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From: Glorylips <glorylips@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Glory's playtime part 1 (Mg, pedo, inc)
Lines: 279
Date: Wed, 22 Dec 2004 08:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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These stories include my memories of a time in my life
that is long past. I became  a very sexual little
girl, and I nearly got into some big trouble. This
story is about my father, and about the beginnings of
the path towards losing my virginity.

My father...how do I describe him? A little like a
much taller Peter O'Toole -- suave, a bit effete,
slender, humorous, graceful, masculine, always a hit
with the ladies. He was always nicely dressed in
things like tweeds and wool, and smelled of nice
aftershave when he hugged me. I loved it when he came
in from the cold wearing his giant wool overcoat and
he'd wrap me up in it while he hugged me.  When I was
eleven years old, my father could do no wrong. He
called me Glory as a nickname, he said because of my
gloriously blond hair.  Looking at pictures of myself
now from that time, I was more hollow-eyed, skinny,
and haunted-looking than anything glorious. Even at
eleven years old, photographs show that I was a little
girl with long blond hair, deep-set eyes, small bones,
and a small mouth drawn tight in smiles that were
artificial, for the camera. I was looking for love
anywhere I could find it. I didn't find it at school
-- despite the "angelic" face I supposedly had, I had
a body as flat a s a board, and not appealing to the
11- and 12-year-old boys as some of my more
Mediterranean girl-friends were, with their
already-blooming breasts and provocative clothes. I
pictured myself as being forever a sexless creature.

During that time in my life, my parents were going
through some rough times. My mother was kind in a
detached kind of way, and very beautiful, but she
wasn't enough for my father. I think she was a bit
undersexed for all her beauty, because, by the time I
was ten years old, my father was spending a lot of
time out of the Boston area, and down in New York
City, on "business". I missed him terribly. I'm not
sure what he was doing down there, but I overheard my
nanny talking to one of her friends several times --
from what I gathered, my father had taken her to bed,
and probably had other women scattered around as well.
It was the first time I felt my faith in my father
shaken. It made me feel even more lost, to know that
he could have other women and exclude me from his
life.

I think my mother knew what was going on between my
father and the 19-year-old Canadian nanny, because
before I knew it, my mother decided I was too old for
a nanny and sent the girl back home. The problem was,
she didn't replace the nanny with anyone. She probably
didn't trust my father. It wasn't that I was
completely alone, there were a few house staff around,
because we lived in a large house north of Boston that
required upkeep, including stables. 

I had some friends my age, and spent a lot of time at
other people's houses, but for the most part I spent
very little time with my pleasant but distant mother,
and most of my time with friends or alone. Of course,
my father wasn't  around much, either. The sharp pain
of missing him dulled into a kind of blank acceptance
that Daddy would pop in and out of my life whenever it
was convenient.

One day I went to the stable to visit my pony, Misty.
It was Bill's day to be with the horses and I wanted
to visit with him.  Bill was an older gentleman who
came to groom the horses a couple of times a week, and
he was always kind to me. For instance, he promised to
teach me how to use an English saddle, or take me
riding on one of the big horses instead of my little
pony. Today, he offered to put me up high on Old Red,
a gentle gelding that my mother rode,  when she and my
father used to go out riding together. When he helped
me foot up into the saddle, I felt his hands on my
ass, groping me slightly, though I was so naive I
didn't notice. I had a bit of a ride around the field
with Bill leading the horse by the reins, and then
when we got back into the stable, he helped me off.
This time I was shocked because he lifted me down and
hugged me to his chest, nearly crushing me. He buried
his face in my hair and then bent over and kissed me.
My first French kiss at age 11, from a man in his
40's. He thought I was sexy!

I was shocked as his big tongue thrust between my
small lips. At first, a wave of nausea swept over me,
but then an immediate interest sparked. This big tall
man was kissing me like he would kiss a grown woman! 
I felt very grown up and sexy at that point -- I had
been masturbating for years without any particular
fantasies in mind, but now I felt an immediate
response between my legs. After all, I was a grown
woman in my own mind, even though I was only eleven
years old. The warm feeling of his kiss, the privacy
of the stables, and the wicked feeling of doing
something wrong excited me. 

Bill grabbed the elastic waistband of my pants,
tugging them and my little cotton panties down to my
thighs with one of his hands while I was still
suspended against his chest, his other big arm holding
me up. One of his fingers, rough from work, rasped
into the soft, exposed flesh between my legs, sliding
over my clit and through my damp little crevice. His
finger was longer than my pussy was, and he moaned
that he loved me, and that I had a delicious little
body, and would I let him kiss me down there? I threw
my arms around his neck and just held on while he
continued to rub. It felt so good. I said, "I don't
know..." in reply to his question. I was scared, in a
way. I had no idea what was happening, but I was
enslaved to the pleasure and the kissing. I had an
idea of what sex was, but no idea of what it really
entailed.

Bill carried me up the ladder into the hayloft,
caressing my naked, exposed bottom with his supporting
hand. He laid me down into the hay up there, pulled my
pink sneakers off, and pants all the way off, and then
my shirt over my head. It was September and a little
cool, but I didn't notice the chill, because he knelt
down in the hay and pulled my legs open to bury his
face between them.

