8. The Time has Come

Laura

I kneel, nervously, as you walk in and begin to speak. My throat is parched and I realize, for the first time, that I forgot to drink while the videos were playing. I didn't think an hour had gone by, and now I realize my mistake. I'm not sure I'll get the opportunity to drink, but then you suggest it, encourage it, even. I watch as you sit down on the floor, barefooted, in your loose-fitting white bottoms and t-shirt. You look fit, muscular, masculine. Fresh off the videos, I absently wonder what your cock looks like, as I remind myself that I won't be wondering for long, and then blush in embarrassment at the meanderings of my 11-year-old mind.

I rise, naked, aware that I am being watched, aware that you probably can watch me any time you want. I grab up the bottle, turning, walking away from you to the sink, my slender backside and pert little buns so white, so unblemished and as of yet unmarked. I fill the little bottle to overflowing, and down it quickly, standing, turning halfway to see you, thrusting my chest out and arching my hips back as a cold dribble rolls down my chin, on to my chest, between my nipples, to my tummy. I wipe it away as I continue to drink. I finish the bottle, and fill it again. And again. I fill it for the fourth time, but drink it more slowly this time, as my tummy suddenly gurgles and adjusts to the sudden onslaught. It is then, only then, on the fourth bottle, that you gesture me to the area directly in front of where you are sitting.

My heart rate starts to climb, as I realize that it is time. Time for me to do what the other little girls were doing on the videos I just saw. You are calm, cool, collected, and still clothed. But it is time. I slowly place the half-consumed bottle on the edge of the sink, and turn, naked and collared, to face you. I walk slowly to the spot you indicated, listening as you mention your "favorite." I do know what you mean. I know it was the video. I know which video. The girl looked too much like me -- too close in age, too close in build -- and the video showed too many times, dominating the soundtrack, for me even to pretend that I don't know what you mean. Still, my heart is absolutely pounding in my bare, undeveloped chest. I feel almost faint with worry as I slowly walk to the spot you indicated, and kneel there.

I kneel before you, sitting back on my haunches, my hands on my thighs. I look flushed, scared, and nervous. My soft little thighs are curved under my hands, my bare, hairless cunny is visible to you, so close now, a slender, almost dainty slit flanked on either side by puffy soft, creamy white, hairless little mounds. I am shaking now. Little shivers. Coursing through and across my body periodically, erratically. I try not to let the shivers move me. But you can see me tremble.

I listen how you explain what is expected of me today, how it will work, how I am to perform. It is not at all lost on me that your words speak of a future -- not just later today, or tomorrow, or later this week -- but a seemingly endless future of distant events, distant accomplishments, that will come only after "hundreds" of attempts. On the one hand this relieves me, as I, like all children my age, have heard about boys and girls who were taken, kidnapped, and later found dead. Yet the calm way you speak about events in the distant future worries me also, since it is clear that you plan to keep me here for a while, possibly over a week, or even a month. This makes me mad, and sad, and my eyes once again sparkle with silent tears -- even as I refrain from speaking.

I listen intently, my expression one of little-girl worry as I try to take in the information. I understand. I understand that you want effort. Skill will come later, but you seek my best effort. But still, I am worried. I dread taking your penis -- your cock, whatever it is -- in my mouth. Cocks look nasty to me. Slimy and slippery and veiny, with nasty yucky hairs at the bottom of them. I swallow, as my mind -- unbidden -- conjures up a hypothesized, unpleasant taste for that slimy cummy stuff and shares it with me. My expression says "yuck" as you talk about me swallowing the pearly white goo that I just saw on so many of the videos.

And then, it is my turn to ask questions. I didn't expect that. You usually don't let me say anything -- pointing like a librarian, your body English and voice inflection - and even your outright instructions sometimes -- making it clear that I am not to speak. But now I can. Of course, I can't ask you everything, or anything. You make that clear with a finger drawn alongside your jaw, the meaning of which is not lost on me as I suddenly, subconsciously, work my jaw, remembering the pain. Remembering the shooting, agonizing, unpredictable, jaw-clenching pain. My mind turns to that and I think to myself -- and then find myself asking aloud -- "How do you do that?" as I draw the index finger and thumb of my right hand down my jaw to my chin. I didn't mean to say that aloud -- it just came out. I look at you, wide-eyed, wondering if I just crossed a line . . .

