DREN'S   HOURS

by Childe S. Plye

M/g, beast, pedo, con

Prologue


        If it's good enough for the other guy, it's good enough for me.  Any
man who would devote only one hour to children is seriously lacking in
both perception and priorities.  I take it upon myself, therefore, to
pluralize as I plagiarize.
        Admittedly, there are times when the priorities of survival take
precedence over the more earthy pursuits such as pleasure and comfort,
but only to the extent that the former relates directly to the
acquisition of the latter.
        Personally, I'd just spent the better part of three months tending to
the necessities of survival in the manner to which I'd become accustomed
and the combined stresses of these activities were catching up with me. 
It was time for some relief.  It was time for some gourmet cuisine and
laid-back contemplations.  It was also time for some orgasms that were
something more than perfunctory.  In a nutshell, it was time for some
predatory hunting  - if not in the real world, at least in fantasyland
with appropriate stimulation.  The real world was becoming increasingly
inhospitable to people with my particular inclinations, even in the
mid-eighties, but opportunities of random circumstance still presented
themselves on occasion.
        Some people are sufficiently obsessed with their needs to spend
considerable time and resources in the effort to create a controlled set
of conditions that will usually yield the appropriate results, but in
the end they also usually become enmeshed in their own webs of deceit to
such a degree they eventually penetrate the envelope of their own sanity
and go over the edge.  They lose sight of the hazards in their quest,
falling victims themselves to the emergency of their own condition and
in the end they self-destruct.
        Since I've yet to consider my own inclinations to be obsessive, I've
managed to settle for a cautious exploitation of the chance encounter
tempered by a healthy paranoia.  This usually comes to nothing other
than to contribute to my store of abortive experiences which serve as
the foundation blocks of various fantasies which, when combined in
various patterns, are in themselves stimulating enough for the purpose
of self-gratification.  This is not to imply that the sum of my
experience lay in the comfort and security of masturbation, but what the
hell!  That expedient has probably saved my ass on more than one
occasion.  That, in the final analysis, is the really important thing. 
Like the man said, "you have to know when to hold  em; know when to fold
 em; know when to walk away and know when to run " and that doesn't only
apply to cards!
        Philosophy aside, a land deal had begun to unravel to the point of
being unsalvageable and even though it was only Wednesday, I decided to
hell with it and departed the office early, leaving the mired deal in
the capable hands of my relatively new assistant, a sprightly young
redhead wise beyond her years.  When asked how she should deal with the
matter I simply told her to use her own judgment.  If she could make it
happen, it was hers.  I'd lost interest.  With that, I was through the
door and headed for the garage.
        In those days I had a penchant for long-hooded guzzlers.  The previous
one had been an Eldorado.  This one was a Mark VII.  As a vehicle of
conquest, it left a good many things to be desired, but at the time it
satisfied some inner compulsion.  Some Freudians would even say it was a
penis extension.  Well, they could shove that up their ass clean to the
firewall.  I tweaked the key and it inhaled a cubic yard of air as it
came to life.  I waited impatiently for the overhead door to open and
then eased out into traffic, heading west to the freeway and then south
toward Milton.  It used to be called Milltown back in a simpler time,
but the three major mills closed thirty years before and later they
shortened the name in the hope a more environmentally acceptable name
would attract money.  It never happened.  There were still a few small
manufacturing plants there which sustained the small remaining
population somewhere just above the poverty mark, but the big money
rarely came back to town.  Anyone above management level lived in
BigTown or, more likely, one of the more affluent communities like
Smalltown, where the main local source of sustenance was the investment
community, of which I was by choice and design a small irrelevant cog.
        From a predatory perspective, Milton offered potentially unlimited
opportunities.  Aside from the low income per capita which tended to
breed failure and indifference, it had also become a haven for the
welfare professionals who seemed to thrive on their own failure and
indifference.  All of this added up to a high degree of permissiveness
and neglect within the structure of what, for lack of anything more
descriptive, was still called the  family'.  Pick a negative clich‚ or
catchphrase.  It could be applied to the general population of Milton. 
On the surface it was no different than tens of thousands of other towns
across America.  Perhaps those other towns were no different in other
respects from Milton.  If that were the case, we were indeed a nation in
decline.
        Smalltown was an economic oasis in a sea of farmland east and south of
BigTown.  The interstate narrowed to six lanes as it entered the
suburban community and narrowed again to four lanes after curving slowly
to the south.  Twenty minutes out and the farmland blended into sparse
wooded hills.  Ten minutes later the interstate twisted abruptly up a
serpentine route as it traversed a range of low mountains, then dropped
down into the depleted mining areas central to the state.  The flat and
straight had become a randomly curving ribbon following the natural
contours of the land save where it was expedient to bridge a gorge
rather than follow the flow of the river or the shoulder of a hill.  The
timber industry had also departed long before the mines and mills had
moved in, however, the renewed forest abruptly gave way to a
scrub-covered desolation that had once been a strip-mine.  The
interstate skirted this scar and slipped over a ridge where the
deceptively serene remains of Milton hove into view.  The freeway sliced
indifferently through the heart of the small community as if it were
just another obstruction and continued on it's way to the port cities of
the Gulf.
