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From: Vivian Darkbloom <vdkblm-OBLITERATE-SPAM!-@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} School of Tender Rocks (Mf+g+ ped girl-scouts)
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Date: Thu, 26 May 2005 01:10:03 -0400
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                          School of Tender Rocks

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

   Feeling vulnerable and exposed under the heat of the stage
   lights, in the flimsy tank-top and skimpy shorts the girls forced
   me to wear for the concert, I grinned and flailed randomly at the
   percussion instruments they had set in front of me. I doubt the
   girls ever turned on the microphone hanging there, seeing as I
   have absolutely no sense of rhythm or otherwise redeeming skills
   which might have justified my position as their percussion
   player.

   Rhonda, the slim redheaded drummer, shot me a deliciously wicked
   glance, flicking her lips briefly with her tongue as she
   dexterously rattled off lightning-precision fills and riffs. She
   must have been about fourteen, judging by the size of her
   breasts, which had budded enough to distinctly be considered
   feminine, but no enough to have any degree of "hang" to them. Her
   luxurious red curls cascaded in a bounteous bouquet of
   sweet-smelling blossoms, streaming like a jungle down the curve
   of her sensuous behind.

   Our audience seemed to consist entirely of young girl scouts and
   brownies, all in full uniform. A thousand seats, Yvette had said,
   and I didn't see any empty. And somehow there appeared not to be
   a single chaperone in sight, not a single adult other than
   myself.

   I should have suspected something was up when the girls in the
   band first asked me to sign the contract, the occasion of the
   first devilish glance flashed by Yvette, the slender vocalist,
   with long blonde hair of classically Swedish coloration. I'm not
   ordinarily given to staring at women's breasts, which overall was
   fortunate as she didn't seem to have any. She couldn't have been
   more than about 11.

   My first hint of suspicion came from the extensive non-disclosure
   agreement that they made me sign. (has anyone else ever heard of
   signing such a thing in order to be in a rock band? I didn't
   think so). Not being a very fast reader, I sort of skimmed it.
   Actually, I glanced at the multi-page document and just scribbled
   my signature, hoping for the best. None of them seemed any older
   than about twelve. How could such an agreement be binding,
   anyway?

   Then there were the concert tour arrangements. Every stop in the
   bookings seemed to be a girl-scout conference or convention of
   one sort or another. And even though there were four of us in the
   band, they only booked rooms with two beds! I figured that, being
   young and all, they would want to bring sleeping bags and crash
   out on the floor.

   As it turned out, the first thing that happened when we arrived
   in the hotel room was that Wilma, the guitarist, had us all take
   off all our clothes. Her black hair was done up in a short,
   strikingly Egyptian-styled cut.

   "I know you probably want to have sex with each one of us," she
   began.

   "But..." I protested.

   "Sh. So we're going to get that out of the way right now. First,
   we'll take turns giving you blow-jobs, and then once you get nice
   and stiff, we'll take sticking that magnificent thing of yours
   inside us."

   Seeing my expression of bewilderment, she replied, "You remember
   reading about it in the contract, don't you?"

   "Well, um," I coughed.

   The girls gathered around, all smiled and nodded in anticipation,
   bare skin flushed with excitement all around me.

   Rhonda the redhead, Yvette the blonde, Wilma the Egyptian, all
   took turns taking me into their sweet, warm, juicy mouths. Then
   Kris, the bass player kneeled in front of me as I stood, and
   started massaging my penis with her breasts, between erect red
   nipple-like nipples. She was rounder and fuller of build than the
   rest. The translucence of her pale skin and gentleness of her
   dimpled smile breathed a delicate innocence so compelling that to
   see the fullness of my gnarled ugly old thing between her two
   soft white breasts almost caused me to spray her ruby lips and
   long dark hair right then and there.

   Almost. Maybe it was on account of sensing the intense shiver of
   near-orgasm that inspired her to skip the step of taking me into
   her mouth, because instead she laid carefully on her back on one
   of the beds, legs spread, and gently but firmly drew me into her
   by her grasp on my swollen yearning, until I had no choice but to
   thrust myself inside of the sweet soft moist lips between her
   legs.

   The other girls, all gathered around touching us and each other,
   heaved a collective sigh of release to see the repeating call and
   response established between my pelvis and hers, and she gazed up
   at me in starstruck rapture, gazing into my eyes with innocent
   glimmering that reached right into my soul and seized the thorns
   of my sexual agony deep inside of her, where they exploded into a
   million tiny atoms and quantum particles of light and energy.

