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From: "Georgie Porgie" <georgieporgie@fastmail.fm>
Subject: {ASSM} Little Trisha 01-02: Trapping Trisha {Georgie Porgie} (BBB/g6 pedo nc humil)
Date: Wed, 16 Apr 2003 17:10:02 -0400
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          Don't skip over this disclaimer!  It's important!

       This and other stories by Georgie Porgie can be found at:
                 http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/GeorgiePorgie/www

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"If the First Amendment means anything, it means that a state has no
business telling a man, sitting alone in his own house, what books he
may read or what films he may watch."  -- Justice Thurgood Marshall

Never let anyone try to tell you that you're not allowed to READ A STORY
because you're under some stupid arbitrary age that changes from country
to country, and year to year.  But if you're under the stupid arbitrary
age at the particular time and place you read this, keep quiet about it.

And never let anyone try to tell you that you're not allowed to READ A
STORY because some people currently in power in the place you live (no
matter if that's your country or your home) have decided THEY don't like
to read what YOU like to read.  But if they've 'banned' this story, then
keep quiet about it reading it.

The author does not condone abuse of any person, by any other person,
regardless of the ages, genders, heritage, or political or biological
relationships between any of the persons involved.  Abuse includes any
activity done without the willing participation of everyone directly
involved, unless done to prevent other abuse under this definition.
But it also includes using force or threats to interfere in, disrupt,
or prevent the activities of others NOT committing abuse under this
definition, by others who are NOT directly involved.  Any person guilty
of abuse under this definition should be arrested to prevent such abuse.

"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.  Books
are well written or badly written.  That is all."  -- Oscar Wilde

Fantasies are fantasies, and are not real life.  This story is a FANTASY
and if it involves abuse of anyone by anyone else, then nobody should
act that way in real life, nor tolerate anyone else acting that way in
real life.  But neither should anyone object, in real life, to anyone
else's FANTASIES, let alone try to justify real-life abuse because of
them.  In over 30 years of reading and writing stories like this, the
author has NEVER hurt any real person, nor tolerated anyone else doing
so.  Enjoying FANTASIES like this DOES NOT and NEED NOT not make anyone
a monster in real life, as long as they understand that real people are
not to be treated this way.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

This story is Copyrighted (C) by Georgie Porgie.  All rights reserved.
It may be FREELY reposted to any appropriate newsgroup providing all the
following conditions are met:

1. This header remains attached to the story unchanged.
2. The full disclaimers below remain unchanged.
3. The subject line is unchanged, allowing potential readers to decide
   to avoid the story if they wouldn't like it.
4. The story is posted unaltered, either by addition or deletion.

People who flood the newsgroup with a hundred stories, none of which
have story codes, are obnoxious morons wasting the time of everyone
reading the group, and providing nothing of value.  I don't want any
of my stories to be posted by obnoxious morons.

It may be FREELY archived on any appropriate web site providing all the
following conditions are met:

1. The web site links ONLY to: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/GeorgiePorgie/www
   rather than rudely BYPASSING all of the descriptions and disclaimers
   that would otherwise be required.
or
1. The web site provides FREE access to the story without restriction
   (including, but not limited to, 'registration' or charging a fee),
2. The link title includes enough description to allow readers to decide
   to avoid the story if they wouldn't like it, and
3. The reader is required to SEE, if not read, the full disclaimers and
   description prior to deciding whether to read the story, just like it
   is on http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/GeorgiePorgie/www
4. The story is archived unaltered, either by addition or deletion.

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                        Little Trisha in Big Trouble

This fantasy involves three boys age 13 to 15, and one six-year-old
Brownie girl, kidnapping by deception, and humiliation, with more
activities in chapters not yet available.

I'm not into gore and grossness, so the only bodily fluid you'll find in
the following is tears, and there is no physical injury described.  (If
you want that sort of thing, you'll have to imagine it yourself.) If
that doesn't sound like a fantasy you would enjoy, then either don't
read it, or blame yourself.  I'm not forcing anyone to read this
fantasy.

