The Trouble With Gurley Pets
by Sterling


My buddy Mike made an unusual suggestion: he wanted to give me a pet. I didn't think of Mike as a pet kind of person, but it wasn't like other pets, he said. He wouldn't say more, and being coy wasn't like him either. So I was skeptical, but decided to let him come over.

It's not like I had tons of other things to do. I was 29, lived alone and worked 9 to 5. No family in the area, no girlfriend, not too many friends, not even any kids from a failed marriage. A few hobbies, but mostly I coasted through my weekends without goals, deep thoughts, or accomplishments. It was a pleasant life, without stress. And it meant I had time to invite Mike and his pet to come visit briefly. In the back of my mind brewed a few excuses for how to ease him out the door if he overstayed his welcome.

I'd thought now and then about getting a dog. A dog would be less demanding than a girlfriend, someone who would like me no matter what I did and wouldn't want to talk all the time. But still, a dog seemed like a big responsibility -- a commitment.

Mike arrived at 10am on Saturday, holding by the hand a girl who looked to be about six. And what a gorgeous girl she was! Lovely blond curls, big blue eyes, dimples, and a smile that would melt any man's heart, even if he wasn't into kids. I had no idea Mike had a daughter -- he was pulling one surprise after another on me. Now, one drawback to being a bachelor is you don't get to have any children. Yet children were a messy, whiny, demanding lot on the whole, I had decided. But when a girl like this little one smiled, it made me wonder if I should think about it some more. Still, putting up with a woman just to have a kid who was cute now and then was hardly worth it.

"Hi, Jeremy," he said.

"Hi, Mike. You never told me you had a daughter. I thought you were bringing a pet."

"Now Rover, say hello to Mr. Smith."

"Hi, Mr. Smith," said the little girl, and looked down shyly.

I must have misheard the name, I thought.

"Hello -- what was the name again?"

"Rover."

"I've never heard a girl called Rover before!" Unless...

"Oh, no, this isn't a little girl. This is a gurley, and for the moment I call her Rover. You could call her whatever you like."

"Oh!" I said. "Well, come on in, make yourselves at home," I said, very confused. I should have offered Mike a drink. But should I get something for the pet, too? I bet that a person rarely said, "And what can I get for you, Rover?"

So I sat in the armchair in the living room, while they sat on the sofa. Or at least Mike sat.

Rover tiptoed over to me and leaned against my legs. "Can I sit on your lap?" she asked sweetly.

I looked at Mike.

"It's up to you; gurleys do tend to be rather cuddly."

"Um, OK," I said. The little one gave me a big smile, and in a moment had scooted up onto my lap and leaned against my chest. I naturally spread my arms to accommodate her. "You called her a 'girlie'. You mean a girl?"

"No, a 'gurley'," he said, and spelled it for me. "Of course they look like girls, which is how they get their name."

She gave a sigh of contentment that stirred something in me, tenderness perhaps. Her smell was sweet, her blond hair fell over my chest and tickled my chin. The warmth of her little body was very calming somehow.

"These pets are very easy to take care of. They eat anything, and they're toilet trained and bathe themselves. As you can see, they talk and can tell you what they want, but their wants are pretty simple. They can also clean house, do laundry, dishes and even cook."

"But, um, this um, Rover here, is just like a little girl."

"Not really. Little girls are toilet trained, to be sure, but they require help with baths, generate lots of dirty laundry, whine and complain, and very often don't do what you want. And while they do a few chores now and then, they are nowhere near as helpful as one of these pets."

"Um, how do you happen to have a, um, gurley to spare?" I asked.

"Oh, well," he said, looking away and shifting in his seat, "I have a bunch, including her mother, and that's enough for me."

"I see," I said. "Kind of like giving away puppies from a litter?"

"Yeah, sort of," he said, waving his hands to discourage further questions. "She's yours for free if you want her," said Mike.

"I'm not sure; it seems like a big responsibility."

"I'll tell you what, you can keep her for a few days, and if you don't like her, I'll be happy to take her back and find another owner."

Rover raised her head and looked at me with an open, trusting smile. She got up and stood in front of me. "I like you," she said, looking down shyly, and with that my resistance fell away completely.

"OK, what do I need to take care of her?"

"I have a few changes of clothing here," he said, indicating a small suitcase he was carrying that I hadn't noticed before. "Otherwise, nothing! Just feed her, and tell her what you'd like her to do, and that's all there is to it. I was really surprised how much I liked having her mother -- I bet you'll like Rover."

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The door shut and Mike hurried away, leaving the girl standing in front of me, hands clasped behind her back, looking down shyly and twisting back and forth like a washing machine agitator.

"So!" I said. "Um, do you like the name 'Rover'?"

"No," she said with a hint of emotion, looking at me. "That's a dog's name! I'm not a dog."

"I can see that," I said quickly.

"I'd like to have a girl's name," she said.

"Oh, hmmmm," I said, thinking of girls' names.

After a moment, she said, "I have a few ideas, if you don't have any right away."

"OK," I said.

"What about 'Millicent'?"

"Millicent?"

"Yeah."

"That's a pretty old-fashioned name," I said.

"You could call me 'Millie' for short."

I shook my head.

"What about 'Patience'? 'Prudence'? 'Esther'?"

She paused after each candidate, looking for a sign of enthusiasm from me. I was trying to think of nicknames for them. Pashie? Prudy? Stirry?

"'Constance'?"

I smiled. "OK, if I can call you 'Connie' for short."

"OK, that's fine with me," she said. But then she grew serious, and said, "It's your choice, though. I'm just a gurley and you're my owner, so you can pick whatever you want."

"No, 'Connie' will do just fine."

It was by then 10:30. "So," I said. "What now?" I was a little uncomfortable. With a dog or cat, you just did what you wanted and they adapted. But it felt harder just turning away and ignoring a being that seemed indistinguishable from a charming young girl.

"Well, you could give me a quick tour, and then go back to whatever you were doing."

That suited me fine. In preparation for Mike's visit, I'd cleaned up the worst of my disasters. I'd washed the sinkful of dishes, stuffed my dirty clothes in the closet, and pulled up the covers on my bed. So the house wasn't a total mess. I showed her the place: living room with an attached dining room forming an 'ell' shape and a kitchen off the dining room. Off a short corridor was a large bedroom, a smaller one I used as a study, and a bathroom.

As I was showing her the second bedroom, I wondered where she would sleep. There was a bed in there, but it was piled high with my things. I certainly hadn't planned on giving up my study to her. But she was a pet, not a girl, right? That was the deal. The image of a doghouse in the back yard flashed through my mind and made me smile. I then thought of a wire dog crate, but that seemed nearly as silly. I imagined the sort of round "rug with a rim" I'd seen people use for a big dog. Maybe I could put it in a corner of the dining room?

"Um, where are you used to sleeping?" I asked.

She hesitated one brief moment. "Well, if it's OK with you," she sang in her sweet voice, "I'd like to sleep in bed with YOU," with a child's emphasis on that final word. "I don't take up much room, and I don't flop around and bonk people or anything."

It made sense. People's dogs and cats slept on their beds with them.

"And I can keep my suitcase in a corner." She then said quietly, as if asking for a big favor, "Or maybe I could put my things in part of a drawer, if there's a little extra space."

It was a little girl's voice and personality, but she approached the subject matter in a very practical and almost adult manner.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"How old do you think I am?" she asked, eyes bright.

"Eight?" I asked.

"A real girl who looks like me would be about six," she said, "but we gurleys grow differently." She followed it with a dismissive wave that suggested she'd rather not talk about it, and it didn't seem that important.

"So!" I said, when the tour was complete.

"So what were you going to do today?" she asked.

I hadn't decided yet, so now I decided to pick one of the more respectable options. "I was going to put on some Mozart and read my novel," I said.

"OK, that's fine!"

"What are you going to do?" She didn't have any dolls or toys. Would she curl up at my feet?

"Oh, don't mind me," she said. "I might do a little cleaning."

But after I settled down with my Mozart, my book, and a glass of Coke, she gave a shy smile and snuggled in beside me in the armchair. "Do you mind?"

"No, not at all," I answered. Her warmth and charm delighted me, and I found myself stroking her hair, which she obviously liked. But I also found that I was reading the same line in my book over and over.

When I shifted position, she got up, kissed me on the cheek with a giggle, and tripped off. I heard her rummaging around in the kitchen and wondered what she was up to. But Mike had said she was helpful, and it wasn't like I'd put a lot of thought into arranging things in my kitchen or had strong feelings about it.

I then got into my book and actually forgot about her. But I returned to the present when the lovely Connie -- my pet gurley, I reminded myself -- appeared before me.

She handed me a refill of my Coke. "I'm not sure what you had in mind for lunch," she said. "But I could make something. Maybe omelettes with onions and cheese, or toasted cheese sandwiches with tomato slices?"