   As I sweated and grinned under the stage lights, the events of
   the previous night that had followed the first glorious climax
   played again and again on the screen of my imagination, how they
   would not let me alone until I had reached an orgasm whilst
   inside each and every one of them. Though towards the end, when
   my fullness burst inside of Rhonda, with blossom-smelling red
   curls cascading, the other girls were over on the other bed
   playing startlingly creative sexual games with each other.

   Under the stage lights, Kris, the bass player, turned to face me
   as she played, her innocent dimples as the smile played on her
   full ruby lips immediately bringing to mind that first climax I
   had reached inside of her. Grinning like a fool, I flailed some
   more at the instruments in front of me under the heat of the
   lights, trying to seem busy as the fullness within my flimsy
   shorts increased. I could have been imagining, but I could have
   sworn I saw a pair of the girl scouts in the front row kissing
   each other -- on the lips! Long juicy ones, too. Not just little
   pecks. There they go again! No wait, that's another couple.

   After about four or five songs, Rhonda the redheaded drummer
   stood up, cascading curls carelessly flung windswept behind her,
   as smiling, she came over from behind her drumset and stood
   facing me, to where up close I could see her flawlessly smooth
   freckled skin like newly whipped cream, feel the vibration of her
   lust for me rippling like electric neon through the gentle touch
   of her fingertips as they closed around my upper arm and she led
   me out from behind my percussion set to center stage.

   Heart pounding, bashfully aware that all thousand cute little
   faces were watching in my direction, I grinned as best I could,
   sweat pouring over my body. She stood beside me holding my hand
   for a half a minute or so, then at a high point in the music
   (apparently pre-planned) she kneeled in front of me and yanked my
   shorts down to around my ankles, causing the gnarled ugly old
   thing to tumble out, embarrassingly ready for action.

   Before I knew it, the house came down in thunderous applause. It
   took a moment to realize that it was the revelation of my
   vulnerability that had triggered it. I saw the girls in the front
   row smiling eagerly at me and whooping, which increased as Rhonda
   stroked gently into greater attention the fullness I carried
   between my legs.

   I since learned that this sort of event has become all the rage
   at girl scout conventions, but at the time it was somewhat of a
   shock; my alarm increasing as I saw Kris put down her bass and
   work at strapping something around her waist, as blonde-haired
   singer Yvette pulled loose the drawstring on her white
   half-skirt, allowing it to fall, to reveal that she hadn't been
   wearing any underwear all along. Her shirt soon fell aside as
   well, and the full nudity of her flat-chested bare-breasted
   slenderness triggered another round of applause, in response to
   which she curtsied.

   At this point, Wilma was the only one still playing, but she
   remained off to the side, clad in skimpy black imitation-leather
   string laced halter top and hot-pants, belly button cavorting as
   she persisted in her long drawn out and beautifully expressive
   electric guitar solo, on one hand as if nothing extraordinary
   were taking place, but at the same time so that her music went
   along with the sexual action building center stage.

   Our blonde (and now naked) vocalist, Yvette, laid sideways to the
   crowd on a padded bed-sized pedestal that I hadn't noticed
   before, so the whole audience would get a good shot at her
   profile. She spread her legs towards me, and as she began to work
   her finger intensely into the folds between them, a glazed
   expression of contentment drew over her face.

   This scene, up close like that, caused my ugly gnarled old tuber
   to stiffen even further, to where I was afraid it would never
   soften again, so tight was it pulled like a bow at full
   extension, the archer poised to let go. The thousand uniformed
   girl scouts' eyes widened, and they collectively whispered words
   of encouragement.

   After attending to some formalities with her tongue, Rhonda got
   up from kneeling in front of me, and cupping her hands gently
   beneath the balls, gently pulled me by my handle over to the
   pedestal where Yvette lay, pussy dripping with hot, oozing
   desire, slender eleven-year old body ready to take me in.

   The audience grew more excited, and there were cheers as my
   knotty old tip traced an approach path towards her pure, innocent
   smooth hairless folds.

   Contact! Another round of cheers as I forced my tip into her
   sweet constriction, loosening it gradually with increasing
   leverage, until I was able to thrust fully deep inside of her
   with ease and passion.

   She issued soft, high-pitched grunts, sweetly cooing as she
   worked her legs more and more open, opening her ways up to my
   traversal. I watched her starry eyes beneath me as she gazed up
   in enraptured lust, eye lashes gently batting over eyes that
   mirrored the infinity of cloud-filled windswept skies.

   I felt the warmth of fingers rubbing something slippery against
   my butthole, and turned around to look just as Kris manoeuvred
   the strap-on dildo around to point into my butt. With a wink and
   a grin, she pushed, and the tip of her strap-on erupted into the
   dark red pleasure zone of my forbidden exit, drawing even more
   unbearably taught my fullness inside of starry-eyed Yvette.

