index


Message-ID: <62437asstr$1355483403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Scott St. Martz" <stmartz@fastmail.net>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Subject: {ASSM} Chemistry (Mf, ff, oral, anal) Chapters 1-3
Lines: 545
Date: Fri, 14 Dec 2012 06:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Please accept the story.

-- 
  Scott St. Martz
  stmartz@fastmail.net

-- 
http://www.fastmail.fm - Access your email from home and the web

<1st attachment, "Chemistry 1-3.doc" begin>

This is an erotic fantasy. The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary, and this story is *NOT* intended to be a guide
for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story and
actual people or actual events you should be ashamed of are
purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the world
to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage, or if
you don't like underage sex stories, then stop now. 

This story was copyrighted in 2012 by Scott St. Martz.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does NOT mean that
these stories are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I
give permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I
reserve the right to determine what is "spam advertising" by MY
definition, not yours or anyone else's.

I wish to extend my sincerest thanks to Denny Wheeler for editing
this story. In addition to correcting my spelling and grammatical
errors and pointing out awkward passages, he prodded me along.
His repeated theme, although it was only expressed in these words
once, was, "Finish the damned story!" I'm an obsessive re-writer
who pushed the limits of his patience as the story evolved.
Without Denny's generous assistance, it wouldn't be the same
story. 
	
This is a story above all else. It is the tale of a typical
suburban middle class man's transition over time from "society
normal" into pedophile. It starts slowly, but there is plenty of
action once it gets going. Your patience will be rewarded. 

*****************************************************************
*

Chemistry   (Mf, ff, oral, anal)

By Scott St. Martz
 2012


Chapter 1   Meeting a Little Doll

As I moved into the pickup area in the car line at the
kindergarten that sunny afternoon in mid-August, I spotted my
daughter, Britney, and a little blonde girl holding hands,
squealing with delight and skipping down the sidewalk together
among a herd of small children. They split up when Britney
spotted me. She told a teacher monitoring the line I was there,
pointed me out, and ran to my waiting car. She tossed a "See ya
tomorrow" over her shoulder to her companion, who waited with the
other kids happily waving goodbye to her. Another teacher opened
the back door for her and made sure she was safely buckled into
her car seat. It was their first day of school, and Britney was
bubbling over with excitement about school and her new "bestest
friend in the whole wide world," Chelsea. She told me they sat
next to each other in class, and they had lots of fun playing
together at recess. She thought it was "sooo cool" that their
names even rhymed, which I learned had been pointed out to them
by their teacher. From that day on, the girls became as
inseparable as young children can be when they live in adjacent
neighborhoods rather than next door to each other. 

My wife, Terri, and I met Chelsea's parents, arranged play dates,
and, as they came of age to handle it a couple of years later,
sleepovers. Chelsea was a little doll who appeared to be of
northern European extraction. She had platinum blonde hair,
sparkling aquamarine eyes and milky white skin that required
special care in the southern sun. Her bright smile and bubbling
personality could always light up a room. She also had little
bee-stung lips that promised of being succulently kissable when
she came of age. Even as a five-year-old, it was obvious that she
had the bone structure to become a stunning compact beauty like
her mother. High cheekbones, a long slender neck, an elegant jaw
line and a well-formed nose that was neither prominent nor
diminutive came with the package   indicative, perhaps, of a line
to aristocracy somewhere her family tree. However, her family,
like ours, led a comfortable middle class lifestyle in a quiet
suburban neighborhood. 

Chelsea was easy to like, as children go, because she was
extremely precocious, witty and outgoing with a natural charm
that sometimes came across as practicing her flirting. I'm pretty
certain she had her Daddy well trained to spoil her, as my
daughters did me. Britney, on the other hand, was very pretty
(takes after her Mom), sweet as they come and did well enough in
school, but she was more reserved and shy until she warmed up to
people. She was my beautiful baby girl and one of the great loves
of my life in a paternal way. The two of them made good playmates
even though Chelsea was usually the leader. That one also had
this mischievous side sometimes revealed by a glint in her eye
and an impish smile - leading us to question what she was up to.
However, she was mostly well behaved in our home and seldom if
ever gave us any trouble. My wife and I simply adored her. She
had a very extensive vocabulary for her age and could hold her
own in conversation on a variety of topics well beyond her tender
years. This held true and even accelerated as she grew older. 