It was weird to have a little girl talking like that. Girls expected grown-ups to make lunch for them, and whined if it wasn't just what they wanted, right? She was proposing to make lunch for me, not just to whip sandwiches together but to cook a hot meal. And given what little I had in my refrigerator, those were maybe the most elaborate options available.

"Toasted cheese would be lovely," I said. "I've never had them with tomato slices, but it sounds good."

When I stuck my nose into the kitchen, I noted at once that it was cleaner than it had ever been. My counters accumulated miscellaneous junk such as empty paper bags, junk mail, cans of food I hadn't gotten around to putting away, packages of crackers and cookies. Now the counters were clean and shone, as did the sink. I was sure that everything had been stowed in its proper place.

Connie had set the table for a real sit-down meal, with a glass of water for herself and another Coke for me, and napkins and plates. A serving platter held three perfectly browned toasted cheese sandwiches, two for me and one for her. They were delicious.

She ate daintily, though she swung her legs back and forth as they dangled from her chair. I saw her looking up at me, though she looked away shyly when I met her gaze. She used her napkin to wipe crumbs from her lips, and wiped her greasy fingers thoroughly when she was done.

When we were both finished, I rose and picked up my plate, intending to clear the table.

"Oh, no, I'll do that!" she exclaimed, and took the plate from me.

"But you made lunch," I said.

"Of course!" she said. "But you're my owner and I want to serve you."

I shrugged and sat back down, digesting.

"And if we buy some things at the store, I can cook you stuff you really like best."

"OK," I said, and started leafing through a Newsweek. She'd made one neat pile of junk mail and another of magazines.

She was done with the cleanup in just a few minutes, and reappeared with a pencil and paper.

"So what stuff do you like most?" she asked, with a child's enthusiasm. As I mentioned some of my favorites, she wrote everything down. She bit her lip as she concentrated on writing, but she didn't ask me how to spell anything and her writing was neat and even.

Then her expression got serious, "But there's a problem."

"What's that?"

"I can't drive, and I don't have any money," she said, looking sad. "I'm sorry."

I didn't exactly expect a pet to drive or have a bank account! "Of course, I'll just take the list and do the shopping."

"Oh, I'll come shopping too and pick out the stuff. You don't have to do that part! All you have to do is drive -- and pay."

I liked this girl's -- gurley's -- attitude, I reflected as we drove to the store. But once we were inside I found I couldn't just idly stand around the supermarket while she did all the work. So I got some of the packaged items from the list while she did things like choosing fish and vegetables. She earned some looks of wonder and admiration from mothers who were out shopping. They in turn looked at me approvingly, presumably because I had raised such a competent and polite daughter. There was unmistakable envy in the eyes of a few who had a whiny brat in tow.

"She has a remarkable eye for produce!" said one mother.

"Yes, she's learned quickly," I said without thinking.

Connie overheard and turned to look at me for a moment. What I had said was at best misleading. But her reaction was simple amusement, with no hint of accusation.

The bill came to $180, but I could see she was buying lots of staples for a varied diet that would last a good long while. From then on, she prepared wholesome and tasty food for every meal. Some was simple, some gourmet, but it was all wonderful.

I went out for a run in the early afternoon, choosing again one of the more wholesome activities from my weekend repertoire. After I showered I settled down to watch Boston College play Syracuse. I was aware of the washing machine and dryer running, along with the vacuum in the bedrooms. She thoughtfully waited until halftime to vacuum the living and dining rooms. I could hear her humming as she worked, and thought she looked happy. She'd changed into jeans and a T-shirt and sneakers, presumably to keep her pretty dress from getting dirty.

In the excitement of the final minutes of the game I forgot that I had a new pet in the house. My favorite Orangemen lost by a touchdown. All was silent as I turned the TV off. The spare room door was closed, so I looked over the rest of the place first.

In the bedroom she had changed the sheets and made the bed up neatly, which I never bothered with. Opening the closet, I found that the dirty clothes had all disappeared, and then verified that they were all clean, folded and put away in my drawers. She had cleaned the bathroom so all of the fixtures shone. The whole place sparkled, and I found it lifted my spirits a little.

I knocked on the spare room door and heard a small, "Come in!" I found Connie sitting at my computer. To my horror, she was scanning my extensive collection of porn pictures.

"Hey!" I said. "That's private!"

"Oh, it's OK," she said, giggling sweetly. "I hear all men have some, and this is kind of interesting."

I found my anger melting away, though I was confused. If she was a real girl, she would be either perplexed or horrified. If she were a woman, she'd probably be disgusted and make snide remarks. But she did neither.

She announced at 9pm that she was going to bed, and I felt a little sigh of relief. For all that she had given no sign of judging me in any way -- and was my property, I reminded myself -- I felt a little self-conscious. It might have been easier if she were whiny or self-centered. I couldn't help feeling a little inadequate in comparison to this precocious little bundle of virtue.

I peeked in on her at 9:30 and found her curled up at the edge of the queen-size bed, surely occupying no more than a quarter of it, facing the wall. She had the covers pulled up to her chin, leaving exposed only her head of blond curls and her adorable, innocent face.

I went back to the living room and, without curious eyes over my shoulder, watched a dumb sitcom and part of a violent action movie. Then at midnight I went through my usual bedtime routine and came to bed as always in my briefs and T-shirt.

Connie was wearing a nightgown. I saw the covers rise and fall ever so slightly and barely heard the whisper of her breath. It was comforting to have another creature in bed with me. I enjoyed the hint of her warmth, even though there was a foot of space between us.

I felt an urge to snuggle against her back, and hesitated. Parents snuggled with children, of course, and she wasn't even a child. She was a pet -- an animal, really -- and what's more, she was mine. I had no impure intentions.

I spooned behind her and draped my arm over her. She stirred, gave me a sleepy glance and said, "Good night, Mr. Smith" in her small, sweet voice.

Feeling her warmth was wonderful. I felt something like love -- was this what parents felt for their children? I'd start to fall asleep but was always distracted by the living presence in my arms. So I turned away in preparation for sleeping without any distracting body touching me, the way I'd slept my entire life -- with the exception of two brief interludes.

She turned over to face me but stayed a foot away. Her face was beautiful to begin with, and in sleep it conveyed a peacefulness and vulnerability that renewed that tender ache inside me. We hadn't been together even a full day, and I realized later that the idea of maybe giving her back to Mike had vanished from my thoughts.

I fell asleep, calmed instead of disturbed by the little girl next to me.

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I dreamt that a small, warm hand was caressing my cock, which was growing very hard. Then it dawned on me that it was no dream, and I woke with a start, pulling away.

"Hey!" I said.

Connie had been holding the front of my briefs out so my cock could expand to its natural size and shape without constraint, and as I pulled away, the elastic pressed against it just below the tip, plastering it back against my body.

Connie giggled, and in the moonlight I could make out a mischievous expression.

"What were you doing that for?" I asked crossly.

"Oh," she said, her face falling. "Was that bad of me?"

"Well, yes, it was! You don't play with a person's body without permission."

Her lip quivered, and then she began to cry quietly. "I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again." She looked up with wide, moist puppy dog eyes and pleaded, "Will you send me away now?"

My heart melted. "No, of course not. You should just ask before you do something like that." I was dimly aware that I hadn't said quite what I should have, but in the fog of the middle of the night it took me a minute to see why.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said, reaching out to hug me as we lay on our sides. Her chest pressed squarely against mine. My cock just barely brushed against her body lower down -- whatever part of her body was at that height.

"So, um," she asked shyly, "If I ask, does that mean you might say yes? I mean, if you like it. Did you like it?"

Now I realized what I had said that was wrong. "Well, yes, it did kind of feel good, but, um, we're not supposed to."

"Oh. Why not?" she asked with perfect innocence.

Of course men and girls were never, ever supposed to do anything like that. But then she was a gurley, not a girl.

"What made you do it?" I asked, deflecting her question a little.

"Umm, looking at those pictures earlier made me feel kind of all tingly and excited. And there were girls doing that kind of thing, you know? And they liked it, and the men REALLY liked it," she said, with a child's exaggerated stress on the key word.

"So, you wanted to make me happy in that way, like you do with the cooking and everything?"

"Yeah..." she said.

"Well, that's one way you don't have to make me happy, OK?"

"OK," she said, but something was bugging her.

"What is it?"

"Well, I really wanted to do it, you know? All those tingles."

"Girls aren't supposed to feel tingly like that."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe there's something wrong with me?" she asked, tearing up.

I really didn't want Connie to be unhappy. "Well, maybe some girls just are that way. Big girls feel that way when they grow up."

"Huh. I'm a gurley, not a girl. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I'm not going to get any bigger. I'm the size I'll be forever."

"Oh," I said. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," she whispered.

She was grown-up size. She wasn't human. She started it, and it was because she was interested, not just to make me happy... My cock had softened a little, but as we lay in silence it pulsed back to full readiness.