        Milton was given two accesses to the freeway by the designers, allowing
the curious or needy to enter town at one end and leave at the other.  I
continued on to the south end of town before easing down the ramp to
stop at a maudlin intersection where two of the three service stations
were boarded up and fenced in for failure to comply with the regulations
compelling them to clean up their bulk storage facilities.  The one that
remained open appeared to have only barely escaped the moratorium.  All
things considered, visiting Milton was a depressing experience.  I ran a
hand over my face and knuckled my eyes, half decided to give it up and
go home, then recalling the failing land deal and thinking,  what the
hell'.
Thus began an ambiguously unexpected adventure...









Bored  Encounter




        So.  Where do we go from here?
        Such was one of those random thoughts that spring forth when one loses
interest in what they are doing.  Nurtured by boredom, the thought
expanded.  What the hell am I doing here?  This is just a replay of the
last time.  The time before that.
Milton had become indeed a tiresome place.  The population had fallen
from nearly sixty thousand to less than twelve over the ensuing years
since the demise of Kaiser and Bethlehem.  At one time there had been
something like twenty well-kept major thoroughfares in town.  Now the
pavement was cracked and pitted with seemingly endless blocks of
untenable business structures and nearly empty apartment buildings. 
Chain-link fence surrounded unsafe structures and lots decorated with
rubble, the anomaly of an occasional well-kept property testament to the
random holdout determined to grow old and die in the relative comfort
they had spent a lifetime surrounding themselves with.  More often than
not these people had simply liquidated and moved away.  Milton had
shrunk in on itself like a fat plum turning into a shriveled prune.  It
had become in essence three communities formed by the clusters of houses
and small service areas surrounding the remaining primary employers -
the exception being the remnants of the downtown municipal center. 
Milton had not had the distinction of being the county seat, so all that
remained was the aging city hall, a lethargic library, the post office,
and a few other structures that had drawn in to the others like
frightened offspring.  An example was the fire departments' main
facility.  Once, there had been five outlying districts, but now there
was only the one building.  Several older pieces of equipment were
parked outside and gave the appearance of being cannibalized.  Civic
pride had apparently left along with the money and the will to survive. 
Economic malaise is often more telling and permanent than war or
pestilence on the community consciousness.
Still, twelve thousand is a substantial population and supports all the
usual consumer businesses.  The main boulevard paralleling the freeway
sported several new and used car dealerships.  There were a
representatives of all the large chain stores and other businesses one
might find in any other town of this size.  If people had a dollar,
there were always other people willing to accept it.  Milton shriveled
before the time of gargantuan conceptual malls, but two large
 mini-malls' inhabited the edges of the old business district, acting as
buffers between it and the factories and residential neighborhoods. 
There was a false atmosphere of survival and determination about all
this, but the number of newer vehicles on the streets was
disproportionately small.  So was newer housing.  Milton was a place you
retired from rather than to.
I wandered along the main drag for a pace, then deliberately turned off
toward one of the less respectable neighborhoods.  Intersections
populated by block centers and  mom-and-pops' gave way to older
 four-plan' developments.  I meandered through one of the neighborhoods,
past a couple of schools, and finally pulled into the curb on a deserted
street bordering an unkempt local park that appeared to cover several
acres across from the ruins of an abandoned mill site.
I'd been here several times before.  I'd undoubtedly come here again. 
There were probably better hunting grounds, but I was comfortable with
this one.  So far, there had been no bad experiences associated with
it.  Neither had there been any good ones, but lack of bad ones was a
plus.  The park sported a pool and small concession area on the far side
from where I was parked, but for the most part the keepers had been
neglectful. On occasion in the past I'd chanced to view undetected
various children doing interesting things that I could later expand upon
in my fantasies and, although I hoped for more to transpire, as yet that
had not happened.  Still, there was always the chance.
Once, a few years earlier, before acquiring the building in Smalltown,
I'd had a rented office in BigTown not far from my small apartment
there.  An unexpectedly rewarding series of events occurred giving me a
certain confidence in the validity of the remark that good things come
to he who waits.  I would not recommend a life of contemplative solitude
as a means to an end, but shit does happen.