We followed Chelsea's triumphs and stumbles in school, dance,
music, theater and sports as we did those of our own children.
Her parents did the same for Britney. Their child became an extra
daughter in our home. We even took her on vacations with us a
couple of times, and they took with Britney on theirs.

I'd always felt a special bond with little Chelsea. There was
nothing inappropriate about it at all. I thought I understood
her, and I knew she was drawn to me. We were very comfortable in
conversation, and she often came to me with questions born of her
innate curiosity about life and her little world - or she'd ask
me to explain a concept she was having difficulty with at school.
There were also times she was over when Britney fell asleep too
early for her, and we would stay up and have longer discussions
about whatever was on her mind that day   her troubles, teachers,
friends, hobbies, etc. I noticed that she didn't respond the same
to other adults in her presence   or to her parents from what I
could see. I often wished I shared that kind of connection with
my own kids. Oh, I loved them dearly and went out of my way to be
a supportive and loving father, but it never felt the same. Most
parents, reluctant as they might be to admit it, will have
favorites among their children and their playmates. Chelsea was
mine. Another phenomenon that occurred was an energy that swirled
between us when our eyes met or when we touched. Some might
question if an adult can truly have great chemistry with a child.
I can attest to the fact that chemistry between individuals has
no age barriers. I knew I felt it with her. It even got to the
point that I had to play the Chelsea connection down some to
reassure my own daughters that they were the centers of my life.

I didn't find girls to be sexually attractive until they began
maturing into the women they would become. Even as they grew into
young teens and beyond, I would never seriously consider engaging
in sexual activities with an underage girl, well, because I just
wouldn't. I valued their innocence and felt they deserved to hang
on to that as long as they could. I also knew kids need to grow
into mature adults and part of that process is learning about
sexual interaction with their peers at their own pace and at
appropriate ages. Regardless, I wouldn't even consider it.
However, I am a heterosexual male with a healthy sexual appetite,
and I am aware of femininity and its future (or past) potential
at any age. I might enjoy the sight of the curve of a little
butt, or casually wonder what is behind those flashes of panties
or a tight bathing suit defining a young girl's puffy lips and
slit, but the passing fancy almost never sexually stimulated me
or instilled a desire to take it further. Even if I did have such
a thought on occasion, it was quickly dismissed from my mind.
There was no way in hell I would ever cross that line. I was a
good father to two daughters of my own and, while I enjoyed their
feminine ways and innocent nakedness at times, I had never
considered them as potential sexual partners at any age. However,
there were a couple of episodes with Chelsea when she was younger
that are etched into my memory to this day - cemented by the
events that later ensued. 

Chapter 2   Temptations
	
The first episode occurred on a hot and clear summer morning when
Chelsea and Britney were playing in our back yard. They were
about seven at the time, I think. They had been all over our
heavy wooden frame play set and fenced back yard for more than an
hour - swinging, rushing up and down the slide, playing in the
fort and climbing around on the monkey bars or hanging from the
ropes   all with squealing laughter and the boundless energy of
youth. Of course, they would dart off to chase each other around
or get distracted for few minutes with a toy, flowers or a
creature they had noticed before returning to the play set. I
loved observing their fun and recalling how bright, new, fresh
and innocent those great times as a child really were. 