I pushed my pelvis forward just a little, and it poked against her nightgown, bumping against something below her stomach level.

Slowly her hand reached back to my middle and touched me. It was very exciting. Masturbation is great, but sex is supposed to be enjoyed with company.

She tugged down on my briefs, and I raised my hips to help her get them off. I threw the covers back and lay on my back with my legs spread wide. My pet Connie caressed my straining cock once more. She also snuggled against me, and whispered in my ear.

"Does it feel OK, Mr. Smith?" she asked in her tiny voice.

I nodded.

"Is it better like this?" she asked again.

"Mmmm-hmmmm!" I moaned.

She was stroking up and down.

"Is that stuff going to come out?" she asked. "Like in the pictures?"

"Yeah, I think so, Connie. Oh, that feels fantastic!"

"Does it feel really good when that mess comes out?"

"Yeah, yeah, oh, a little faster, OK?"

Her pace picked up, her little hand pumping up and down, filling me with excitement and pleasure, pleasure that would soon find release.

"Yes, Mr. Smith, mmm-hmmm, I want you to feel good, and... I hope some of the stuff gets on my hand, like with that girl in the picture," she said, half-apologetically, with a giggle.

"Ooohhhhh!" I moaned as my climax seized me. I had instinctively thrust my cock above her encircling hand, so the first shot of cum jetted across my chest. But the second spurt caught on her fingers and within a second of her vigorous motion it worked its way between fingers and cock, lubricating our contact. It added another dimension to my pleasure.

As my pleasure slowly faded, she kept whispering. "Ooo, that's so nice, Mr. Smith, you did it!"

"Mmmm, it felt fantastic," I mumbled, drifting off into silence as my breathing slowed.

"Got to clean this up," I murmured. I didn't like sleeping in sticky sheets.

"I'll get it!" she said, and rolled over to grab a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table. She then absorbed the gooey mess with one tissue after another before wiping my cock and her fingers. She trotted off to toss the soiled tissues in the bathroom wastebasket, then returned.

She pulled the covers up, kissed me on the cheek, and rolled over to the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

What a pet! I thought. Within seconds I drifted into a deeply contented sleep.

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It wasn't really bestiality, right? No one calls it bestiality when a dog humps your leg just because you don't make him stop. And it wasn't like I was sexually attracted to her -- I mean, she was cute and all, but not that way. But what she had wanted to do with her hand -- well, she started it, and started up again even after I made it clear she wasn't really supposed to. She'd really liked it. And maybe it would be just a one-time thing.

The next night I didn't wear my briefs to bed, just in case. I woke to the feel of a small hand on my rapidly growing cock, but pretended to be asleep as I smiled inwardly. I couldn't pretend any longer when I felt warm wetness surround my bulging penis tip, at the same time I felt her hair caressing my pelvic area as it fell loose from her head.

"Oh, Connie!" I murmured.

I pumped up into the girl's -- gurley's -- mouth. I could have held off, but I didn't want to. She was my pet, after all -- my property. The exquisite sensations called for an ejaculation, and that's what my body provided. Connie didn't flinch and if anything licked and sucked with more enthusiasm as my sperm surged into her mouth.

I heard her swallow and lick her lips. "Did you like that, Mr. Smith?"

"Hmmmm, let me think about it," I teased.

"You did too! I could tell!"

"Yeah, I did. What did you think?"

"It's so cool. I get all tingly, you know, like in the same place on me. The stuff tastes pretty good, too."

She licked me clean, then turned and snuggled up against me. She humped her crotch against my leg a couple times. I wasn't quite sure whether she meant to or whether it was an accident.

In the afterglow of a fabulous orgasm, I fell asleep with the adorable little thing snuggled up to my side.

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I went to work on Monday, leaving Connie home alone. I explained that I'd probably go to the gym on the way home, and she had a lovely dinner prepared that needed only a few minutes for the finishing touches.

She didn't go to school, of course, because she wasn't human. I asked her what she did all day. She read, she exercised, and she talked with her mommy and sisters on the phone. That surprised me for a moment, but it made sense. Unlike a dog or cat, she didn't forget her past relationships and her family. She could keep the connection active by phone and internet.

She didn't wake me up with any sexy play that night. I was a little disappointed, but this had to come from her. No little hands got me long and hard on Tuesday night either, and I felt tempted to say something. She was my pet, after all, and she should do what I wanted; Mike had said she would. On the other hand, if I made her do it, then that dreaded 'bestiality' word raised its ugly head. Not to mention how much she resembled a girl, and men didn't suggest sex with girls. I jerked off during my morning shower, thinking of my little pet Connie.

I was delighted to wake up Wednesday during the night to her tender caresses. And she'd brought her own little body into the picture. It was really very sexy that her upper leg was crossed on top of me and her crotch was rhythmically humping against my thigh. But I concentrated on her finger work. She had gotten some lube from somewhere -- I kept a tube in the desk drawer in my study -- and her slick hand wrapped around my penis gave me fabulous stimulation. It was nowhere near the complete stimulation that a vagina would provide, but it made up in quality of contact what it lacked in quantity. I spurted within a couple minutes, delighted with my young pet. I thought I felt an increased urgency to her humping just as I came and felt her give a little shudder; in any case her humping trailed off to nothing as my spurts died down to dribbles.

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Up to that point I'd viewed Connie's body as a sort of indivisible whole. Her head had many parts -- her big blue eyes, her curly golden hair, the dimples, the expressive mouth -- but her body had just been a single warm bunch of flesh. There were her hands, of course, which were efficiently competent as she cooked or folded laundry. In the dark they had been the source of great pleasure sexually. But up beyond her arms had just been a wonderful, wriggly soft bunch of stuff that supported Connie's head and hands. It was warm and pleasant when it lay against me.

But now I noticed the parts. Connie always wore dresses during the day, and nightgowns with similar coverage. Now I noticed her dainty feet, her calves and knobbly knees, and the part of her smooth little thighs that was visible below the hem of her dress. I saw her thin, strong arms and supple shoulders. Her neck curved gracefully on the way down until it broadened out right at the collar of her dress. Shoulder blades could be made out when the fabric fell right. On the front side, a flat chest and flat stomach made slightly different landscapes as she assumed different positions. And then of course there were her pelvis and hips, very girlish and muted.

Now I wanted to see it all, not just imagine and guess exactly what hid under her clothing.

I suppose I could have just ordered her to strip. She was my pet, after all. She wasn't even human. But why would I want to do that? What appeal would a naked animal have? And to the extent her form was that of a human girl, that wasn't something I wanted to see; that was private.

But the memory of that hot crotch humping against me wouldn't go away. There was some sexual fire in this girl -- this animal, this gurley.

Connie woke me in the night for several nights in a row, and brought me to a fabulous climax with her hands or mouth. Her humping against my thigh became more pronounced, less tentative, and she made no effort to hide the fact that she reached a sexual climax when I did. But she seemed a little sad as we curled up to sleep each time.

Then suddenly it stopped. Three days went by and there were no overtures from my pet. With mixed feelings I finally said one morning, "Um, how come you don't wake me up any more?"

"Oh," she said glumly, then brightened and said, "You miss it?"

"Yeah, I miss it!"

"I miss it too."

"Then why did you stop?"

"Um, I don't know..."

"Why?"

"Could we do it a little differently?"

"Um, sure!" As long as I got to feel her touch I'd be open-minded.

"Could you touch me?" she whispered with a big conspiratorial smile.

If she wanted me to touch her in a sexual way, then, well, those words 'bestiality' and 'pedophilia' reared their ugly heads once more. "I don't know as I should."

"I'd like it if you did," she said, with the barest hint of a whine. I said nothing, and after a moment, she said, "But you'd think about doing more if you didn't have to touch me?"

"Yeah," I said, absently.

That night I didn't fall asleep for a long time, excited at the prospect of experiencing Connie's sexual attentions once more.

I was more groggy than usual when I came awake, then more excited than usual.

I gasped and moaned as her lubed-up fingers played with my organ. She made small, sweet sighs as she humped against my leg.

"Hi," she whispered with a big grin.

"Hi," I moaned.

"OK, close your eyes, all right?"

"OK."

"You promise you won't open them?"

"Promise."

I then heard rustling and felt her shifting on the bed. What was she up to? Was she going to present her animal's crotch to my mouth? That would be 'not touching' in one sense. Would I go muff diving between the legs of an animal -- an animal who strongly resembled a human girl? Would there be a muff, or smooth skin?

But nothing approached my mouth. Instead, I felt the ring of her hot, moist mouth on the tip of my erect cock. Then she slid her mouth down over my cock, but something was a little different about it.

My eyes shot open just as she plunged down, forcing my cock up deep inside her vagina as our pubic bones met. She was still wearing her nightgown, now bunched up at her hips.