So it was that here I sat in contemplative solitude as I'd done on
numerous other occasions, waiting for some shit to happen.  It was a
nice afternoon and I had the sunroof open.  Birds chatted about in the
surrounding greenery.  The smell of life was in the air.  A light breeze
rustled the leaves nearby.  Shit was not happening, however; nor was
much of anything else.  I actually drowsed for a bit, lost in a maze of
disconnected thoughts and the realization that I could always return
home and happily fuck the brains out of a certain redhead, given the
proper inspiration.  The thought of her was appropriately stimulating
and I felt Wally rising to the occasion with a certain lack of
willingness.  Our hearts weren't really in it.  Not yet, at least. 
Still, I stroked him absently through the cotton slacks.  He was even
large enough now where I allowed him to creep out of the confines of my
shorts and snuggle against my inner thigh.  Finally, I glanced at my
watch and was dismayed to find I'd been sitting here for the better part
of an hour.  Although the day was comfortably warm, the sun had settled
low in the west, leaving perhaps two hours of daylight before night
would call an end to this nonsense.  From experience I knew a full
playground lay concealed beyond the nearby hedges and trees, although
only part of a swing set was visible to me at the moment.  I decided to
take a turn into the park before leaving, just for the hell of it and
because I needed to piss.
Leaving the car, I carefully surveyed my surroundings and determined
that nobody obvious was observing me.  If they were it was a case of the
cat watching the cat in lieu of a mouse.  Crossing the perimeter
sidewalk, a sidled in between a couple of bushes and proceeded to drain
the weasel.  The sound of my own piss washing the dry leaves seemed
uncommonly loud.  I gave a little sigh of satisfaction and shook Wally
off before replacing him.  I stood there for a bit watching the puddle
of bubbles dissipate and soak into the ground until I became acutely
aware of the heavy silence around me.  All the birds had stopped. 
Undoubtedly, the sounds of my pissing and rustling around in the
shrubbery had caused all of nature to cease it's activities out of
reverence for this holy moment.  Even the breeze had paused.  The sun
stood quietly poised above the distant ridge forestalling it's
inevitable plunge into the sea somewhere far beyond.
It was during this suspended silence that I heard the high tinkling
giggle somewhere far away.  There was no direction to it.  I looked
around up and down the sidewalk, but nobody was there.  It happened
again, this time distinctly from beyond the bushes in front of me.
I felt a rush of blood to my head.  My heart raced a little.  What had I
been missing?  With a casual stealthiness, I moved quickly down the
hedgerow to the lateral sidewalk entering the park and eased around to
where I might catch a glimpse of this child I'd heard.  Indeed, it must
be a child.  The sound was unmistakable.  It was rife with that knowing
innocence that only a child might produce; a child or a severely
retarded adult.  The high falsetto sound came again, more clearly now,
more closely.  I peered around the tree shielding me and froze, licking
suddenly dry lips and reflexively grasping at a solidifying Wally.
There, protected from view on three sides in a nook formed by the main
hedge and several tall bushes, not ten feet from me, a small girl sat
cross-legged in the grass.  Sprawled happily on his back with front paws
curled and back legs spread limply on the ground was a speckled aussie
perhaps a year or two old.  This young dog was in heaven as denoted by
the rolling look in his mismatched eyes.  The shiny purplish flesh of
his hard little penis stood out starkly against the nearly hairless gray
of his underbelly and sheath.  The girl's left hand was wrapped firmly
around it and slowly stroking the wet slippery organ as it pulsed in
response to the stimulation.  She was not doing this haphazardly, but in
a slow studied manner that was matched by the movement of her right
hand, which was thrust up under the folds of her thin print dress, and
the easy rolling motion of her hips on the grass beneath her.  She was
masturbating herself by rolling against her hand in time with her
ministrations to the dog.  I found myself pulling Wally to their rhythm
as well.
I glanced around wildly and was satisfied that we three were alone
here.  It was a good hundred yards across the playground to the next
bisecting hedgerow that separated us from the pool area and the rest of
the park.  Gradually, she picked up her pace as did I.  The shepherd's
knot was growing large and hard.  His tongue was lolling.  She giggled
again and began to rock rather than roll into her buried hand.  The
other became more erratic as her attention began to stray from the dog
to herself.  She must have been putting off some pretty strong odor
because the shepherd suddenly jerked his head toward her and tried to
shove his muzzle under her dress.
"No, doggy!  No!"  she said urgently, clenching his prick in a mistaken
effort to subdue him while continuing to pleasure herself.
The dog yelped and broke away to stumble around in a tight circle while
licking himself vigorously.  She made a soft keening sound while falling
backwards, legs spread wide to reveal that she wore no panties as she
thrust both hands down to vigorously rub her raw red little hairless
cunny.  It seemed that most of the blood in her body was rushing to that
stimulated area.  She obviously had not developed any worthwhile
technique since she was not actually penetrating herself.  Actually, all
she was doing was palming the hell out of her clit and mound. 
Erratically, little fingers would rake between the inflamed lips, but
she had apparently yet not realized that she could probably get her
entire little hand up in there if she wanted to.