They were wearing similarly styled cute cotton short shorts in
bright colors, pastel summer t-shirts, and lightweight tennis
shoes. I noticed they were red-faced and sweaty from their
exuberant play, so I made some ice cold lemonade and a little
snack for them, thinking it was time for a break. I brought
everything out to our patio table, raised the canvas umbrella to
shade us from the high sun and called them over to join me. They
were giggling and chatting excitedly like the kids they were as
they ran over and jumped into the chairs on either side of me. 

While we were enjoying the lemonade and snacks and they were
discussing further plans for the day, Chelsea lifted her feet
onto the chair cushion, hugged her knees tightly and rested her
chin in the notch between her knees in that classic kids'
position. Then she absentmindedly let her knees drop open to the
sides as she leaned forward to reach for her glass from the
table. I happened to glance in her direction just then and caught
a solid view of her bare pussy through the gaping leg hole of her
shorts thinking, "Why isn't she wearing panties?" 

I quickly shifted my vision so she wouldn't catch me looking and
gazed off into the distance for a few seconds reviewing the
picture of that exquisite little pussy imprinted in my mind. The
sweat dampened prune-like wrinkles of her flattened labia majora,
the outer edges of her small thin inner labia flaps, and a darker
shadow between them hinting at the treasures within - all crowned
by a prominent clitoral hood. It was such smooth and tender
looking young flesh...  

Then I chastised myself for my thoughts. "Why the hell am I
thinking like this? I've seen my daughters' vaginas many times
before without even giving it a second thought. Why am I so
fascinated by her pussy? Pull yourself together, Sean!"
	
About that time, Chelsea said something to me that I didn't catch
through my mental fog. I turned, looked her in the eye and asked,
"What did you say, Sweetie? I'm sorry."  As I responded to her
question, I tried not to let my eyes drift lower, but she was now
holding her feet sole to sole in her hands, bouncing her knees up
and down, fidgeting as she spoke. I couldn't resist a quick
glance to see if her little pussy was still visible. It was,
although the leg hole of her shorts wasn't gaping as much in that
position and I had only momentary glimpses of the edge of her
soft pad as her knees bounced. 

This time she noticed where my eyes were focused and froze for
half a second before giving me that mischievous little look of
hers. Embarrassed at being caught, I turned to say something to
Britney. Meanwhile, I watched at the reach of my peripheral
vision as Chelsea paused to think, flicked her eyes quickly in my
direction, and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table.
Then she reached down with her left hand in a feigned gesture of
idle scratching and dropped her head to look as she slightly
lifted her butt and adjusted the opening of her shorts to where
it was the most open when viewed from my angle. She held her legs
steady in that position and gave me another quick surreptitious
look before placing her hand back on the table and resuming her
conversation with Britney like nothing was amiss. "Why, you
little minx..."

I accepted Chelsea's invitation to furtively study her exposed
pussy through the next minute or more while they animatedly
talked about what they wanted to do next. Meanwhile, Chelsea
appeared to consciously avoid looking at me. Then I kicked myself
in the ass again for behaving like a deviant. The moment passed
and the kids were off in a flash to get back to their play. When
Chelsea looked back over her shoulder as they ran, our eyes met
briefly. I gave her a quick wink and returned her knowing smile.


I reflected on the experience and came to a quick conclusion. She
was a joy to be around and I felt such a magnetic pull from her.
Chelsea's little tease had certainly been titillating, but I was
secure in the knowledge that I would forever keep my distance as
a responsible adult should.
	
The next memorable event occurred a couple of years later on an
early fall afternoon when Chelsea came by planning to spend the
night with Britney. They were about ten then, so maybe it had
been three years. I was standing by the desk in my studio
stretching my back when an excited blur came bouncing into my
office to say hello. She melted into me for a quick hug, plopped
herself on the swivel chair facing my desk, and announced that
Britney was taking a shower and she wanted to say hi. I was
somewhat taken back by her stunning nubile beauty. The shock on
my face must have been obvious: I couldn't take my eyes off of
her, and I almost missed my chair when I attempted to sit back
down. 

"Chelsea, you look absolutely gorgeous today!" 