"Oh, Mr. Smith, Mr. Smith!" she whimpered, humping up and down passionately.

I was astounded that her small body's vagina could possibly have engulfed me so completely and painlessly. But mostly I felt lust. I was lodged to the hilt in a luscious pussy, and the primal rightness of this position made my pleasure grow quickly. I had no hope of holding back the tide, and I promptly went over the edge, ejaculating into the depths of my sweet Connie, pushing up again and again, lifting her into the air as the spurts filled her insides. She screamed -- not a loud scream, but a scream nonetheless, one that conveyed total satisfaction, a total victory of the female animal over her human nature -- wait, she WAS a female animal, not a human.

She collapsed on top of me for several seconds, letting my chest bear her full weight -- which wasn't all that much. Then she pushed herself upward and looked at me with glazed eyes. "You looked!" she said, with mock accusation. Without waiting for an answer, she said, "That was fantastic! Did you liked it? I hope you liked it."

"Oh, Connie, it felt fantastic. It's just -- how on earth did it fit? Who are you, anyway? If you're not human, then..."

"Shh, shhh," she said. "Not now."

And I was happy to let the subject drop, enfolding in my arms a sweet young female who had satisfied her lust by engulfing my cock in her pussy, and who had in turn satisfied my lust in a most satisfactory manner. Questions of age or species didn't seem all that important.

But twenty minutes later I felt I needed to raise the subject again before I really fell back to sleep. "What kind of creature are you, anyway?" I asked.

She had drifted off and my question startled her awake. "I don't know all that much," she said after a moment. "Just what my mommy told me."

"And what is that?"

"Um, well, what do you want to know?"

"How old are you?"

"I'm almost three years old."

"Three! What? I don't believe it!" This mature, helpful girl was THREE?

"We grow fast."

"And you said you were as big as you'd ever be. But are there other changes? Like, do you grow breasts, or curves or anything?"

She shook her head. "Mommy says I'm already a gurley woman." She giggled in a way that didn't sound at all womanish. It sounded more like a six-year-old -- a six-year-old human, that is.

"So, I guess that explains why you have a sex drive." One minor question was settled. I might be a pedophile, and I might be engaged in bestiality, but at least within the framework of the beast, I was no pedophile.

"Yeah."

I thought a little more. "So there must be male gurleys? And you could mate with one some day."

"I'm yours, so I'd never do anything like that!"

"OK, not you then, but some gurleys mate?"

"Well, I've never met a male gurley. Something's different about us, though my mommy wouldn't quite explain it all to me."

"But your mommy got pregnant somehow."

"Yeah, but I never met the father."

"OK," I said sleepily, hugging my Connie against me. Dog breeders sometimes took their bitches to be bred and never saw the stud dog again.

In the morning I slipped out of bed for my morning pee. When I returned, Connie came to and gave me a groggy smile.

Who was this creature? She was a full-grown female of her kind. She wasn't human, but she craved and initiated sex with me. She looked like the most adorable girl, the very kind that old ladies love to hug and fuss over. She had all the parts of a full-grown woman, even if they weren't quite of womanly proportions -- except that one part that had eagerly grabbed my entire penis. She was affectionate, and I was returning her affection. And if she wanted me to treat her sexually, and it felt OK to me, why should I resist? Surely it broke no human laws about pedophilia, because she wasn't human. She might be a mere three years old, but she was as grown up as she would ever be -- if she could ever consent, she was old enough to now. And then there was the small matter that I owned her. How wrong could it be? And she had come on to me sexually, right? Hell, 'come on' wasn't the right word. She'd gone all the way, nearly raping me -- except I was far too willing for that term to apply.

I lay beside her and laid my hand on her stomach through her nightgown. As I gently moved it to the side, then back, she smiled at me with excitement.

"What?" I asked.

"You're finally touching me," she said, her eyes misty.

I smiled back. I felt the contours of her stomach and the tops of her hip bones, then worked my way up to her ribcage. I slid my hands over her chest, which felt as flat as it looked.

I slid my hands up to caress her hair, her cheek, her ear. I ran one finger down her nose, then reached in to kiss the ear, the neck, and the cheek. I kissed each eye. And then I tentatively kissed her lips. She kissed me back. It was a simple, sweet kiss, without wild tongue probing and thrashings. Moist flesh rubbing moist flesh made for mutual pleasure, also suggesting the possibility of more urgent flesh-slurpings below. We moaned and sighed. Then she pushed her pelvis forward against me, and it pressed my hard cock tip back against my stomach.

I gripped the back of her left knee until the wave of passion I felt subsided a little, then slid my right hand upward, pushing her nightgown up as I went. Her pelvis was thrust firmly against me and pinned the nightgown in place. My movement bunched up the cloth as my hand went up over her butt. After I tugged a little more, she relented with a smile and drew her leg back. Then in a flurry of activity she whipped her nightgown off. I took off my T-shirt to leave us both naked.

And there before me was the entirety of my Connie, pure and unadulterated, except for the crusted semen on her upper thigh. It was the body of a six-year-old girl in every way I could detect, her skin flushed with warmth and the vigor of childhood, breathing a little faster than normal in her sexual excitement. I slid my hand gently over every feature of her exposed skin, but soon found I was not satisfied using just hands. I licked her stomach, her arms, her neck, her chest with its small, sleeping nipples, my hands roving everywhere my mouth wasn't. Yet although her entire body was enticing, her vaginal opening was a sort of gravity well. She spread her legs wide to encourage and facilitate the attraction. And her well attracted first one hand, then the other to circle around the opening, dipping in to caress the skin nearby. My hands felt intriguing curves and flaps of hairless skin, and my eyes soon followed to feast on the treasures my sense of touch had found. Seeing from afar wasn't enough; I had to get closer. The hint of scent wasn't enough; I had to breathe deeply of her magnificent odor. Smelling wasn't enough; I had to taste. The outside wasn't enough; I needed to explore within. Her feminine lips parted with an alluring little slurp of wetness. Her tunnel gripped one finger tightly, but it accommodated two easily as well. Her vagina demonstrated again the stretchiness it had shown so spectacularly during the night. But how wide or deep her pussy stretched wasn't important at the moment. I made do with one finger gliding in and out as my tongue enthusiastically slid over all of the external folds and flaps. And right where it would be on a human was her little nubbin. A gentle tonguing of the tiny thing brought forth moans and shudders, proving that it was without doubt wired up the same way as it is in a woman.

"Oh, do it to me now, please!" she moaned. "I mean, if you don't mind too much, it would... it would be nice for me."

I lifted my face to say, "Ah, c'mon, just say 'Fuck me, damn it!'"

She gave the pure big smile of a little girl for a moment, but it was soon co-opted by lust.

"Please, Mr. Smith, just fuck me, darn it! Please? Please?" The urgency in her girlish voice was thrilling.

At some level I was aware that my body was responding with unbridled lust to the sight of a six-year-old girl; at some level I felt a twinge of guilt. But at all the levels that really mattered, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

I hoisted myself up into position, while she grabbed my cock and pointed. I lunged forward, leaving details of aiming to her, and was rewarded by immense pleasure. My cock invaded her feminine parts, which stretched easily to accommodate me but gripped firmly. Nature had endowed me with a cock for only one reason, really: to point between a woman's legs, to dock with her opening, and then plunge deep up inside her body. Its destiny was to invade the organ that nature had endowed her with for just that purpose. The slight deviations from the basic plan -- that she was a female of a different species who looked for all the world like a small human girl -- were of no significance at the moment. All nature really wanted my body to do, once my cock was plastered firmly and deeply into her body, was to disgorge sperm from the very tip, delivering it safe into her wet innards where it would tend to the microscopic business of creating new life. A baby boy would in turn grow to plaster his prick into a similar cunt; a girl would grow a cunt to engulf such a prick, to warm and wet and caress it into splatting forth its load.

That was all nature really wanted. As a civilized man, I had some desire to prolong the pleasure of the experience, and a greater desire to make sure my mate enjoyed the mating. But there would be plenty of time to do this over and over again, and as for her pleasure, my small Connie was already convulsing and orgasming all over the place. So I didn't interrupt or redirect my body's reflex. Ten strokes was all it took for my innermost animal to make sure my prick really was in a cunt, really seated deep, that we would not somehow pull apart and waste the seed. Ecstasy pervaded my brain, forcing its way into every mental nook and cranny. My sperm shot out in a series of large gobs, while my tip wildly pistoned in Connie's upper vagina, forcing the sperm into every nook and cranny of that wet space, including the small depression in the center of her cervix, the spot that really counted.

Or the spot that with a human woman really counted, for surely this inter-species mating was infertile. But then most sex is infertile by design or chance; nonetheless men and women repeat the joyous act over and over again, delivering the semen to the spot it needs to go just in case it is one of the few times when it really matters.

My load delivered into central Connie, my basest instincts were satisfied and I let my hard organ slide out of her.