As always, this story is not real, has never happened, and I hope
will never happen, and any resemblance to any real or imaginary person,
character, structure, or place is purely an unintentional coincidence.

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                        Little Trisha in Big Trouble

                             by Georgie Porgie


                         Chapter 1: Trapping Trisha
                              13 February 2003

     In the Great Smoky Mountains, there are two adjacent scout camps,
named in the language of the native tribe with words meaning cleverness
and beauty, respectively: Camp Gunagitchu for Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts,
and Camp Qatchuntakmi for Girl Scouts and Brownies.  The two camps are
separated only by a wide but shallow stream.

     The Boy Scout camp is constantly occupied by several dozen troops
averaging 20 boys per troop, in tents.  Likewise the Girl Scout camp
hosts a fairly steady population of a few hundred girls, but in cabins.
The few leaders the camps can afford to hire have a very difficult time
keeping track of them all.

     One of the Boy Scout troops present on a hot day in August was
troop 2469.  The highly acclaimed and beloved scoutmaster who had led
the troop for the previous thirty years had recenly been arrested, and
committed suicide, over a sex scandal, causing great grief and anger
among the boys in the troop, but the troop's planned trip to camp had
gone ahead without a leader.

     Three new members, Jeff, Mark, and Curt, had made plans to get
their Merit Badges in tracking and trailing, woodcraft, and knots.  At
least, that's what they told the other boys, which gave them an excuse
to spend all day, every day, away from the rest of the troop, doing
their 'tracking and trailing' stuff, and an excuse to bring lots of
ropes and other assorted equipment to camp.

     On the other side of the wide but shallow stream, Brownie troop 321
finished breakfast and returned to their cabins to begin the first day's
activities at camp.

     Six-year-old Trisha, humming the tune the girls had sung to the
birds at the opening ceremony, turned from the road and approached her
assigned cabin.  The other three girls who shared the cabin were not in
sight, having lingered to play with a camp counselor who seemed to like
them, swinging them around and tickling them.  Trisha's parents had told
her repeatedly to stay away from any adult who seemed to like her, so
she had run away to her cabin to avoid the stranger danger.  She wished
she could have fun like the other girls did, with adults who liked them
and made them so happy.  Still, Trisha was always a good girl, and knew
that her parents were never wrong.

     Slightly out of breath, she tucked her long brown locks behind her
shoulder and straightened her Brownie beanie, then reached for the door
handle.  She wondered at the muddy footprints on the step.  She stopped
and looked beside the trail, surprised at what she saw.

     "Sugarpuff!  What are you doing there!" she exclaimed.  "Come here
this instant, you naughty kitty!"  Now, Trisha was old enough to know
the difference between a real kitten and her little white kitty-cat
doll, but she liked to pretend Sugarpuff understood her.  Even so, she
knew she had to go get the doll herself, wondering how it had got out of
her cabin at all.

     Just as she bent over to pick it up, the doll leapt and tumbled and
ran into the woods, toward the stream.

     "Sugarpuff!!  You come back here!" Trisha shouted, chasing after
her disobedient kitty.  She spotted it going down the bank, and ran
faster.  She reached the top of the stream bank, and spotted the little
doll at the edge of the stream.  "Sugarpuff!"  She could see the bright
white doll pausing at the edge of the stream, though her eyes hadn't yet
adjusted to the shadows of the tall thick trees above her.

     Without looking back, the little kitty doll leapt into the water
and splashed across the stream and up the other bank.

     Annoyed, Trisha ran down the bank and looked around for a way to
cross it without getting wet.  Seeing no way, but not wanting her little
kitty cat doll to get away, she ran through the stream herself, her feet
sinking into the mud.  She ran up the other side of the bank, calling
"Sugarpuff!  You naughty kitty, come BACK here!"  She spotted the little
doll, still white but a little muddy, running along a trail between four
trees, directly away from the stream.  She charged down the trail as
fast as she could run, certain she could catch up to her dolly before it
got much further.