She beamed at me and excitedly told me her Mom had taken her to
the mall for a glamour shot session. She couldn't wait to see the
pictures, and she offered to give me one. She hadn't changed
clothes because she wanted Britney and me to see her. Her hair
had been styled up and back, held in place with faux diamond
studded gold hair clips. Wisps of platinum blonde hair were
cascading from her temples, her forehead and the back of her
neck. She had some make-up on, too   light powder, a touch of
rouge, pastel peach lipstick, minimal pale green eye shadow with
a touch of glitter and a slim thread of eyeliner. Her brilliant
blue eyes appeared to just leap from her face and capture the
room. 

She was dressed in a long sleeved white silk shirt with puffy
sleeves, a fairly short pleated soft green skirt that fell to a
couple of inches above her knees, and lacy white socks with
one-inch heels in green patent leather matching her skirt. Like
many girls of her age, she was showing signs that she would soon
be budding into womanhood. She was still slender and her hips
hadn't begun to broaden yet but a real cute bubble butt had
materialized, accentuated that day by her heels. Her arms and
legs were like toothpicks, and her neck was still slender. Puffy
nipples with a swollen layer of fat beneath them were clearly
defined by her silk blouse   no camisole evident - in certain
positions as she moved, and it appeared that she was thrusting
them out in pride at times. 

She was still a little girl in the fifth grade, but she was
growing and changing quickly. She had sprung up a couple of
inches in the past month or so, and she was a little awkward in
managing her new height and the accompanying length of her limbs.

	
As we talked, she spun herself around in the chair a couple of
times, extending her toes to push off. Her legs were widely
parted, and when she stopped facing in my direction, her skirt
had ridden higher in her play. I could easily see cream her
colored bikini cut nylon panties like those some women wear. You
know, the ones with thin elastic at the waistband and leg holes
and puffed up sheer nylon everywhere else? Were the days of
little girl panties gone for her, or were those special panties
to make her feel more grown up for her photo session? Maybe they
were her mother's panties, which could account for their looser
fit. 

She caught me looking, and gave me that little smirk of hers as
her irises momentarily flared. She was chatting away about
nothing and continued to fidget around while "innocently"
exposing more and more of her crotch to me with each spin -
without acknowledging she knew what she was doing. Her nylon
panties were almost translucent, and they cupped and released her
mons and labia as she wiggled around. I could barely make out the
defined lines and folds of the succulent flesh beneath in my
stealthy glances. The panties did look a little big for her, so
there were moments when I caught a glimpse of part of her smooth
pussy pad at its junction with her thigh. 

I enjoyed the show, and I wasn't about to interrupt it. I'll even
admit I was forced to manage a discreet shift of my hard dick
into a more comfortable position hidden beneath my desk. She
appeared to notice my action without understanding. Oh, I knew I
was never going to make the mistake of trying to touch her. But
her show was enjoyable and I wondered why she had this effect on
me   and why she was doing it. Britney came in to join us then,
so it was over. However, our interaction with that crackling
energy passing between us seemed to have set a theme for the rest
of her visit. 
	
After dinner the girls changed into their night clothes before
settling down to movies and video games in the den. My older
daughter, Rachel, was staying with friends that night and my wife
had retired early because she was not feeling well, so I hung
around reading in the room with the girls. Chelsea wore a t-shirt
doubling as a night gown that was too big for her and hung over
the tops of her knees. I noticed her panty line from behind as
she sat on the floor in front of me. Britney wore a long pastel
blue nylon gown with the outline of her cotton panties clearly
visible, also. 

During the next hour or so there were several occasions when
Chelsea "innocently" flashed her panties or leaned over in my
direction when she was close - giving me a peek down her t-shirt
at her puffy little nipples and thickening pads of flesh. Her
mini-breasts had stretching pink areolas that came to hard
slender points about an eighth of an inch thick. I'll admit I
enjoyed watching her exhibitions again, but I wrote it off as the
innocent teasing of a woman-child in training rather than an act
of seduction. 
	