Her eyes were moist with joy, her body limp from her prolonged -- or repeated, I wasn't sure of the details -- orgasm. As I fell onto my back, she turned over to snuggle against my side and lifted her top leg over me. I had of course injected her with far more sperm than a female could need, and some of it promptly oozed back out of her onto my thigh.

---------------------------------------------------------

Any concerns I had about the propriety of what I was doing seemed quaint and theoretical in comparison to the reality of my life.

She was beautiful and charming as only a little girl can be; she was well-behaved, intelligent, and very helpful around the house.

She was also eager to get nailed at any hour of the night or day, whenever my cock was hard and I felt energetic enough to stick it up her cunt -- which was a lot. She reported that just thinking about me could make her glow between the legs, expanding her vaginal tube and making it slick. Sensing amorous intentions on my part got her aroused within seconds.

There was variety: She planted her small body at the edge of the bed, presenting her rear end, and managed to hold her ground despite my insistent and powerful thrusts, bracing with her hands so all the energy behind each of my fucking stabs went into pressing our bodies together, not into moving her away from me. When lust hit me, I splashed into the bathtub with her, somehow managing to get my dick down to her pussy and deep within. When she was working in the kitchen I'd lift her light frame and perch her on the counter. She eagerly spread her legs wide and presented her pussy right at the edge and took my frenzied penetration and ejaculation, always having a full orgasm herself as well. The warm, churning clothes dryer gave me an idea, so I lifted her body to press her face down over the top, causing giggles that gave way to orgasmic moans as I found her opening and surged within. I woke in the night with lust for the warm, sweet form beside me, caressed her between the legs a few times and then surged within, sometimes ejaculating in the same motion. She half woke up long enough to smile and have her orgasm. Or she woke me, and as I lay on my back she did everything for me. My cock always grew to its long, stiff, fucking configuration under her gentle caress, and always twitched and spurted with the more intense envelopment of her humping, thrusting, wet pussy.

---------------------------------------------------------

As soon as I saw her after work, I knew Connie had a secret. We had a rousing fuck on the living room sofa anyway until our mutual lust was satisfied, but then it was time to coax it out of her.

"What's up, Connie?"

"Um, yeah, I've got a secret."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Uhhh..." she hesitated. "Will you promise not to be mad?"

I thought about it. How could my dear, sweet Connie do anything that would make me mad? But still, I'm cautious at heart. "Probably not."

"Oh," she said, looking uncomfortable. Then she took a breath. "I'm pregnant!"

My heart started racing. She'd been untrue! She'd let some foul male of her kind get into her. Even if it was just one little squirt, he had accomplished what my body was instinctively but vainly trying to do with such passion several times each day.

My dear, sweet Connie had done something to make me angry -- very angry.

"But..." I sputtered. "I thought you'd never seen a gurley man!"

"Oh, no, I haven't!"

"Then how did it happen?" I sneered, quivering with rage. "Did he just happen to take you from behind when you weren't looking?"

"No! You're the father!"

"Me?" My rage collapsed into roiling confusion.

"Well, you have been, um, fertilizing me pretty much."

That was an understatement. Confusion was replaced by excitement realizing that I, not some other, had fertilized her -- just as my inner beast had hoped.

"That's wonderful," I said, though I had nagging questions. How could a human male breed with a gurley?

"So, is it going to be a hybrid? Like a mule or something?"

"No, no!" she said, relieved that my wrath was gone. "That's the funny thing. I didn't know this was going to happen -- honest! But you know I talk to my mommy every day?"

I nodded.

"When I described just how I was feeling funny, she said I must be pregnant. I'm kind of mad at my mommy, actually," she said, her beautiful face darkening momentarily, "but she said if I knew what might happen, I'd tell you and then you might not do it to me any more, or use a condom or something."

"OK, so you didn't know what was going to happen. But did your mother tell you whether it's a hybrid or what? And how on earth are you going to have a baby?" I asked, looking at her small frame. The idea of her small, cute belly transforming into a great, massively pregnant one was grotesque.

"Here's what mommy said. She said that gurleys only get pregnant from men, but then the baby is always a gurley -- and always female. So my daddy really is Mike! Sometimes he called me his daughter, but I figured he must have adopted me. It's kind of cool, actually. We gurleys have all the genes you humans do, but we've got some extra too. So the baby will have half your normal genes and half mine, but all the gurley genes from me." With mock haughtiness, she continued, "And we gurleys don't let any of those nasty Y sperms fertilize our eggs."

She knew so much and was so articulate that it was hard to believe this girl was only six! But no, she wasn't six, she was three -- and not a girl, but something else.

The idea of being a daddy was kind of exciting. Thinking about a child -- make that a daughter -- who looked like me made me feel a little warm and fuzzy, even if this child was going to be a different species.

"So that explains how my vagina is big enough for your big, fat penis and why I want to have sex with you so much. I'm full grown and just following my reproductive instincts," she said with pride.

"But how are you going to have a baby?" I asked. "You're so small; you'll fall over when the baby's about ready to be born, and how's it every going to fit between your legs?" I knew women had wide hips so there was room for the baby to get out, and it was still a very tight fit.

"Well, that's different too. Baby gurleys grow a lot faster than humans, before they're born and after. I'll only be pregnant about three months, and we're smaller when we're born. And mommy says our bones are still soft and squishy when we're born, so we get born kind of like a fat hot dog," she said with an expression of distaste. "Though the babies quickly spring back to normal shape and only THEN do our skulls get formed. So five centimeters of dilation will do it, instead of ten like women need." She started giggling and whispered, "And that big FAT penis of yours is probably over four centimeters, and we know you can fit that WAY up inside my body, no problem!"

My cock surged at the thought. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about having fathered a gurley, but I knew the one in front of me was luscious and did have a very alluring hole that went right up into her body cavity. When she caught the hint of lust in my eyes she giggled, wiggled her feet, and hitched her dress up again. "Yes, yes, yes!" she said in her childish voice, spreading her legs wide. I hurriedly shoved my trousers and briefs down to my ankles and mounted her. Her wet pussy clenched me tightly as usual, but by pressing my cock to one side and the other I could tell that something thicker would fit through there. I celebrated with another burst of ecstatic twitches, mirrored and amplified in her, my wonderful little girl -- I mean gurley.

---------------------------------------------------------

Connie told me solemnly that I would of course be the owner of the new baby just like I was her owner, so it was certainly my right to pick a name. She had pretty much named herself, so I wanted to see if my power was real or just apparent. I said she should be named "Katy". Connie hesitated and asked me if I was sure. When I said I was, her cloudy face brightened and the subject was never raised again.

Connie's tummy did grow noticeably, but it never got huge. Gurleys also have more efficient uteruses, needing less fluid to cushion the baby.

She said her mommy told her that men don't always react well to the sight of gurley infants, and as I thought of something shaped like a hot dog, I didn't argue with her. Her mother was coming to help out at the birth and I decided I'd let the two of them handle it.

Her mother's name was Janet. She looked not a day older than Connie herself, and was an inch or two shorter. Consciously I had known she would also be tiny, but it was still a surprise to actually lay eyes on her for the first time. Another bit of emotional evidence that I hadn't been engaged in gurley pedophilia was that the one I had impregnated was bigger than her mother! I asked Janet how many other daughters she had, and she said "a bunch" but didn't invite more conversation on the subject. I thought maybe her belly was bulging a little.

Connie's nipples had become more pronounced towards the end of her pregnancy and her breasts had swollen a little, but nowhere near the way women's do. Gurley milk ducts are more efficient, just like their placentas -- and just about everything else about them, it seemed.

We had set up the spare room to be Katy's, and she was born there too. I sat with Connie during the first half of labor -- 45 minutes. She was obviously working hard, but she said it didn't hurt. Her mother took over for the second half. I heard a faint cry which heralded the arrival of my daughter, then all was calm and silent. When Janet appeared a little later she informed me that everything had gone fine, and that the baby was a girl -- this redundant news delivered with an impish smile. I realized that screwing Janet would also be very exciting, but quickly put the idea out of my mind. Gurleys were monogamous, I was told, and Janet was bonded to Mike.

She stayed for three days, running the household with the same efficiency her daughter had. As she left, Connie gave me my first look at Katy, who had by then assumed the shape of a human baby, though she was still tiny. I could feel the bones in her head. I felt a special warmth to think that the tiny thing was my child, flesh of my flesh.

Connie had started eating more during the last month of pregnancy, and we had had fun joking about which serving was for her and which for the baby. Once Katy was born, her intake grew to stupendous proportions. It was hard to believe a human could absorb that much food -- but then Connie wasn't really human. At her peak she drank roughly five gallons of whole milk every day, supplemented with quarts of heavy cream. Donuts, ice cream, cheesecake, and chocolate went down the hatch at an unbelievable clip. She wolfed down three hamburgers of the fattiest cut they had -- and then looked hungrily at the grease in the frying pan and drank that too. She ate some whole grains and vegetables too -- at her mother's insistence. She complained that such calorie-poor foods made her feel acutely hungry as they passed through her body.