How do I describe the first touch of a tongue on my
clit? I can't do it justice. It was heaven. I was
still so young and underdeveloped...not even a bulge
where my tits would later be. But my hairless little
slit was juicing up very nicely as his tongue began
lapping. I swear his big tongue could cover my entire
exposed pussy with one lick, but the tip of his tongue
just started flicking over my clit. It was the first
time I felt my legs involuntarily spread apart, my
hips lifting out of the hay with pleasure. I grabbed
at the hay around me and strained upwards towards his
probing tongue. He continued to flick over my clit and
before I knew it, my entire belly was caught up in the
knots of an explosive orgasm, while I shook and cried
out. 

That's when I heard my father calling my name from
outside. Bill sat up, his face wet from spit and
girl-pussy, wide-eyed and frightened. I pointed
towards the back of the hayloft, away from my father's
voice, and said, "Quick, get out over there" as I
started to throw on my own clothes. Bill was fast to
get out of the hayloft, but I was slow getting
dressed. My hips and legs were still weak from the
orgasm that still weakly pulsed in my pussy. Bill
vanished out the back of the stable while I tried to
put myself together as best I could.

My father appeared up the front ladder and was greeted
by the sight of his eleven-year-old daughter half
dressed. My shirt had gotten back on, and my pants
were nearly fully on when he saw me. He frowned and
looked quickly around the hayloft and then said,
"What's going on? Are you alone?" I was terrified the
smell of my orgasm was redolent in the air.

He still had on his overcoat, he probably had come in
from a "business trip" and came looking for me, as he
usually did. He had been drinking, because he smelled
of alcohol, and seemed a bit flushed. He found me in
the hay, with all the look of a young wanton who was
just with a lover. I blushed and then tried to think
of a way to save Bill and myself. I said, in a halting
voice, that I  sometimes came up into the hayloft to
be alone.

My father's expression was dark and relaxed a bit,
though, as he quickly ...maybe too quickly ...
accepted my excuse. "You mean you come up here to...do
things to yourself?" he asked.  I nodded, wordless,
still hugging my arms to my chest out of shame and
fear that he'd discover what I had done with Bill.

My father sat down in the hay next to me. "It's okay
to do that kind of thing to yourself, Glory," he said.
"And you can talk to me about it. I'm not sure your
mother will do much in the way of talking, and if she
does...make sure you talk about it with me before you
believe anything she says." He looked over towards the
direction of the house, though he couldn't see it
through the stable's roof.  He grinned a bit, and then
looked down at me, with a new expression on his face I
had never seen before. It was mocking, a bit teasing,
but also very intense. He wavered a bit, probably from
the alcohol, but he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't
tell me what he wanted. "Show me what you've been
doing," he demanded.

Helpless, unable to confess what I had REALLY been
doing, I bit my lip. "Go on," he said. I slowly shoved
my hand down the front of my little-girl stretch pants
and started rubbing my clit half-heartedly, as it was
sensitive from the orgasm Bill had given me not ten
minutes before. My father didn't seem to like the
half-hearted action I was making, because he then
pulled my pants down to my knees. He continued to
watch me finger my clit, and breathed, "Beautiful,
Glory...beautiful." Then he said, "Try slipping a
finger inside, like this." I gasped and felt him slide
a finger into my wet slit, and probe around, looking
for an opening. My own father was trying to finger me!

"Christ, you're a wet little girl." he said, and I
quickly said, "I get that way all the time" so he
wouldn't suspect. He found my opening with his finger,
and while making sure I was rubbing my clit, he gently
shoved a finger into my pussy. My very first finger.

It didn't hurt, but it felt strange, and oddly
sensitive. He pushed upwards, probing, and the
pressure began to elicit a few sharp pains. I moaned
softly with  the pain and my father took that as
encouragement, but he didn't try to push deeper. He
moved my fingers out of the way and started rubbing my
clit for me with his other hand. The discomfort from
the last orgasm ebbed and pretty soon I felt the same
delicious straining happening between my legs. My hips
rose up off the hay to meet my father's strumming
finger and I cried out with another orgasm, this time
my whole body convulsing and shaking madly with each
hard convulsion of my pussy  around my father's
probing finger.

Before I knew it, my father's pants were open. He wet
his hand in the silky wetness coating my pussy, and
used that to beat off his cock while I watched. It
wasn't pretending to be an educational session
anymore, it was just my father stroking himself to
orgasm in front of my eyes while his free hand
continued to play with my pussy, and his eyes roamed
over my pussy and thighs. With a grunt, he got up on
his knees, and started to squirt thick, white streams
directly onto my mons. The thick stuff landed in plops
on my clit and on my inner thighs as my father
continued to shoot off on my small pussy. 

He sat back with a small groan, and began to massage
his cum into my pussy. He said, "Glory, from now on,
I'm going to teach you about sex, and I'm going to rub
my cream on and inside of you while you're still a
girl. My cum will help you become a woman, just like a
magic potion." I sat up a bit to see the slick, shiny
sheen of my father's cum drying on my little mound. It
felt tingly, and potent, and powerful. I felt amazed
at what had transpired. I didn't say anything,
though... I just nodded at him, weak-kneed. He leaned
over and kissed me on the forehead. "This is our
secret. With my help, you will become the most
beautiful, sexiest woman in the world, because you
will have your Daddy's magic juice. Only little girls
who get their father's juice grow up to be sexy and
beautiful. Do you want to be sexy and beautiful?"

I looked down at my skinny, eleven-year old body --
flat, featureless, with only a cum-slicked mons to
distinguish it from a boy's shape. I tucked back the
despair every girl feels when she realizes the
distance between her and "sexy", and I said, "Please,
Daddy, I want to grow up, and be sexy."

He tickled my clit with one finger. "We'll do that,
Glory -- we'll do that, me and you."

End of part 1


		
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