I'm a composer by trade and I play guitar and piano. In college I
had gigged around as a solo singer/songwriter, and I still played
my music (original folk rock tunes and a few covers) for friends
and family at occasional social events. I often spent time
practicing in the evenings when I didn't have pressing work to
do. Later that evening, I was sitting cross legged on a
comfortable throw rug in the music room running through a tune I
was writing for a job - my guitar resting on my thigh and staff
paper and pencils on the floor off to my right. When my back
needed a break, I leaned against the easy chair behind me.

Following the strains of my guitar, Chelsea came to find me after
Britney fell asleep. She asked if she could listen and plopped
herself down without waiting for a response. She was facing me
just a few feet away and mirroring my position with her elbows on
knees draped by her t-shirt and her cupped hands supporting her
chin. I asked what she wanted to hear, and I was soon lost in the
song I was singing for her. 

When I was finished, I opened my eyes to find myself looking at
her beautifully bare pussy. Her position had changed providing me
this view, and she had apparently removed her panties at some
point earlier in preparation for sleep. This sight resulted in an
instant stirring in my loins, which again led me to question why
a child so young would turn me on. I surreptitiously studied her
pussy for a moment as a hard-on began to tent my slacks (hidden
from her view by my guitar). 

I looked her in the eye briefly and lowered my gaze again to her
exposed pussy. When our eyes next met, Chelsea gave me a demure
look and a Mona Lisa smile, blushing slightly, indicating that
she was well aware of what I was seeing. She didn't make a move
to cover herself. 

Was she inviting me to look? I was confronted by her tempting
ten-year-old pussy wide open and winking at me just three feet
away. Her outer labia were swollen and puffy, having filled out a
bit since I last saw them a couple of years before. The prune
wrinkles were gone. Her slit was moist, shiny and gaping slightly
to reveal the shape of her thicker clitoral hood. Her butterfly
wing labia minora peeled open like a flower revealing the darker
pit near the bottom. I also detected the faint aroma of aroused
pussy in the air with a cleaner sweeter edge to it than that of a
grown woman's. 

Gathering my reserves, I chose to ignore what may have been a
blatant offer to explore that pussy. I was briefly tempted to see
where it could lead, but I couldn't bring myself to take
advantage of a girl so young   especially one I loved so much. On
the other hand, I wasn't going to chastise her for her immodesty
either, (though I later questioned this reaction). I broke the
spell by beginning another song and making it a point to close my
eyes and get into it - feeling much better for my resolve. When
the tune ended her position had changed, so I was no longer
tempted. After another song or two, we decided to call it a
night.
	
It took me a while to fall asleep with images of Chelsea's supple
prepubescent body playing through my mind and a hard-on raging
between my legs. I found myself wishing my wife was awake and
feeling well - even though our sex life had not been good lately.
"Maybe we need to get away together for a while to regain some
spark." I drifted off into a restless sleep with that thought.
	
The following morning it was raining and the girls didn't get
dressed until noon. I had several other opportunities to get a
quick peek at Chelsea's charms, though I'll admit that I
shamefully went out of my way to spend extra time with them to
increase my chances. She had not put her panties back on. They
got dressed after lunch, and her mother picked her up. The
episode was over.

Chapter 3   Tragedy

On a sunny afternoon a few weeks after that sleepover, Chelsea's
mother was brutally murdered in her driveway during a carjacking
attempt by some desperate thugs that got out of hand. Those kinds
of crimes just didn't occur in our quiet patch of suburbia, and
the community was up in arms. The kids were home at the time, but
only the youngest one, less than two years-old, was with her when
she was shot. There was a huge manhunt, unsuccessful at first.
Eventually the guys were caught, tried and sentenced to life
without parole. I won't bore you with the details; I'm getting
ahead of myself here. 