The reason for this apparent gluttony was of course that tiny Katy, barely one pound at birth, was growing far more quickly than a human baby.

I had noticed that from the moment Katy was born the three gurleys had spent a lot of time in the bathroom. When Janet left, Connie explained what they were doing. She set herself and Katy up naked in the empty bathtub. She brought in gallon jugs of milk and assorted finger food which she left in reach outside the tub. As she ate the food and chugged the milk, Katy nursed hungrily. A lot of food generates a lot of bodily wastes, mostly urine. Both of them peed frequently, and she ran the water now and then to wash away the yellowish liquid that the two of them produced in such quantities. They fell asleep that way a lot too. Now I brought the food into the bathroom sometimes to keep Connie from having to make so many trips. Katy kept growing as Connie kept eating more and more, and at four months Katy was the size of a hefty toddler. She started drinking and eating regular food, and as her food consumption rose Connie's fell. And then Katy was eating nearly as much as Connie had.

Throughout her pregnancy, Connie was just as eager sex for as always, right up until she went into labor. She barely emerged from the baby's room and bathroom for the three days her mother was visiting. She then apologized profusely in breaking the news to me that her vagina was still too sore for sex. I said it was really no problem and felt quite content getting a couple of lovely blow jobs every day. She swallowed what erupted into her mouth, noting with a grin that every little bit of nutrition helps. I offered to stimulate her in less invasive ways, but she said the whole area was sore and could use a little rest.

But three weeks after the birth she implored me to fill her with cock, and wept tears of joy when she felt herself fully stuffed to the hilt. She had missed it more than I had.

---------------------------------------------------------

"What about contraception, Connie?"

"Oh, um, I guess we should think about that pretty soon."

She had caressed my organ to hardness, and I was eager to plunge into my little dear once more. But I wouldn't let myself get distracted this time.

"How do cycles work with you? Are you in danger of getting pregnant while you're nursing? I never noticed you having periods before."

"No, we don't get periods."

"I'm glad for you."

"Very efficient reproductive systems."

"Yeah," I said and sighed. It was almost as if these gurleys were a superior race. Was there anything they weren't better at?

"I really want to feel you pumping away inside me," she said wistfully.

"Not yet. What's the deal with reproduction?"

Connie sighed. "We can always get pregnant when we're not already pregnant, though it often takes a while. That's why we like it so much..." she said significantly, caressing my stiff organ, hoping with one last ploy to get me up her pussy sooner rather than later.

"So we should use contraception. I really don't like condoms. Are there other choices?"

"Yeah, there are the same choices for us as human women, actually. But there's only one problem." She was silent.

"I'm listening."

"It's a big problem." She was using her most childish, adorable voice.

"OK."

"Really, really, REALLY big."

"All right, I'm ready."

"You're not going to like it."

"So I gather."

"I would sure rather do it again right now than have to tell you," she said, pointing at her pussy as she spread her legs wide. "Can't you stick your peeny-weeny up my cunny-wunny now?" with her prettiest smile.

"Connie!"

"OK, OK." She looked down. "The problem with gurleys is that contraception isn't good for us. It works, but it's bad for us."

That hardly seemed earth-shattering. "Surely there's some method that doesn't have bad side effects."

"Unnnh-unnnhhh. Even abstinence."

"Huh?" How could abstinence be bad for anyone?

"If we don't get pregnant and have babies every year or so, we get sick."

"How sick?"

"Really sick."

"And there's no cure for the sickness?"

"Nope."

"Really, really sick?"

She sighed. "If a gurley doesn't get pregnant within a year, it starts hurting. By 18 months, she looks awful and she's in a lot of pain. By 24 months, she's dead."

"Oh. And there's no cure for the sickness?"

"Only one."

"What?"

"Getting pregnant."

I sighed. The implications slowly started sinking in.

"So, how old are you when you have to start getting pregnant?"

"When we get mature. Around age three."

"The age you were when you came to me."

"Yeah."

"So you never did it with Mike or anyone else?"

"No! Of course not! You're my only one!" She seemed very agitated at my suggestion.

"OK, OK. I appreciate it." I thought some more. "How long does a gurley live? I mean otherwise, if she doesn't die from complications of -- of non-childbirth?"

"Um, no one knows yet."

"No one knows?"

"Yeah, because gurleys have only been around for about 15 years."

I realized I had done nothing to research these critters on my own, and then I knew why. I was so delighted with Connie that I didn't want to risk finding out anything that would jeopardize what we had. I didn't want to know if what we were doing was illegal or immoral. I just wanted it to keep going.

"We're genetically engineered."

"By who?"

"The rumor is that a pedophile wanted some legal, eager playmates."

Listening to this vocabulary spout from the lips of a three-year-old in such a girlish voice was a little surreal. But the rumor made perfect sense. Connie would be a delightful playmate for a pedophile.

"So he made us sexy."

"Yeah."

"Maybe a little too sexed up for our own good."

"Yeah. But let me do some math here. You need to have a baby every year." My cock pulsed briefly at the thought. "In three years, Katy's going to need to have a baby. And then every year one of your babies turns three, that one's going to need to have a baby. Doesn't that get to be a lot of babies?"

"Yeah. They've done the math. But in ten years there's only 28 of us."

"Only! That's a pretty big family!"

"Well, yeah, you've got to marry off some of your daughters, like Mike did to me."

"We didn't exactly get married."

"No, you're right. Give away some daughters." Then her animated face darkened: "Or sell them."

"OK. Whatever."

"But the reason I said 'only' 28 is that after 40 years it's 2.67 million."

I whistled. Enough gurleys to populate a fair-sized city.

"And after 60 years it's 5.58 billion, or roughly the population of the earth now."

This wasn't funny.

"And then at 80 years it's a gazillion, or something like 10,000 times as many people as the earth has now."

"But that can't happen."

"Yeah, you're right -- we're small, but not that small." She gave a weak smile.

"But you eat like horses when you're young."

"Yeah. Oh yeah, all that assumes we die at age 50, though it's not much worse if we live to 100."

"So what's going to happen?"

"Well, um, they're trying to find a cure."

"That's good."

"But it's not promising."

"That's bad."

"Then there's infanticide," Connie said, eyes tearing up. "But... you couldn't do that, could you?" Connie was now the pleading little girl, and no loving father or husband or even owner could look into those big, round eyes in that trembling face and consider such a thing.

"Of course not." Gurleys weren't humans, but they certainly weren't animals to be slaughtered.

"And then," she said, eyes glazing over, "some people think we ought to be exterminated right now to nip the problem in the bud. They say we're an abomination." She looked at me again then, with a gaze that was less pure emotion but more profound somehow. "You don't think I'm an abomination, do you?"

"Oh, God, of course not, Connie, of course not!"

I hugged her, my eyes also moist, my cock growing very hard and her pussy leaking onto the sofa in its enthusiasm.

"Oh, I love you so much, Connie!"

"I love you even more, Mr. Smith!"

She always called me 'Mr. Smith'. Would I prefer 'Jeremy'? In a way, but maybe a pet should address its owner more formally -- a pet that could talk, that is. I'd have to think about it. Meanwhile, there was a pussy here that needed a cock, and a cock that needed a pussy.

"But, what about contraception?" I asked half-heartedly, eagerly poking into her crotch area with my cock, trying to find the wet tube that was its home.

"It doesn't solve the problem, remember?" Connie panted.

"But it hasn't even been six months since you got pregnant," I huffed. "We could wait six months."

"Yeah," said Connie, moaning as my cock found her opening and started its entrance. Our pelvises were not yet positioned for a full penetration, but we were working on the problem, with every confidence a solution would be found quickly.

"But making babies is so much fun!"

"Oh, yeah!" I said, my cock thrusting back and forth though only halfway in.

"Oh, God, come in me! Please?"

"But what about... what about..." I tried to say, jamming my prong up to the hilt into the sexiest female on earth.

"Next time," she croaked, "next time."

And then she screamed as I roared, my sperm spurting inward and the writhing mass all swimming for the gurley egg prize, unaware of any Malthusian problem lurking in some distant future.

But we didn't get around to the contraception thing for a week, and by then nature had taken its course. That meant the baby would be born less than five months after Katy. We felt guilty about pushing instead of holding back the gurley population explosion. But after a few days I confided to her that I was also very happy about it. She showered me with loving affection, saying she felt that way too but had been ashamed to admit it -- and that too ended with a prompt explosion of passion between man body and little gurley body.

But then we did get serious. Connie went on the pill, and waited 14 months after Carly's birth to go off it. In those weeks before she conceived she was getting more uncomfortable than she let on, but felt it was a little penance for conceiving Carly too soon.