For my part, I'd fumbled into a coat pocket for a small bottle of baby
oil and spilled a liberal amount over Wally before continuing to abuse
him frantically in a clenched fist.  This was the most stimulating
visual encounter I'd had in years!  As she lay there rubbing herself at
about ten strokes per second while rocking her knees back and forth and
arching her back into the effort, the dog finally gave up trying to suck
his own angry bone and began crawling on his belly up between her legs
where he promptly nosed under her hands to begin lapping up her juices.
Initially, she tried to push his face away until it dawned on her that
what he was doing felt infinitely better than what she had been doing to
herself.  Grasping her plumpish inner thighs, she forced her legs as far
apart as they would go and started chanting, "Go, doggy, go!  Go, doggy,
go!", while hunching up at him almost frantically.  The dog was more
than happy to comply, having lapped her outer regions clean.  He rammed
his muzzle up against her clit and thrust his lapping tongue inside her
as far as it would go in an effort to extract those inspiring juices she
was now orgasming spasmically as evidenced by her body language and the
soft grunts originating deep in her chest.  Suddenly, I shot a load that
must have traveled a couple of meters or better on the first blast,
followed by several more accompanied by a wave of intense pleasure the
likes of which I'd not experienced in a good many moons.
The better part of a minute was required for me to regain the functional
use of my weakened legs and I noticed the girl was going limp as well
now.  She lay there on the grass between the bushes breathing heavily in
her own mild state of nirvana, but the aussie was unrequited.  He was
still lapping greedily up inside her and she in turn, not having had
this experience before, was beginning to have misgivings perhaps
inspired by guilt or ignorance or misinformation.  She tried to crawl
backwards, using her elbows and heels, but the dog kept after her, being
naturally more agile in such matters.
For my part, I thought to myself, why should this mutt have all the
fun?  After all, this was obviously one of those rare golden random
opportunities that may never occur again in my lifetime!  The girl was
quite apparently here unattended.  Since she was not calling the 'doggy'
by name, it was obviously some strange mutt she'd chanced to encounter. 
She was as much at my mercy as she was the dog's.  Okey, so if I was a
civilized human being I would have driven the dog off and commiserated
with this child in a more socially acceptable way, but there you go.  I
left the rules back at the office, after all.
Stepping out from behind the tree while not bothering to hide a still
ready and willing Wally, I said sharply, "Dog! Stop!"  Yeah.  Right. 
The girl had his undivided attention and nothing short of a kick in the
nuts was about to distract him.
Hearing my sharp remark, the girl, in a singular motion, rolled away
from the dog and poised there on her hands and knees with nowhere to
go.  Both the hedgerow and the shrubbery were to matted for easy
penetration and I covered the only route of escape.  Her round firm
little ass was arched upwards and her dress was hiked up around her
shoulders.  Her exposed cunny dripped saliva and her eyes went glassy
with fear of me catching her in this instinctively disgusting
situation.  She began to tremble.  Slight at first, then convulsively,
and her arms gave out.  She fell forward to her shoulders, her cheek
buried in the grass, her mouth slack as she stared back at me in horror,
fantasies of excruciating deaths racing across her consciousness, I was
sure.  In this position, her thighs perpendicular to her calves with
knees apart and back arched almost to breaking while all the while
trembling uncontrollably and putting off a strong odor of fear as she
suddenly sweated profusely, I found her to be the most erotic
stimulation I could ever remember.  I was now only a single stride away,
but I paused there, taking in what was still happening.
The dog didn't miss a lick, even though she had blindsided him with her
foot in the process of attempting to evade me.  As she gained her
kneeling position, the dog rolled once and gained his feet and as she
fell forward on her shoulders he was mounting her.  In one lithe motion,
his forelegs grasped her waist and paws dug back into her hips pulling
her to him.  He began to stab frantically at her with his swollen prick,
striking her upper thighs and buttocks repeatedly, seeking his bitch's
cunt.  She jerked every time he hit her and every time his dribbling
prick left splashes of lubricant down her trembling thighs and flexing
buttcheeks.
I couldn't help myself.  Dropping to my knees, lube and cum-soaked cock
in hand, I fell sideways the better to view every minute detail of what
was happening.  The girl was crying now, her eyes glassed over in abject
terror and a heavy drool flowing from her slack mouth.  Her intellectual
mind was paralyzed by sensation as her body simply responded to this
continuing sexual assault.  Pounding heartily on my steely cock, I had
also abandoned rational thought, caught up in the frenzy of the moment.
Jab. Jab! Jab!!  The purple tapered prick slapped amber juices over her
firm flesh causing it to glisten in the waning light.  The dog's tongue
lolled from his mouth and slobbered down her bared back as he arched
over her, his muzzle buried in the cloud of hair at the nape of her
neck.  Her ass and cunt and thighs and buttocks were soaked in doggy
juice.  Jab!  Jab!  At last he found an opening, but it was not her
cunt.  The long tapering pointed cock struck the flexing sphincter.