Marcus

By whatever coincidence or hidden influence, you get lucky. What could have brought upon a dismayed frown, briskly followed by a jolt of pain, maybe not even as brief as those you have experienced so far, instead conjures up a smile on my face, a chuckle, even. Before I say anything, I reach to the front, grab your sides, and lift you up with shocking ease, lowering you into my lap. "Legs around me," I instruct and next thing you know, you're enveloped in a big, soft, warm, bear-hug. I rock very gently to and fro and make cooing, soothing sounds. One hand very gently stroking your upper and middle back, the other your shiny brown hair. So pretty. So soft. Makes me want to bury my face in it, and breathe in the scent, and start kissing and licking you and... who knows where I would stop, and we're not there yet, so I don't even start. I just hold you. Maybe the hug is not welcome, maybe it's not easy to take, but I'm firm. And I'm patient. And I don't care if it takes minutes, or dozens of minutes until you stop trembling. I hold you against my broad, strong chest, in my powerful arms, my heart beating like a mighty church bell in my chest, and I'm warm and I smell clean and nice, of fabric softener and a little bit of lavender and an expensive perfume and of me, of a big, strong, manly man, heavy bones and big muscles and sun kissed skin, smooth and soft for someone my age, well tended to, reflecting a healthy, balanced lifestyle. It's not until you are done shivering that I release you from my hug and lean back, but leave you where you are, in my lap, straddling my crotch, leg spread very wide, hiding absolutely nothing, neither one of your two holes down there, feet behind my back. And I speak, as if this pause had never occurred. The amusement you could briefly see on my face when you first asked your bold question can still be sensed in my voice.

"Since you would probably very nearly bite my cock off if it went off by accident when you are sucking it, I'll allow it as a relevant question, and an exceptionally smart one at that. You were asleep for a lot longer than it felt like. If you stopped to think about it, the last moment you remember of a world that is no more, not for you, anyway, was quite early in the morning. Now it is eleven pm, and you've only been up for some six hours. Where did the remaining six or so go?" I ask, but clearly rhetorically, barely pausing for a breath before continuing. "While you were still drugged asleep, I took care of several things. One of them was using the advantage of your still having a few of your first teeth in the back in your mouth, late but not unprecedented at your age, and I put tiny little electrodes inside them. There are also electrodes in your collar. When I push a remote, they get activated and cause you pain. So far, it was set to level one, and I only flicked it. It has two more, worse levels, and I can keep it on for a good bit if I choose to. It doesn't do any serious physical damage, but it's painful enough to drive a person crazy, even in a short while. I will only do that to you if you bite me. On the other hand, if you intentionally bite me, I will not hesitate and will use it as a punishment. If you learn not to speak out of line or bite by the time they fall out, I will not do the same with your second, permanent teeth." I don't mention the other option, confident that the idea of a dental drill being used on your second teeth, especially as s punishment, is creepy enough without my adding extra vividness and plasticity to it.

"Do you have any other questions, regarding more directly the task at hand? But don't mess with me, Laura! If I decide to let you ask about other, unrelated things as well, I will do it when I do it. Don't push your luck now," I warn you, but it sounds more like a well meant advice than anything else. We're intimately close. You didn't choose to be, I didn't ask if you wanted to and I don't seem to care much if you like it, but you have to tilt your head back a good bit to face me, even when I lean back and slightly away from you. I can feel your warmth in my lap and you the warmth on my thighs on which you are seated. And yes. Very close by, perhaps even touching your spread legs through the fabric, is my cock. Your next task, right there, out private parts so close together it feels almost like we're doing something wrong, or improper at least, but it seems that just now, that's not what I'm after. For this moment, your privates are left at that, yours, even if maybe not quite so private, given how very exposed they are. I look down, trying to get into direct eye contact, and I wait for you to answer. I'm a pervert and a criminal, but I'm not a back alley rapist, rushing and panicky. I'm mindful, fully present and somehow very solid in my patient, grounded presence.