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At four months Katy was the size of a toddler, and she began toddling, having already mastered crawling. She also started talking. She was already a sponge for knowledge, and when she could ask questions, it seemed she never stopped. Her voice was usually sweet and pleasant, as was her temperament, and her creative imagination was a wonder to behold. It seemed I could listen to her talk for half an hour and never hear her say the same thing twice. But sometimes I just got tired and exasperated, wanting a little peace and quiet.

Connie was at hand to solve the problem, guiding Katy into another room or outside for a walk. When they were alone together, Connie talked very fast, and Katy never seemed to miss a thing. To become an adult gurley in three years required a lot of learning, and it was as if there wasn't time to talk slowly. A stranger would have thought they were seeing an amazingly precocious six-year-old conversing with an even more precocious three-year-old, and would have been further startled to learn they weren't even that old.

There was, of course. There was time to talk slowly, and time to not talk at all. Time to lounge in her daddy's lap, smiling with delight. Time to kiss and hug, to squirm and wriggle. There was no sexual message, but it was hard for me not to make the connection. I was passionately making love to Connie, over and over again. Her body gave no more evidence of looking like a grown woman than Katy's did, and it wasn't even all that much bigger. I dearly loved my daughter. The idea of giving her away as Mike had given away Connie was out of the question.

But that and the gurley physiology had a clear implication.

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Connie looked on wistfully as two-and-a-half-year-old Katy played in my lap.

"What's the matter, honey?" I asked.

"I just wish I could have played with my daddy like that."

"You couldn't?"

"No. He already had two daughters -- my sisters -- and he couldn't keep me. So he couldn't stand to get bonded to me. That's what my mommy told me recently, and now it makes sense."

"Oh, I see. That's sad." After a moment, I added with a significant look, "But you can play in my lap any time you want!"

"Thanks, I'll take you up on it a little later," said Connie with a happy expression as her pelvis wriggled briefly. For now, she had Carly and little Kelly to attend to.

Katy was starting to add some pelvic thrusts to her wiggles, especially as she straddled one of my knees. We'd made sure the girls got a chance to see my penis now and then so they would understand how gurleys and men were different. Katy now approached it with more than idle curiosity. I let her peek, poke, and even fondle a little. I was reluctant to let her see me get hard, but Connie set me straight when we were alone later.

"If she's curious, let her. Katy's yours, Mr. Smith. Whenever the two of you are ready."

That made me tingle, but I also felt a little guilty. "How do you feel about it?"

"About what?"

"About my doing it with Katy and not just with you."

"I'm hoping Katy will love sex as much as I do, and I think you'll like it too." She poked me and teased, "Won't you? Huh? Huh?"

I fended off her attacks good-naturedly. "Yeah, I will. But all the women I know would be very jealous."

She gave her child's shrug. "I'm not a woman that way. I won't be jealous, as long as you have time for me too."

That led to significant glances, a few kisses, and some rapid foreplay. I got hard, she got wet, she invited me in, I entered her lustily, and we both came. We'd done it hundreds of times by then, but it never grew old. She was pregnant and would give birth to our fourth daughter shortly.

With Katy, one thing led to another. When she was 32 months, I spurted onto her stomach as she squealed with delight. At 33 months she gave me a lovely blow job, though I didn't spew into her mouth. The same month I started licking her pussy, which instantly became her favorite activity. At 34 months my little finger weaseled its way into my girl, followed by more fingers. And just shy of 35 months, I fucked a gasping and delighted Katy for the first time. Now stirred into the ambiguous mixture of bestiality and pedophilia was an unmistakable portion of incest.

We put Katy on the pill before I first ejaculated in her general vicinity, and tried to see how long she could go before her first pregnancy. At 39 months the adolescent growing pains had turned into failure-to-become-pregnant pains. She went off the pill, we fucked with abandon, and within three weeks she felt much better. Gurleys don't suffer from morning sickness, they relish morning wellness, the biochemical joy brought on by a womb no longer empty.

As soon as Katy and I went all the way, she joined Connie and me in our bed. I could fuck either of my pets, either of my possessions, whenever it suited me. Whenever I was trying to impregnate one or the other, to relieve her of her nagging discomfort, I saved all my sperm for her. But I made sure to fuck the other plenty, giving her the joy of orgasms from my long, thick thrusting cock, even if I didn't slime her innards with a glob of semen to seal the deal.

And of course Carly joined us five months later.

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Accepting a gurley is something of a bargain with the devil.

You get a beautiful young girl; an intelligent, affectionate and industrious girl; a perfect maid and cook. You can buy her frilly clothes and dolls and she'll jump up and down and squeal like the little girl she is -- in part. She'll also make her sexual needs apparent, teasing and caressing you with giggles and wiggles, sensuous snuggles, and sexy explorations with fingers and tongue. And that highlights how she's so very different from the human six-year-old she so closely resembles. She wants it, she's a grown-up of her kind, and she actually needs it to stay healthy. If you don't respond to her, she'll have to get some other guy to. And given her need and interest, the fact that she's small and lacks breasts and hips doesn't matter so much. Can you find what it takes to slide your cock between those small tender thighs up into a heavenly pussy, mature and big enough for your organ? Oh yes! Lots of men can.

And then she'll give you a darling daughter. She'll mostly shield you from the messy business of the growth spurt during her first several months, but then you have a delightful baby -- never fussy, always cooperative, always sweet. Affectionate, intelligent, funny. Then she'll start getting frisky and fresh when she's two and a half -- and looking like a four- or five-year-old. And as you've already developed sexual passion for a creature who looks like a six-year-old girl, your pleasure is soon doubled as your daughter seduces you. Both mother and daughter crave your sexual attention. Jealousy will not be a problem, and a menage a trois is yours for the asking.

After you've got two or three, or however many you can handle, it's time to give the others up for adoption -- or marry them off, depending on how you look at it. They're so adorable that lots of single guys will want one. Couples too, especially if a woman gets to fuss over that daughter she never had herself.

But then the devil starts getting his due. Demand for gurleys drops off as the supply increases. So you start offering dowries along with the gurley. But people see the danger and there is a profound shift. When someone sees a gurley coming, they run the other way. A phone inquiry -- would you mind if my gurley and I came to visit you? -- is treated as worse than the most crass telemarketing call.

You get more than you wanted. Your original gurley presents you with a new darling daughter every year, and after three years your daughter joins in. A year later your second daughter joins the reproductive fun, and you're off to the races! Three a year, then four a year, then five...

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Lizzie is adorable and an outrageous flirt. I'd take her as my lover in a flash -- if there weren't twenty other gurleys around the house. But now she's three, and Bob said he might be interested.

As he answers the door and looks down at Lizzie, I can tell by the look in his eyes that he feels more than just lust.

Lots of guys take a gurley for a spin -- they're curious what the sex is like. We'd never let them do that in the early days, but now there are so many gurleys needing homes we're desperate. The guys have their fuck and bid her good riddance. The poor little gurley cries and cries -- she's fundamentally monogamous and once she gives herself to a man she bonds with him. But she pulls herself together and offers herself to another guy. (By the way, do you think gurleys are built so they can get AIDS or the clap? Take a wild guess...) If one of them gets her pregnant and doesn't want her, it's all over -- she's one of mine. I'll comfort her and love her and make love to her and she'll bond to me. I'll be glad in a way that the adorable darling is mine -- but she's got a mouth above to feed with food and drink, a mouth below to feed with cock and sperm. The lower mouth is in turn an unending stream of more little pairs of mouths to feed.

Lizzie giggles as she tugs Bob into the bedroom; I retreat to my car and wait, fingers crossed.

If she appears with her suitcase and head hanging, we've failed. But after half an hour Lizzie appears at the door -- without her suitcase! She's grinning from ear to ear! That means he's decided to keep her. She gives me the thumbs up and I return the gesture. Then she blows me a kiss and I blow her one back. Our faces grow somber for a moment; we know we'll never see each other again. But then her eyes light up and she turns back to her new home. As she turns her dress swirls up, and I see she hasn't put her panties back on. There's a streak of sperm starting down her inner thigh.

I'm Lizzie's father and grandfather. Three-fourths of her normal human genes are mine. And now when Bob's seed takes in her, she'll spread my genes to a whole new household of gurleys. It's a happy thought -- when I can forget the big picture for a moment.

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The years passed. I stopped working outside the home long ago. My gurleys earn the money, mostly from online piecework. We've had to move to bigger houses a number of times. They grow all the food they can on our acre and a half to help feed the voracious infant gurleys. And we get cash gifts from the Gurley Relief Society. Me, I'm a househusband. Or engaged in husbandry. Animal husbandry, sort of, or at least gurley husbandry.

Laura walks by and glances up as she passes. She's in a cleanly pressed white blouse and a black skirt, and I know she's dressed up just for me. I haven't done Laura in a couple days, and she's surely hungry for it. She's as cute as her mother and grandmother.