   Another round of cheers, and the neatly uniformed crowd grew more
   talkative and giggly, some of the girls leaning forward and
   straining to see. The screen of my mind impulsively filled with
   the image of a thousand tiny young holes moistening and dripping
   with excitement.

   Now I was sweetly trapped between the two pussies, one in front
   and the other behind, so every little move yielded whimpers of
   pleasure from fore and aft, gradually accelerating into larger
   thrusting as our rhythms synchronized, and the girls in the
   audience began to chant in time with our sexmaking, until the
   entire room swayed with the push and pull of triplicate passions.
   I could see in the front row that some of the girls' hands had
   reached over into the laps of the one adjacent, and sly knowing
   looks were being exchanged.

   Wilma glanced over, never skipping a beat in her dazzlingly
   brilliant guitar solo, following every move with her melodic
   gestures, caressing our lovemaking with the driving edge of her
   amplified fretting.

   It was at this point that Rhonda, the drummer, got up onto the
   pedestal in front of me, crimson curls cascading, walking over on
   her knees until the short red pubic hairs surrounding her
   shimmering moist fold were directly over Yvette's Swedishly
   blonde face, right in front of my lips.

   Yvette reached up with curved fingers toward the pubic arch above
   her, and penetrated Rhonda's vagina with a deft thrust. Rhonda's
   face contorted with intense passion as Yvette began working her
   G-spot.

   There was only one thing left to do. Still chanting in rhythm,
   the thousand girl scouts and brownies started cheering as they
   saw my lips progress toward Rhonda's clitoris.

   Soon after my tongue made contact, and I tasted the sweetness of
   her chewy red flesh, the four of us found the same rhythm of
   thrusting and pulling in the elastic taffy-like media, and not
   long after my strokes became slower and more deliberate with
   intense quivering as my love for these beautiful young women
   wrapped around the core of my soul, tearing at the essence of my
   passion until its overflowing could fill no further without
   bursting, and each sweet drop ripped like like a thunderbolt
   through the fabric of emotion, wrapping its hot release into the
   slimy folds of lust in all directions, and I felt the bumps and
   moans of other orgasms as letting go triggered a chain reaction
   all around me.

   When it was all done, and the three of us on the "bedestal" had
   collapsed into each other's arms, the guitar solo had climaxed
   and the final notes echoed throughout the hall, when there were a
   few moments of complete, absolute silence; the silence of
   absolute enthrallment and attention of a thousand pairs of eyes.

   Soon followed by thunderous applause as the girls lept from their
   chairs to give us a long standing ovation.

   As the other girls in the band resumed their position, and they
   commenced playing the next song, a dozen or so of the uniformed
   girl scouts made their way up onto the stage, and I had to stand
   in front next to Yvette as they lined up to lick the stickiness
   from between the both of our legs, as a form of souvenir.

   I kissed the blonde Yvette, inside of whom I had just injected my
   sweet dripping essence, as we both stood naked together, girls'
   tongues probing both of our sensitive regions. She smiled back at
   me. "You're so romantic," she cooed, and kissed me again
   fiercely, thrusting her tongue between my teeth.

   Finally, I too resumed my position behind the percussion
   instruments, but somehow my clothes seemed to have disappeared,
   so I did the best I could in the face of my vulnerability. The
   rest of the band did not seem to object that a handful of the
   uniformed girl-scouts and brownies had remained onstage. The
   prevailing fashion seemed to be to retain the uniform in all its
   pressed, impeccable neatness, but to discard panties: a detail
   which was only evident from (a) the pile of discarded panties
   lying to one corner of the stage and (b) occasional flashes of
   bare bottoms and other anatomical features as dresses
   inadvertently lifted in the midst of dancing.

   Now they were dancing brashly close, hands brushing my now-rested
   member, causing it to rise...

   One girl approached, dark green beret cocked jauntily askew, with
   a box in one hand and a dark cookie in the other. "Thin mint?"
   she inquired, white teeth flashing as she smiled. I opened my
   mouth to taste the sweetness, eyeing her cookie-box as she popped
   one in.

   Maybe it was something in the cookie. Because following that, the
   details blur together beyond accurate remembering: the soft
   slender limbs, the gentle curls, gazes of longing and
   anticipation, the shudder of mutual release, the acres of smooth
   velvet skin, the lips and butt-holes, the liquid and slippery
   sweetness, the smiles...

   One thing for certain: I had never before experienced so many
   `standing' ovations in one evening.




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


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