My primary concerns at the time were for my Britney's well-being
and for sweet little Chelsea, whose life had been truly
shattered. Of course, the rest of our family was saddened by the
tragedy, too. We got Britney into some counseling right away so
she could better cope with the situation. She had been very close
to Chelsea's mom, and, of course, she shared in her friend's
grief. 

We went to the funeral and tried to console Chelsea when we had
an opportunity to spend a little time with her. She was vacant
and distant, but she melted into me to cling for a while in the
comfort of our energy and my paternal love for her. I let her cry
on my shoulder. 

In the aftermath of the murder, Chelsea's father moved the kids
out to stay with friends in a nearby town while he reorganized
his life. It was obvious that they couldn't go back to their
home. He moved to the other side of the city, took a new job and
started over. I later learned he had visited the kids most
weekends and some nights while they were away. Then he brought
them back to live with him and a nanny in their new home a couple
of months later. 

We didn't see Chelsea for at least six months following the
funeral. After that, she came to visit once or twice. She seemed
to be coping with her loss as well as could be expected, but she
remained morose. However, when she came to me for a hug, the
energy of our combined presence always relaxed and warmed her,
and she would smile. My wife took Britney to see her a couple of
times at their new home, but in time the calls and visits between
the girls dwindled off due to distance, new friends, their
adjustments to the harsh reality, etc. I often found myself
thinking about that precocious little girl with the sparkling
blue eyes - and of the terrible curveball life had thrown at her
at such a tender age. 

Later that year my family was dealt its own cataclysmic blow. I
had been under the impression that we were a happy, almost ideal,
loving family. That was until my wife confronted me one evening
about her having had an affair - after it was over. It had gone
on for almost a year and I had not had a clue. It was no wonder
that our sex life had declined. In spite of her abhorrent
behavior, she didn't seek forgiveness or reconciliation. She
filed for divorce saying her affair had made her aware of what
she was missing in life. More excitement, more money, a bigger
dick... what? 

In any event, she got custody of the girls and I was supposed to
have them on alternate weekends and major holidays and for a
month during the summers. We sold the house in the course of
dividing assets, and I bought a three bedroom condo in another
part of town. It had a master bedroom large enough to set up my
computer, keyboard and a desk in one corner so the girls could
have their own rooms. It took almost a year to finalize the
divorce and custody hearings, and it looked like I could finally
move on and put it behind me. 

Shortly after that my ex was offered a job on the west coast and,
even though I fought it, she moved the girls out there so she
could accept the job. (Apparently, her lawyer was better than my
lawyer.) I was only going to see my daughters for a few weeks
during the summers and alternating major holidays for the most
part from then on. 

I was depressed for a while but eventually decided I had to get
my life back on track. I had not found anyone I was interested in
dating, and I wasn't ready to try the club scene yet, but I
started getting back into playing my music and occasionally
performing to pass the time   and because I enjoyed it so much. I
never had been much of a player in the meat market scenes;
however, I did reasonably well for myself with women in my single
days using my music, intellect, and the increased exposure of the
stage as draws. Like many who grew up in that era, The Joy of Sex
and the Kama Sutra were my bibles in the bedroom, so few of my
lovers had left my bed disappointed. Experience had taught me
that, if I was going to get back in the game, performance was my
best shot at meeting someone.

Soon after they moved west, I caught a startling article in the
local section of the morning paper. Chelsea's father, brother and
sister had been killed in a head-on collision with the impaired
driver of an eighteen-wheeler that had crossed the median on the
interstate. Chelsea wasn't in the car when it happened. My heart
went out to that poor little girl again. How could life be so
cruel to such a beautiful child? 

She would have been about eleven-years-old at the time. I
couldn't bring myself to go to the funeral because I didn't know
what I could possibly say to her, and Britney was in California.
The fact that I was already so depressed probably entered into my
decision, too. I presumed that Chelsea would be sent to live with
relatives somewhere and I'd never see her again.

<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+