"Ah, come here, Laura honey!" I say, motioning her into the bedroom.

The expression of happiness on that little face of hers would light the world!

"How do you want it, daddy?" she asks in a soft voice.

"Nah, honey, I don't get to you very often; how do YOU want it?"

"Like this!" she says, assuming missionary position and grinning up at me. Lust is mixed in with her girlish delight.

Her black skirt is pushed up a little, but it still shields her crotch. I mount her and push it up the rest of the way to reveal her luscious girl parts. She guides me to her opening, and I press into exquisite warmth and wetness. Her face contorts with pleasure; she makes a point of looking at me now and then, but her pleasure is too strong. She gives a few chirps and moans before her orgasm begins, and I feel the rhythmic contractions on my rod. I keep on thrusting for thirty seconds. She'd keep coming for five minutes if I kept it up, but I know that if I slow down and stop now, she'll still feel satisfied.

As I slow down, I feel the baby twitching in her stomach. I'd guess she's due in a couple weeks, though I can't keep track of all the details.

"Oh, thank you, daddy!" she says with total sincerity. "I love you so much!"

"I love you too, honey," I say, and zoom in to rub noses with her.

Then I'm up to rest and recuperate. I didn't come in her, because I've already come once that morning, and more importantly because my sperm is reserved for the girls who need to get pregnant.

But on the way out the door I see Molly in one of the parlors, and wow does she look cute. My cock is still hard from Laura. I surprise Molly by gently pushing her down across the arm of the chair in the hall. As soon as she senses my intentions she shrieks her excitement, pulling her shorts and panties down to her knees. As I bend her over, she tilts her pelvis up to give me a good angle. In those few seconds she gets very wet, which I can see as I spread her little pussy lips and lodge my tip in the moisture. I heave inward and start grunting. Molly sighs and twitches, and within seconds is coming. A couple girls peek into the common room but retreat giggling.

Molly's hot and I thrust urgently. I suddenly realize I'm too excited to stop, but instead of pulling out in guilt and frustration, I piston into her wildly, splooshing her innards with sperm. It feels fantastic, but the guilt still comes when my pleasure fades. Molly's still on the pill for a few more weeks -- she didn't need my sperm!

It seems there are always a couple who need to get pregnant, and I try to seed them every day or two; when there are eight or nine it's really stressful. At least there are only three right now, and my sperm supply will recover pretty soon; I can have a go at knocking up Lucy this evening... But for now, off to rest, away from these alluring little minxes!

Some girls naturally conceive more easily than others. When a girl gets to 16 months and can't hide the pain she's in, then it gets difficult. Sometimes I resort to poking my cock through a hole in a sheet so I don't have to see how miserable the gurley I'm fucking is feeling. There's the direct danger to the girl if I don't make her pregnant. And then there's her knowledge that she's hogging my production of sperm and thereby endangering the lives of others waiting behind her in line. There's always the chance she'll have a fatal "accident", but I know it's suicide. She'll kill herself to let the others get a better shot at pregnancy -- and also if she's in a lot of pain. The gurleys themselves seem far more at peace with that idea than I am. They're on the whole a logical, noble bunch -- as well as being incredibly cute and playful and funny and loving and sexy.

Sometimes I get weepy from all the stress, from the thought of the five girls we've lost -- girls I loved. But so many more are doomed -- that's what really fills me with dread and gives me nightmares. They're all wonderful to me, and assure me it's not my fault. I know they're right, but it still hurts.

Connie once mused that it would have been better if she'd just killed herself before the whole thing got started. I sobbed when she told me that. Then she back-pedaled and of course would never mention such a thing to me any more, but it still haunts me.

A dozen gurleys come by to wish me goodnight. We kiss on the lips for a few seconds, and then as part of a new tradition in the household they hold their dresses up a little and I work my hand up underneath to cup and briefly stroke their little slits. Sometimes on a whim I'll spread the little lips with my index and ring fingers and drive my middle finger in to the hilt before withdrawing it. I then engulf it in my own mouth and suck off the sweet juices. It's all over in seconds, but those girls always give me an extra kiss and a big squeeze.

I have to have Connie at night. She's the one I hug. She's my rock, the one who helps me keep my sanity. She's pregnant with her 12th child now. I've got to keep her knocked up -- I've got to. I could recover from losing any of the others, but not Connie! Maybe not Katy either. Or Carly... Arrggh!

"Hug me, Connie, hug me. Tell me it's going to be all right."

"It is, Mr. Smith, it IS! Don't you worry. You're the best man a clan of gurleys could have!"

I decide to believe her, at least long enough to fall asleep in her arms.

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Hallelujah! Hallelujah! I'm an atheist, but praise the Lord! Praise Jesus! Allah Akbar! Praise Krishna! Praise Buddha! Zoroaster! Whoever you are! Even praise L. Ron Hubbard! THEY FOUND A CURE!

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The cure makes a gurley permanently sterile, but that's OK. The gurleys love to have babies, but they've been so scared lately they're not complaining.

There was that maddening delay while they found a way to make enough of the cure to go around. Then everything changed.

When most of my girls had gotten theirs, I collapsed in a heap. I thought maybe I'd never want to have sex again, but it wasn't true. I lay on my side and hugged Connie to me, then stuck my cock up into her and just left it there, rowing back and forth a centimeter every few seconds, just enough to keep me hard and keep it feeling good. Never to have to ejaculate again, that would be the key. Oh, it's fine if it happens, but to have it not be a requirement! The meaning of life is in the journey, not the destination. The pleasure of skin on skin is enough. In and out, in and out, row, row, row your Connie...

Some of the girls took turns coming in to hug my back and give me back rubs. But they all knew not to thrust their loins against me; they knew it wasn't time for that -- at least not yet.

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The tide has turned. Instead of being unable to give a gurley away with $10,000 attached, they're in demand again.

Lots of mine went away to new situations, and there were many tearful farewells, though we all keep in touch electronically.

The younger ones face the dilemma of reproduction. There is still a stigma to gurley births -- not another one! But of course like any population, gurleys need births. We still don't know what the lifespan of a gurley is. A few have died of no known cause, and it might be chalked up to "old age". But no one is sure yet, certainly not sure enough to suggest a mortality curve.

What I know is that as I go into my late 40s, I am surrounded by a bevy of the most delightful creatures imaginable: gorgeous, clever, affectionate girls of about age six -- or that's what they seem like, physically and in sheer spontaneous joy of living. They're also very sexy and very horny. They sometimes call themselves little sluts.

And my sexual interest has returned with a vengeance, now that it's for pleasure and not a matter of life and death. We're going to celebrate this evening -- all 74 of us.

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One by one, I explore under the dresses, finding thighs, labia, and pussy. One by one, I penetrate, feeling the welcome embrace. I look into each adorable girl face as I hump away, bringing her building pleasure that ends with crashing ecstasy. One by one I pull out, my slick cock transferring diminishing quantities of the inner secretions of the girls before. Next to last is Katy. It's tempting to splat in her -- it would feel so natural and right. But reluctantly, soothing my cock with a promise of delayed gratification, I turn to the last girl: Connie, of course. I pause a moment with my cock tip at her wet opening, as tight and hot and girlish as ever. I remember how she surprised me the first time by impaling herself hard and deep as I lay with eyes closed. This time she's in the missionary position, hungry for my intrusion, starting to orgasm as I penetrate, letting it subside as I work into a slow rhythm. I'm fucking my original girl -- what the heck, I'll call her my wife -- slowly, thoroughly, soundly. Each stroke feels fantastic.

It's not just for nostalgia that I've saved my load for her. All my daughters who had already given birth took the sterilizing treatment. But I pleaded with Connie not to do it -- not yet. She didn't need much convincing. We're going to try for one more -- or at least one more, then we'll see what we feel like later. With Connie, at least, there's no hint of incest. Besides, she's my girl -- my first girl, my main girl.

Connie lets herself back into orgasm as she feels me building towards climax. What a change it will be to try for pregnancy, relaxed and joyous, without fear of failure! There's no hurry. We have weeks and weeks. If we can't make it work, she'll just take the cure and we'll enjoy our dozen children who remain at home and their umpteen other descendants. But once more, my body is preparing to do its part at creating new life. The fluids are mixing, the ducts are opening. My cock is ramming in and out of my orgasming mate at a furious clip. I give my roar, she answers with an urgent "Oh, Jeremy!" and a shriek as her orgasm reaches its peak, and gobs of the seed of life go shooting into the depths of my little girl -- my gurley.

She smiles and pants, I smile as my chest heaves, and all around us we hear approving sighs and clucks and giggles from the others. Then they clear out so Connie and I can fall asleep intertwined. But the relentless sperm don't sleep; they swim tirelessly. In the middle of the night one finds what it seeks: in a flash, a new gurley is conceived.

(first posted 10/22/2011)

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