Laura

One moment I am kneeling, trembling, before you, scared, naked, collared, and only 11 years old. For a brief moment, a flash, I am sure that my question was not appropriate, having nothing apparent to do with the task at hand. I didn't mean to ask it -- the question simply slipped out, a product of my impetuous, 5th-grader mind coupled with a beguiling, irrepressible, little-girl curiosity. And then, I see a smile break out on your face, as if you were trying to suppress it, but couldn't. The smile is followed quickly by a chuckle, and then, suddenly, your large hands encircle my soft, bare flanks and I am lifted, seemingly effortlessly, naked and slight, into the air and deposited, on your lap. My arms fly up in a startle reflex as an expression of worry crosses my face. But you place me gently on your lap, facing you, and my legs automatically part and wrap around your waist as you command me. I am too surprised to disobey. The muscles of my inner thighs flex as my legs stretch around you, spreading my little cunny slit, opening the pink interior for you to see. Your fully clothed, large, masculine adult body contrasts with my tiny, naked, hairless, exposed little figure.

And then your arms wrap around my trembling little body, enveloping me, hugging me, cradling me, my head drawn to your chest as hands gently caress the the back of my head as well as the soft, smooth, bare skin of my upper and middle back. I am trembling, tense, and rigid as you begin to rock me. I smell you, your scents, your clothes, masculine and faintly musky, yet clean, bright, gently perfumed. It is not a bad smell. A smell like that of my Dad, when we used to snuggle on the couch together, as he called me his favorite pet names, nicknames he had for me back when we were all together and all one family. A play on my first name and the initial of my last. "Laura V. my Dandy tart," he would say, as we snuggled. Your scent reminds me of him, and his way. Manly, reassuring. Your tender embrace also reminds me of Glenn, my photographer, when he hugs me, smiling, after a successful photo shoot.

Your embrace continues, your gentle rocking, too. Whereas at first I was tense and nervous, rigid and worried, I finally do start to relax, as I realize you mean me no harm, not now, not this way. In fact, your embrace is reassuring, disarming, after all I have been through, and my worries and concerns start to fade as my breathing regulates and I lean against you. My eyes close. I know I am a captive, that I'm collared, naked, and exposed -- but I don't care. Your gentle kindness relieves me, at least momentarily, of the need to be on guard, the need to be worried, the need to be afraid. I close my eyes as we rock, feeling safe, even loved. I know it is a mirage -- a charade -- but I still don't care. I feel safe in your arms -- safe, for the first time since I awoke in this place several hours ago. My trembles slowly diminish in intensity and frequency and finally stop as I relax, feeling almost sleepy. After all, it's been a long day for a little girl. And it's late, even if I have no sense of clock time anymore.

I am so relaxed, almost in a hypnotized state, as you stir, and lean back, leaving me there, in your lap, my legs spread, my sex exposed, as you speak. My mind spins as you tell me about my teeth, the 'lectodes you put in them. I don't have any idea what 'lectodes are. They sound like snakes. Or maybe they're more like sharp pins. I don't know what they are, but I know they hurt. They hurt bad. And to find out that there are two more levels, two higher levels of pain, brings a chill to my slight, naked little frame. And if I know one thing, just one thing, it's that I don't, DON'T, D-O-N'-T! want you to put them in my big-girl teeth. I ponder what you said about biting, me biting you, maybe on purpose. I have no idea why you think I would bite you 'cause biting is for babies and I would never do that, even if I don't like you and you're a sex pervert person. I still wouldn't bite you. And I have no idea why you think that I might. Adults can be confusing sometimes.

And so you open the floor for questions from me again, and I know that, soon -- very soon -- you will expect me to put your penis-cock in my mouth, and make it squirt cum stuff, which I gotta eat if I want to eat any real food. This brings a small, nervous, worried frown to my face, and I swallow -- the conjured up mental taste of the pearly white goo from earlier triggers taste buds in my mouth, and they activate, if only in my mind, replicating a taste at once bitter, acrid, and nasty, like my own pee was that one time. I grimace a little, just contemplating the taste. I really, really, really don't want to suck your cock, which I envision as nasty, veiny, slimey, and hairy. I especially don't like the crinkly, dark, curly hairs that I saw on the video. But I am curious what makes the stuff come out, and more. I tilt my head back to face you, speaking once again impetuously, another tendency that I have that drives my Mom crazy ("Don't be so impetuous all the time, Laura. You have to learn to think before you act, especially before you speak." she would say). But I can't stop the words, can't suppress my curiosity from what I just saw on the videos. My words come tumbling out: "Where does the cum stuff . . . where does the cum stuff come from? And why does it squirt out really fast sometimes and sometimes you gotta squeeze it to make it come out?" I am on a roll now, asking questions, with little-girl curiosity on my face. "If you swallow it and it goes inside you, can it make a baby?" And then, another out-of-left-field question: "Do you really think I'm prettier than her -- that girl?"

