side of the tub. The warm water soothed our aching, chafed bodies, and the bubbling jets cleaned the evidence of our lovemaking from our skin. When at last I softened enough to slide naturally from her hot confines she groaned into my shoulder, biting the skin there.

---

She didn't want to leave. She wanted to tell her father all about us, and tell him that she was with me now and wouldn't be going home with them. She was irrational, and had grown overly attached, and she realised it. She grabbed on of the cushions from the sofa and screamed into it.

"It's not fair!" she cried. "I love you and you love me, why can't they just let us be happy?"

I wondered the same thing myself. Caroline was clearly smart enough to know what she wanted, and capable of enjoying it when it was received. It seemed perverse that our passion had to remain hidden, especially after we had shared such a loving moment in the hot tub, but the reality of the situation bore down upon us.

"I know, I know," I said, drawing her to me in a strong embrace. "But that's the way it has to be. I'm sorry, I don't like it either."

"Are you sure I can't stay here?" she asked. "We could fuck again..."

I loved how direct she was, but even that promise wasn't enough to dissuade me.

"Uh, fine," she said, climbing off my lap and giggling at the sight of my erection bouncing up, freed from beneath her bottom. "What does that taste like?" she continued, regarding my manhood.

"Don't know," I replied. "It's never been in my mouth."

With a sly grin she slunk to her knees and placed her lips on the very tip, grabbing at the foreskin which hung over the end and leaning back to stretch it out, laughing when she let go and my penis slapped against my stomach. When she leaned forward again she took it straight into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down a few times before releasing me.

"Oh God," I said, resigned. "How hard and fast do you think you can take being fucked? We've got five minutes."

Caroline's mouth dropped open in shock, but then the corners of her mouth curled up.

"Will I like it like that?"

I shrugged. "No idea. Want to find out?"

"Uh, OK," she said, not sounding too certain.

"Get on your hands and knees in front of me," I instructed, and then knelt down behind her, taking my hardness in one hand. It's one thing to be loving, but sometimes sex needs to be raw and passionate and animalistic. A hand on her lower back pushed her waist down and her backside up, revealing the reddened entrance to her most private place. She grunted and pushed back against me as I rammed forward into her, surprised by how moist she had become, and the ease with which I made my way inside.

I gave no quarter, paid no heed to the fact that she was twelve, or that this was only the second time she had had a man inside her. I worked my hips hard and fast, concentrating on nothing but my own pleasure. It came quickly, too, her grasping sheath so tight and hot and slick that nothing could hold me back from flooding her insides for the second time in an hour.

She collapsed onto the floor in front of me. With my ardour diminished I quickly became concerned to know that she was OK, but I need not have worried. She rolled onto her back, legs lewdly spread, and gave me a filthy grin as with a stifled groan of effort she squeezed my load from within her, letting it drip onto the carpet beneath her.

"Mmm," she said, feeling her abused sex with her fingertips. "Not as good as the first one, but I liked it anyway."

---

I stood in the shower, revelling in the feel of the hot water cascading over my shoulders. My manhood hung heavily between my legs, still distended from over-use. Three times already today I had reached my peak, a feat I thought I had left behind in my youth. My real admiration, though, was for my young lover, who had departed on wobbly legs not fifteen minutes past. Oh how I wished we could have spent the evening together, but it couldn't be. Tomorrow would be our last chance to spend time together before Caroline would be leaving to return to her normal life.

As I slowly slipped into slumber that night, scenes of our day's lovemaking played across the insides of my eyes.

---

There was, I am sad to say, still work to be done on my trip. I'd missed good chunks of the first day, but it was nothing which couldn't be remedied on the second, if I spent a good deal of it on the exhibition floor, making contacts. It was going very well, too - by about mid-morning I had spoken to a few interested parties, and for once it seemed as though we might actually be gaining a bit of traction in the market. Perhaps my new, relaxed approach was paying dividends. I certainly didn't care a fraction as much about making deals as I did about seeing Caroline again.

At about half past ten my phone started to buzz insistently in my pocket. I managed to extricate myself from a conversation, and when I saw that it was Caroline calling, stepped behind my stand.

"Hey."

"Hey. I'm heading to your room right now. Meet me there," was all she said, before hanging up.