     "Aahhie!" she screamed, when she tripped and fell headlong into a
tangle of... what?  She didn't know what had stopped her, she hadn't
seen anything in the dim light under the trees, but she felt herself
tangled up in a mass of tiny strong cords running between the trees.
"Eeeie!" she screamed, twisting and struggling, finally calming down
somewhat and beginning to disentangle herself from the morass of tiny
invisble cords that held her suspended in the trail.

     "We got one!  We got one!  This way!" a boy yelled.  Footsteps
crashed through the underbrush, and two boys stepped out onto the trail
behind her.  "Hey!!  You're no deer!  What are you doing here?" the
biggest boy challenged.  "You're a Brownie!  You're not supposed to be
in the Boy Scout camp!  You're going to be in BIG trouble when we tell
on you!!"

     "Look what she did to our snare!" the second boy complained.  "She
ruined it!  We can't catch any deer in this now!"

     "I- I was trying to catch my dolly," Trisha stammered, frightened,
still trying to pull free from the cords.

     "Your what?" one boy asked.  "Your dolly was in our snare?  Where
is it now, then?"

     Trisha tried to look around, but didn't see Sugarpuff.  "I saw it
run right through here," she gestured awkwardly, still laying over on a
web of unseen lines.

     "Your dolly?" the other boy mocked.  "Your doll was running from
you, huh?  Liar!"

     "It was," Trisha moaned, weakly.  She knew how silly it sounded.

     "So you're a liar on top of everything else too," the first boy
accused.  "Coming into the Boy Scout camp where you're not allowed to
be, wrecking our snare so we'll have to do the whole thing over again,
and lying to us, and not only that, look at your shoes!"

     Trisha lay in the cords, half over, helplessly tangled, trembling
in fear.  She looked at her feet and saw the mud all over her shoes,
even some just visible on her Brownie socks.

     "You're in big big trouble!" a boy added, unnecessarily, as he
stepped forward and stood glowering down at her.  The other boy came up
beside him.

     Trisha squirmed in the snare, afraid they were going to hurt her.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!  Please don't tell on me!" she pleaded.

     The two boys stood with hands on their hips, angrily staring at
the struggling little Brownie.

     Meanwhile, a third boy off in the bushes put down a fishing rod and
cut a loop of nearly-invisible nylon fishing line from the neck of a
muddy white kitty-cat doll, a loop he had tied half an hour earlier.  He
struggled to suppress his laughter, listening to Trisha's increasingly
desperate pleas.



                       Chapter 2: No Brownies Allowed
                                9 April 2000

     "Please don't tell on me," Trisha begged, squirming and struggling
in the tangle of lines that held her.  She got to her knees, and began
to crawl out backwards as a third Boy Scout arrived carrying a fishing
pole.

     "Why shouldn't we tell on you?" a boy demanded.  "You completely
ruined our snare.  We can't catch any deer in it now!"

     "I'll fix it," Trisha offered, lamely, as she stood up.  She looked
straight over at one boy's belt buckle.  The other two weren't so tall,
but they were all in their early teens, more than twice her age.

     "Oh, SURE!" the oldest one taunted her, "It took three weeks to get
this snare finished.  You don't know nothin' about makin' snares, so how
would you fix it?  It would take you all week just to get started."  He
winked at the other boys, and they winked back.  They'd put the snare in
place in ten minutes, and had plenty of extra fishing line.

     The boys moved to surround the girl as she finished untangling from
the lines.  She tried to back away, but her only retreat was back to the
snare.  The third boy pushed close and backed her against a tree.

     "We were going to catch a deer in it, then use that deer for our
Tracking and Trailing merit badge, and you've completely ruined it for
us.  We won't get the badge now, thanks to you!"

     Another boy seemed thoughtful, and said "Maybe we could track what
the snare caught, and get the merit badge after all."