Sobbing uncontrollably, she nonetheless bucked toward this assault
instinctively.  Her buttcheeks tightened for a moment, then relaxed when
he paused, having found a target. Arching back, the dog abruptly thrust
forward once again and that slender point struck true, penetrating
perhaps an inch into her tight little orifice.  She clenched this alien
thing, then relaxed and he pushed another inch of thickening slick prick
into her.  Through the torrent of tears and sobs came an occasional
animal grunt.  This was all driving me wild.  She thrust back at him and
he did a little dance to regain his purchase on her, his head and upper
body conforming now to the inverted curve of her spine.  His tongue
continued to salivate, laying down a trail across her ribs that dripped
benignly from her amazingly erect little nipple.  He pushed again.  Her
stretched sphincter was clutching at better than an inch of diameter now
while at least four inches were imbedded inside her rectal cavity.  The
dog's hindquarters trembled as he slowly drew out a couple of inches,
then thrust forward again.  Amazingly, she arched back into him with a
sharp grunt and a little moan of pain.  I stared transfixed as he slowly
drew back a couple of inches once more and rocked in for an even closer
view.  I could smell little girl fear, sweat, and shit.  I could smell
wild, instinctual, dog pheromones and lubricant.   All this was mixed
together with my own pungent odors in the cool evening air.  She rocked
back in anticipation of his next jab and he didn't disappoint her.  This
time all of six inches of dog bone was buried in her ass and his knot
was pressing against her hopefully.  He improved his purchase on her
hips again, then suddenly began a rapid full-stroke rhythm that set her
to grunting shortly in unison.  He was hitting her better than twenty
strokes a second now and beginning to pant from the exertion, sending a
cascade of saliva down her back into her hair and over her ribs to fill
her armpit and spill over across her cheek to mingle with her own drool
as it flowed into her mouth.
She was grunting and panting along with him while sobbing as well.
"Uhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh" , she chanted.
Inspired by all this perversity, I slipped my head quickly between her
knees and managed a liplock on her swollen throbbing clitty. She
stiffened and jerked a couple of times out of harmony at this new
sensation, then settled uncontrollably back into the dog's pattern. 
Salty, slimy, shitty, sanguine fluids filled my mouth and trailed across
my cheeks.  My suit was ruined for sure.  Not that I thought much about
that at the moment other than as a passing observation as a spewed cum
over my pants, shirt, jacket, and tie.  Oh, well!  Wally would just not
go down!  Inspired further, I grasped the dog's cock and wrenched it out
of her slippery asshole, in a somewhat smooth motion guiding it down
into her taught little cunny.
For a relative youngster, this dog was a pro!  He again didn't lose a
beat.  In the graying dusk I could see that pointed purple shaft
glistening with slime as it struck home and in a succession of rapid
jabs was buried to the hilt inside her little pulsing womb.  She was
summing heavily now, but with each power stroke from the dog, a rich
flow of bright blood from the torn hymen squirted out along with dog cum
and hers as well.  I was still firmly locked onto her clitty and my own
cock was beginning to hurt from overindulgence, but I could stop myself
no more than could this maddened canine that had probably never gotten
off this well before, either.
Finally, I caught the scramble of words coming from the girl.  She was
babbling, "Oh, please, mister! Make him stop! It hurts. It hurts," she
trailed off.  The magnitude of what had been happening struck me with
the force of a thunderbolt at that.  Of course it hurt!  This little
darling had just been gang-raped by a feral dog and a depraved
sub-human!  Of course, I didn't feel like a depraved sub-human, but
taken in the context of most civilized societies, such could not be
denied. "My pooper hurts. My pee-pee hurts.  The doggie's pisser is
hurting me," she whimpered again.
Fortunately, I'd had the presence to keep my hand ahead of the dog's
knot so he couldn't get it locked inside her.  If either one of them
decided to break that bond prematurely, it would probably rip her apart
inside.  She was so dazed by what had happened, there was still a remote
chance I could come out of this the hero in her eyes rather than one of
the villains.  Luckily, he was not a German shepherd!  Pushing back on
his knot, I pulled him out of her and with one foot under his ribcage, I
thrust away sharply.  He was airborne for a couple of yards where he
landed on his back.  Regaining his feet almost instantly, he made as if
to come back for more, then actually perceiving my bulk, he thought
better of it and slinked off across the park licking himself as he went.




Sitting up now, I again scrutinized our surroundings.  I should have
thought we were making enough noise to bring down an army of vigilantes,
but in retrospect, I suppose an audience would have had to be within a
few yards of this encounter to have picked up on anything. The girl
seemed frozen in her position, bared glistening ass thrust skyward and
equally glistening limbs and torso still twitching from the assault.  I
rationalized that, aside from some clit-nibbling, I was really only
guilty of failure to perform an appropriate rescue any sooner than I
did.  So who's to know except me - and now you.