Marcus

In my fantasies, you were always very nearly just a miniaturised adult. Flat chested, with a bare pussy, in the sort of clothes you (used to) do your modelling in, or as I conjured you up in my mind, much as you are now, naked and collared. But I never heard your voice, so little-girly, never quite realised and appreciated that you are a real kid of barely eleven, with a cat's curiosity, cute, soft, slightly higher pitched tone of speech than I expected, somehow and your eyes not the static, hypnotic globes they seem to be on the professional photographs of you, but lively, flickering, blinking, all that.

I'm a dark soul, a deep, gigantic darkness you barely met yet dwells deep beneath, desires that would make you cry and tremble again if you had any idea. But that's just the magic of a good old fashioned hug - you melt, just enough to relax and feel a little better for the moment, your first flash of psychologists would call Stockholm syndrome, or perhaps simply transference. For that brief, soft, warm moment I'm not the man who tortured you with hours of thirst, put weird, pain-inducing whatever they're into your teeth, collared you a took your clothes away, making nudity and exposure a norm, your "default" state, pretty much. I don't know that you think of daddy, and whoever else, but I feel instantly when your barriers go down, when your fear and stress levels drop. And somehow, even though I don't think of myself as a hugs and kisses person, more of a chains and whips kind of guys, that moment feels good and incredible to me, too. I also relax, and I feel suddenly very human, something I long ago gave up on simply accepting that I'm a monster and if there's a Hell, I will burn in it. You in my arms is a little whiff of Heaven, and when you inundate my ears with your questions, I'm a bit dumbfounded, dazed, and it takes me a moment to compose myself fully.

"Cum is made in scrotum, doctor's way of saying it, or balls, nuts, normal way of saying it, that's the sack underneath you've seen in the videos. Mine always, as far as I know, shoots fast and hard, only towards the end the pressure is less. Every guy is different, every ejaculation - that's when cum comes out - is different. I don't think there is one specific reason for it going faster or slower. I'm sure when someone's balls are very full, like mine are now, the load is more likely to be big and fast. For sperm to give you a baby, it must go into your pussy, and you have to be old enough; we'll talk more about that at some point, for now, suffice to say, we're not gonna make a baby."

Technically, if I followed the behavioural theory I'm kind of using to mould you to my liking and into obedience, I should zap you for asking the last question, but I prefer you in this state for now, when you are not trembling in fear, when you are yourself, curious, and perhaps even a little excited. You might not be keen on doing what I want you to do, but I will not have to use brutal force to get my way, and just at this moment, that's the way I want things to be.

"Laura, Laura, Laura!" I say and it's reproachful, but parentally reproachful, not "I'm gonna beat you till you're a bloody mess" kind of reproachful. "What was supposed to be theme of the questions? I believe you know enough." I lift you of off my lap and I kneel. I slowly undo the white, loose cotton pants, saying: "You can ask again when you are done. If I'm happy with how you did, I'll answer." And then, next thing you see is my cock. It's big, six inches or so, pointing in your direction, and from that position and all the video's you've seen, you know it will get bigger yet when it stands fully and points upright. It's shaved right down to the root, and my pubes are trim, short enough to be just a dark shadow of a "man-fur", no curls. The only part that I don't shave and that is quite hairy are my balls. Big and heavy in a loose hanging sack below. My cock is veined, yes, but not slimy. I'm circumcised, even though you probably don't know that word, but that means my whole cock is clean and dry and while it smells a little musky, all it will really taste of is my skin and a little salty perhaps. I had a shower while you were still flat-out, so as far as cock sucking experiences go, this one will potentially be rather mild and bearable, a good first time.

"Go on. Show me what you learned," I encourage you. No rules, no limitations, specials demands. Not this time.