     The oldest boy stepped up.  "Hmm, that's an idea.  We wouldn't tell
on you if you'd let us use you for our tracking and trailing.  Otherwise
we're hauling you over to the camp counselor's cabin and you'll get in
big trouble for ruining our snare."

     "And for coming over here in the first place," added another boy.

     "And for lying to us.  And for getting mud on your shoes."

     Trisha looked back and forth between the three boys, frightened.
She wanted to avoid getting in trouble.  "What do I have to do?" she
asked, with a tremble in her voice.

     "We'll take you to where the tracking and trailing starts, then you
go off, and we try to follow you.  When we catch up with you, we start
over.  That's all."

     "Oh, okay," Trisha nodded.  That didn't seem so bad to her.  She
wiped a tear off her lightly freckled cheek.  She meekly followed when
a boy led her away from the snare.

     The four of them walked off through the woods, making an unusual
sight, if anyone had been watching: three Boy Scouts surrounding a cute
little six-year-old Brownie girl, all in full dress uniform.  And one
boy had a fishing pole, despite there being no fish near either camp.

     They followed a long trail that wandered up hills and down, along
a stream, over a rope bridge, and up and down more hills.  Trisha knew
she was getting further and further from her own cabin, further and
further into the Boy Scout camp.  In fact, they were more than halfway
across it when she finally asked, nervously, "Where are we going?"

     "To our campsite.  That's where we'll start tracking from, each
time.  We have to track a wild animal for thirty minutes, six times, to
get the badge.  Since you ruined our snare, you'll have to be the wild
animal."

     Trisha fell silent, and with effort kept up with the rapid pace the
experienced hikers set for her.  Whenever she stumbled, they pushed her
along from behind.  Finally they came to a clearing in the trees, a wide
grassy meadow with a stream.  Across the clearing stood two green canvas
tents.

     Trisha stopped when the boy in front of her blocked her way.  The
boy behind her nudged her and said, "That's our campsite.  That's where
we're going.  So get going."

     Trisha began to step around the boy in her way, but he pushed her
back and scolded, "No Brownies allowed in the Boy Scout camp, remember?"
Trisha stopped, confused.

     The boy behind her nudged her forward, more insistently.  Again she
took a step forward.  The boy ahead of her put out a hand and stopped
her, pushing her back and repeating "NO Brownies.  NONE.  Are you deaf,
or just trying to get into even more trouble?"

     Trisha looked up at the boy blocking her way, his menacing glare an
uncompromising obstacle.  She looked back over her shoulder at the boy
behind her, just as he shoved her forward again.  Baffled, she tried the
third boy.  He only shrugged and said, "You look like a Brownie to me.
After all, you're wearing a Brownie jacket."

     Another shove forward, another shove back, and Trisha began to feel
like a rag doll.

     "I guess you'll have to take off the jacket.  I don't see any other
way," the bystander decided.

     Trisha didn't see any other way either, and reluctantly pulled her
official Brownie jacket open and down her arms.  She folded it neatly,
laid it across her arm, then stepped forward to go around the boy and
over to the campsite.  She didn't get a second step before she felt the
shove and found herself back where she started.  "What's wrong now?" the
little girl cried.

     "NO Brownies!" the front boy declared.

     "You're still carrying the jacket," the third boy explained.  She
dropped the jacket beside her.  She tried to step forward but again felt
the hand pushing her back.  The two boys holding her in place snickered
at her.

     "Is that a Brownie emblem on your shorts?" her erstwhile advocate
asked.

     Trisha looked down, and saw what he meant.  She had no way to get
the emblem off her shorts, and even if she did, she wouldn't want to
wreck them.  A shove forward, a shove back.  "What should I do?  I can't
take off my shorts!" she pleaded to the one boy who seemed to be nice
to her.

     "You can't get into the camp wearing Brownie shorts, and you can't
go back or you'll get in a lot of trouble.  Don't worry, we won't tell
on you for taking off your shorts.  Will we, guys?"

     "No," the boy in front of her said.