The sun was well gone now and the only light was from a pair of halogen
lamps some hundred yards away by the empty tennis courts.  It filtered
softly down through the bushes with the intensity of moonglow, lending
an air of the surreal to the moment.  It actually had a Maxfield Parish
quality to it!  Wisdom dictated that it was time for me to make my exit,
but even though my dick ached from self-abuse, my hormones were
registering an unprecedented full flow.  My heart was racing.  My balls
were throbbing. My lungs were pumping.  My brain was mostly on hold.
"Christ.  That was a downer, huh!  I tossed off lamely.  Shouldn't you
be at home?"
Her head moved imperceptibly in the negative.  "'Sposed to be at a
friends," she muttered softly.
"Won't your friends' family miss you?" I scowled.
She moved her head again. "Don't know I'm comin' yet."
I looked at my watch.  The luminous dial said it was almost nine
o'clock.  Christ, again.  It had been at least two hours since I got out
of the car to take a piss.  That dog must have fucked on her for half an
hour, at least from the time I disturbed them.  Maybe more.  No wonder
she was hurting.  Aside from the obvious other reasons.  I wondered if
she had sustained any serious injuries.  "It's almost nine o'clock. 
Aren't you worried?"
Again her head moved in the negative.  "I sleep in the park a lot when
it's not cold," she sighed. "Specially when mom's not home or has
friends."
"How old are you?"  I wondered aloud.
"Almost nine."
Amazing.  "Do you still hurt?"
"A little," she nodded in the same barely perceptible manner.  She had
bent at the knees, allowing her ass cheeks to settle onto her heels, but
otherwise was unchanged, her dress still piled about her neck and
shoulders.  In the pale light, her little broken cunny still glistened
as well as her bum, each still streaked with a trickle of blood and
other things.  The cooling air was beginning to dry her, leaving a
crusty film. She just lay there staring at me, completely relaxed now,
arms back and palms up.  Her bearing no longer evinced even fear, but
rather, a perverse kind of bliss.  The smell of cum and sweat and dog
and shit all mingled in the evening air around us, but I was still
turned on enough to find it more pleasant than not.  It dawned on me,
also, that she was not staring at me, but rather, at my renewed
erection.  She licked her drying lips and appeared to be deliberating
over the taste of dog drool in her mouth.  "I never done nothin' like
this before," she muttered for no particular reason.
"Why were you playing with that dog's prick?"
"Just happened," she shrugged.  "I was petting him, then her rolled over
and I touched it and then he started feeling good and then I started
feeling good "  She let it trail off.  Finally, she said again, "Just
happened."
"Do you still hurt?"  I asked again.
"A little," she sighed again.  "It feels better, now, though.  Almost
feels good.  All tingly inside me."
"It's a good thing I happened along," I ventured.  "That dog could have
hurt you real bad."
She was still staring at my cock.  Quietly, she eased a hand in between
her thighs and carefully stroked her pussy, moving a finger slowly back
to test her asshole gingerly.  Oddly, her sphincter flexed in
anticipation, but she only probed around it carefully. "All dry and
crusty," she said matter-of-factly.  "Maybe I need a bath."
"Would you like to go home?"  I asked cautiously.  "You can make up some
story."
She shook her head.  "Don't like it there. Mom don't care.  I'll use the
wader pool."  She clenched her eyes as if to blot out something, then
sat up testily with a little grunt.  "I ache all over."
"Like somebody beat you up,"  I agreed sympathetically.
"Like I played real hard," she shook her head.
I was beginning to have a different point of view concerning this little
lady.  "Would you like me to take you to a nice place where you can
clean up and have a good meal and get a good night's sleep?"  I asked
her earnestly.
Her eyes lit up at that thought.  That is, they opened wider in the pale
light.  "I don't know," she hesitated.  "Everyone says bad things about
strangers.  You're strange."
"I saved you from the dog," I said lamely.
"Where you want me to go?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of
her.  I noticed her hand had strayed back between her now closed
thighs.  The dress had fallen loosely back down her torso, but still
concealed very little.  She was again staring at my cock, which had
decided to take a break from perpetual erection.  She giggled that same
crystal sound that had originally caught my attention.  "You're all
small again."
"So I am," I grinned sheepishly, not bothering to put it away and zip my
pants, however.  "I know a nice motel not far from here.  There's a
restaurant.  We can clean up and sleep and in the morning there'll be a
big breakfast - maybe even a dinner tonight, if you like, then I'll
bring you back here and life goes on."  I spread my hands disarmingly. 
"You're call, honey."
She considered this for a long moment, then stood abruptly.  "Okey."  It
was almost a chirp.  I felt myself getting hard all over again.  She
glanced around, then stepped over to a nearby bush and retrieved a pair
of cotton panties from beneath it.  They were soiled and funky looking
in the half-light.  She stepped into them indifferently.