---

She wore skinny jeans today, and t-shirt which had artfully been designed to look like it was old and worn. I'd normally dismiss the look as being a bit silly, but on Caroline it was a bit fantastic. As soon as we were through the door she jumped up into my arms, legs wrapped around my waist. Our lips locked in passion, and I carried her through to the bedroom, turning so that I could sit down with my lightweight lover in my lap.

I fell backward, pulling her down on top of me, hands roving all over her backside. I tried to slip my hands beneath the waistband of her jeans to directly touch the hot skin beneath, but her clothes might as well have been painted on for all the room I had to work with. I impatiently threw her off me onto the bed, and knelt over her, undoing the button and working down the short zip. I stepped off the bed, slid my hands beneath her backside, grabbed the waistband in both hands and pulled roughly upwards, denuding her from hip to knee. The skinny jeans were far too much trouble to remove entirely, but that was fine by me - I left them there, holding her knees together, and pushed her legs up.

Her sex looked so inviting, lips squeezed into a thin slit by her thighs, her button poking out from between the pink, glistening folds; it made my heart beat faster to see that she was already aroused. I knelt by the bed, ready to make my devotion at the temple of her mound, diving down and insinuating my tongue between the folds. She gasped and jerked her hips, surprised by the new sensation, but then relented and grabbed the backs of her knees, pulling them to her chest and exposing herself even more lewdly to my ministrations. I took the proffered invitation, my kisses on her lower lips as passionate as my treatment of those above.

Caroline growled through gritted teeth as I repeatedly plundered her juicy peach with my tongue. Like a peach, its flavour was subtle and sweet, not the bitter, acrid flavour of my wife's overused cunt. The further I delved into her hole the looser it became, and the sweeter and stronger the taste. Her hips began to writhe as I kept up my assault on her, and I could hear her making little 'mmm' sounds, growing closer together and higher in pitch as her excitement grew.

Finally, with a massive buck of her hips she reached her peak, and it was her most vocal yet.

"Aaahhhh, ahh, ah, ah-ah-ah," she cried, followed by "fuck, fuck, fuck," as I pushed her legs back to her chest continued to abuse her swollen button.

As I let her come down from her high, I decided she ought to pay for calling me away from the convention. Standing, I stripped out of my clothes and then leaned down beside the bed, lifting up her legs once more, exposing her spit-slick valley. I dragged the head of my hungry manhood through the slick, up and down, abusing her sensitive sex, listening to the gasps and moans it elicited from above. When I pushed into her I found the binding of her knees by her jeans had given her tunnel added tightness, and I struggled to make my way inside. I stopped when I was half in, and made short strokes, trying to open her, but to no avail. With no other choice, using two hands grabbing the bed covers to brace myself, I started pounding those few inches in and out as hard as I could, delighting in the astonishing heat and pressure, feeling myself building to an unstoppable climax. Just as I was about to empty myself into her, I...

---

"Excuse me, sir? Sir!?"

I snapped out of my daydream with a start.

"Sorry, sorry," I muttered to the well-dressed young lady who had appeared at my elbow.

"Not at all, sir. It's just that you're blocking the doorway, and we have rather a lot of people to deal with at the moment. If you could just join one of the queues, you'll be seen as soon as possible."

Trudi - according to her name badge - gave me a warm smile, and then ducked past me to talk to one of her colleagues, muttering something in low tones about the security cameras.

I joined the nearest queue, caring not one bit that it was longer than the others. Trying to guess which queue will be quickest is a mug's game, so instead I stood calmly and let my mind wander. It made its way home pretty quickly, to my little Cotswold cottage, where my wonderful wife Caroline would be waiting for me when I got back. I'd already decided this would be my last trip abroad for the company; someone else could take the burden now. I would be needed at home pretty soon, with my first born on the way. Things had been looking up lately, and Caroline being pregnant was just the icing on the cake. I couldn't remember being so happy.

I was jolted out of my revelry by the impact of a small body on mine. Immediately I heard a shout from my left.

"Caroline Gauley, you apologise to that man right now, y'hear?"

I glanced down. What a cute little coincidence: the girl was called Caroline, too. She beamed up at me, gave me a rather unconvincing 'sorry!' and raced off to make an impact on someone else's day, chased by a boy of the same age. The strange thing was, I was sure I'd seen her somewhere before...

The End