     "No, I guess not," the other agreed.  "Not if she hurries up with
it, anyway.  We haven't got all day, and I'm getting impatient."

     "I guess you better take them off," her advocate told her.

     Timidly, very reluctantly, Trisha slipped her thumbs into the band
of elastic around her waist.  After a few more seconds of hesitation,
she pushed down, and a chocolate-brown pair of official Brownie shorts
landed loosely around her ankles.  Her white blouse covered most, but
not all, of a pair of light pink cotton panties.  She lifted one foot,
then the other, stepping out of her shorts, then bent to pick them up.

     "No!" the boy before her insisted.  "NO Brownie stuff in our camp!
How stupid are you, anyway?"

     She turned to the boy she thought was her friend.

     "I suppose you'll have to leave them," he shrugged.

     She stood, and made as if to enter the campsite.  Shove - shove -
shove - shove!  Trisha was really getting frustrated, and she bit her
lip and turned a pleading look at the third boy.

     "Well, what do YOU think?" he mocked her.  "You should be able to
see for yourself what kind of socks you have on, without MY help."

     Trisha hung her head, stung by the rebuke, and fearful of what she
knew she had to do.  She sat down in the grass, untied her muddy shoes,
and slipped them off, followed by her wet brown socks with the official
Brownie emblem sewn on the cute little garters.  How she hated that
emblem right now!  She stood up, barefoot, and got almost one step into
the meadow before she landed hard on her little pink panties.  She cried
out loud, and wiped her cheek, looking up at the merciless guardian of
the campsite.  "Now what!?" she whined.

     "No Brownies!" was all she got from him.

     She turned once more to the third boy.  He stared back.  She said
nothing, just kept sitting there dazed, sniffling.

     "I guess we'll just have to go tell on you, then," the boy behind
her threatened, "unless you get going into the camp so we can get our
tracking merit badge.  We're tired of messing around!"

     "No!" the frightened girl pleaded.  "What is it??" she cried.

     "Look at your sleeve.  Sheesh!" the third boy suggested.  "And feel
your head," he added as an afterthought.

     Trisha looked at the end of the sleeve on her white blouse.  That
dreaded Brownie emblem again!  "Oh no, oh please, don't make me take off
my blouse too, oh pleeeease, pleaaase?"  Trisha heard two boys chuckle.
Had she been listening carefully enough, she would have heard the third
one nearly choke on his laughter as he turned his head to 'cough'.  It
seemed her pleading wasn't going to help her, so the tearful child stood
and unbuttoned the blouse.  She opened it up.  She slid it down off her
shoulders.  The boys watched intently.  She let it slide further down,
around her elbows.  She lowered her arms, and let her blouse drop to the
grass behind her.  This time, she knew better than to try to keep it.
Just before trying to step forward again, she remembered the last hint,
and pulled off the ever-so-cute Brownie beanie and sadly let it land on
top of her jacket.

     Trembling and ashamed, Trisha stood at the edge of an open meadow,
clad only in a pair of light pink panties, surrounded by three (three??
had the other boy turned against her now?  no!  yes!!) staring smirking
Boy Scouts.  A shove from behind...  Covering her tiny little nipples,
which didn't really need covering anyway, Trisha stumbled awkwardly into
the clearing, wading through the knee-high scruff toward the tents.  As
she reflected on her predicament, she remembered that she had to let the
boys 'track' her and 'trail' her for thirty minutes!  In her panties!
And not just once, but six times!  Trisha's tears threatened to leak out
anew as she blushed in shameful apprehension.  But she knew she had no
choice: she either obeyed them, or she got in big trouble.

     But little Trisha had no idea she was already in Big Trouble up to
her little pink panty-line, and getting deeper with every step she took.

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      This and other stories by Georgie Porgie can be found at:
                http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/GeorgiePorgie/www
-- 
 {Georgie Porgie} georgieporgie@fastmail.fm
 http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/GeorgiePorgie/www

-- 
http://www.fastmail.fm - Choose from over 50 domains or use your own

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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