I took that as my cue and stood up, tucking Wally inside and zipping my
slacks.  If she looked funky, I felt funky.  We were a pair.  I slipped
an arm about her shoulder, hugging her close, and started toward the
car.  She thrust an arm around my leg, brushing innocently against my
balls, and hugged back.  She trembled ever so slightly, perhaps from the
coolness that had come over the evening now that it was well into the
night.

Love An Improper Stranger



I headed out onto the freeway, still southbound, with my goal a tourist
stop several exits down the line.  That would take about half an hour. 
I felt exhausted and at once exhilarated.  The former was brought on by
the recent events, the latter by anticipation of the next few hours.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the hardware mounted on the tunnel
between us.
"Mobile telephone," I said.  "Not much use away from the big cities,
though."
"You from the city?  This is sure a nice car," she rambled, somewhat
subdued.
"Not really," I lied.  "I just live down here a piece in another little
town."
"Why don't we go to your house?"  Her hand had snaked under her dress
again.  She was sprawled down in the deep leather seat, ankles together
and rocking her knees slowly apart and back again distractedly.  I
noticed for the first time that she was barefoot.
"Don't you have any shoes?"  I asked absently, suddenly caught up with a
new idea.  An old friend of mine had a cabin near here and perhaps it
was available.  It certainly wouldn't hurt to check it out.
"No shoes," she was saying.  "Left  em home this afternoon."
"You know, you're right.  We could go to my house.  Only someone else
might be there and they wouldn't understand why you're with me."
"You married?" she asked quizzically.
"No," I grinned.  "Just some friends were over, but they were going to
leave - only maybe they haven't yet."  I let that hang a bit then went
on; "I'd have to make up some dumb story, but if they're there, it'll
just be simpler to go to the motel."
She sat quietly for several minutes, then as we approached the off ramp
I wanted, she said, "You don't lie much, do you?"
Odd question.  "Not often," I lied. "Most of the time it's just simpler
to do something different than to lie about what you're doing."  I
tousled her hair then steered through the rural intersection and off
down a country road among the trees.
"I like you," she said impulsively.  "You aren't going to hurt me, are
you?"
I slowed to a stop in the middle of the road and turned to face her.  "I
would never hurt you, Honey, and I don't even know your name.  By the
way, you can call me Sam if you like."
"You can call me Cheryl or you can call me Daryl, but whatever you do,
don't EVER call me late for supper," she giggled.
I laughed with her, sliding an arm smoothly around her small shoulders. 
"I'll call you Cheryl, then."
"Daryl," she pouted.  "I was trying to make a joke."
"And a good one at that, Daryl," I laughed again, stroking her far cheek
with the side of a finger and turning her face toward me.  "I would
never hurt you, Daryl."  With that, I lowered my face to hers and
brushed her lips with mine.  She smelled musky and the brine flavor of
dog was all over her, but I doubted I smelled or tasted any better.  At
first I felt a gagging sensation, then, oddly, the fresh memories of the
royally sound dog fucking came pouring back and a raging hard-on pounded
against the inside of my fouled slacks.  I stared down at her hungry
little face mottled with stains and streaks under the dome light as she
licked her lips in a similar composite of disgust and arousal.  I leaned
in toward her again and she turned her face up, mouth slack and eyes
closed in anticipation of she knew not what.  I lowered my free hand to
her stomach and caressingly moved it up her rippling abdomen over the
filthy dress to her chest where I could feel the small bumps of large
breastless nipples growing firm at this unexpected attention as our
mouths came together.  Her lips fluttered as my tongue washed the dried
mix of spittle, tears, and dog drool away.  I found myself savoring it
as she pressed against my other hand, sucking in a large breath of air
before my mouth closed over hers.  I nibbled gently at her full lower
lip and she began to tremble as my tongue penetrated to find hers and my
hand spread over her side, my thumb working slowly over her hardening
nipple.  I could feel her arm movements as she slowly frigged herself
again.  She was pushing her face into mine and since that hand was no
longer a needed encouragement, I bent over her further, letting it slip
down her back where I could knead a surprisingly solid little asscheek.
She rolled against my hands.  She probed back with her tongue and I
caught it, sucking it greedily, reveling in the noxious flavors still
apparent there.  She sucked back and I thrust my tongue as far into her
mouth as I could only to have her try to swallow it in a childlike
nursing urgency.  I moved my hand around until I could feel her
fingertips with my middle one where we were both exploring the lower rim
of her vaginal slit.  She was slick with her own juices and I curled the
finger carefully up inside her a knuckles' worth, then gently tugged
down and back.  She bucked against my hand, pushing against it with her
own and making little mewling sounds of pleasure tainted with remembered
pain.  I began tucking her own fingers inside her, first one, then two,
then three together and she got the idea, hunching up into her own hand
and pushing it deeper.  Her cherry was history anyway, and the sensation
was probably more of an itch than a burn by now; an itch she needed to
scratch.  She had one foot up on the dash and was trying to screw her
entire hand into her cunt.  My hand was sopping and I began to toy with
her sphincter in a speculative sort of way.  She broke the kiss for a
long breath of air, then turned her face back up at me with closed eyes,
slapping her tongue out like a starved calf searching for a lost teat. 
God, that was erotic!
I let her continue this for a moment until she started making little
begging sounds and when I finally touched the tip of her tongue with my
own, she literally sucked mine down into her throat once again.  My
finger deliberately pushed past her sphincter, then, which was still
receptive from the recent dog abuse, and as the first knuckle
disappeared, she suddenly disgorged my tongue to start chanting, "Go,
doggy, go!  Go, doggy, go!"  Her head rolled from side to side and her
eyes were turned up in their sockets, the pupils partially hidden.  She
rocked hard into my hand while fisting herself and I obliged her by
shoving it firmly into her to the hilt.  It was pretty obvious we were
not going to get cleaned up first.
As she writhed in this dual impalement I reached into my ruined pants
and freed my now burgeoning cock.  Reaching behind her head, I bent her
across the console and half stood in order to thrust my cock into her
mouth.  I think she thought at first that it was my tongue pressing
against her lips because she tried to swallow it and that set off her
gag reflex.  She bucked and heaved convulsively several times spewing
bile over my cock, then drew a deep breath and deliberately began to
slurp it back up along with my cock.  This time she took it in bit by
bit until I could feel her tonsils flanking the glans.  Abruptly, I
erupted in a nut-crushing orgasm the likes of which I'd only experienced
a time or two before and down it slid into the length of her throat. 
Cum, glans, shaft, the gold watch and everything!   Her face bottomed
out in the mire of cum, bile, and pubic hair where she just kept
sucking, her throat milking my balls in a matter of seconds.  This went
on for almost a minute until my frame could no longer sustain the
tension and I collapsed back into my seat, dragging her roughly across
the console and breaking the armrest in the bargain.  My finger was
still buried in her ass and she had locked down on that as well.
Suddenly, she started to convulse again and it dawned on me she might
well be suffocating.  I forced her back gently, attempting to extract my
cock, which was drained, but as hard as ever due to the continual
suction that kept drawing blood into the gorged glans.  Once her face
was free of the pubic mess, she drew several deep breaths through her
nose while shaking her head wildly and diving down again, clutching my
hips with both hands in what seemed an effort to swallow me whole, cock
first.  I wondered what was going through her mind, if anything.  This
was insane.  The ache in my cock was bringing tears to my eyes and I
began to laugh uncontrollably.  What could I do?  I was half afraid she
might go into a seizure or something and snap old Wally off at the base
when finally she began to subside from sheer exhaustion.  The sucking
stopped and Wally gradually went limp, finally sliding out to flop into
a flabby four-inch pile alongside her nose.  She twitched a couple of
times, then gave a long sigh and relaxed completely where she lay
sprawled across the bulky phone set and broken armrest.
"Are you okey, Daryl?" I asked apprehensively, nudging her shoulder.
She rolled her face toward me and smiled loosely.  "Tired."
"That makes two of us,"  I sighed in relief.  "Good thing no cars came
along. Christ!  We're sitting in the middle of the road!"
She mumbled something and was gone.  I eased her back into her own seat
where she lolled over against the door.  What a kid!  Dog-fucked,
manhandled, and cock-choked all in one night and all she can do is smile
contentedly in her sleep!  Maybe it was the attention syndrome.  She
probably had not had that much personal attention since birth.  From her
perspective, even the dog thing was probably a positive form of
attention.  I collected what remained of my wits and finally managed to
find my way to the cabin.  At least it was unoccupied given the absence
of any vehicles about.  I hoped my key was still a good one.





I stumbled drunkenly out of the car and across what passed for a front
yard to the house, intoxicated by exhaustion and the unexpected turn of
events.  The totally depraved aspect of the past several hours had my
consciousness reeling.  It would be years before the vivid images of
that dog-fuck even began to get hazy.  The sensations of the recent deep
throating ran a close second.  I had managed to stress muscles I didn't
even remember having.  I was actually having delusional flashbacks of
sights, smells, and other sensations - some of which were completely new
to me.  I leaned my forehead against the door for a moment while
regrouping, then tested the key.
I was rewarded by a solid click and pushed the door open.  The cottage
appeared as I remembered it.  The d‚cor and architecture were a blend of
the rustic and neo-modern.  A small foyer opened onto a large common
room sporting a stone fireplace.  Off to the left was a kitchen and
dining area beyond which was a single large bedroom and bath.  The high
gabled roof also allowed for two bedrooms and a bath upstairs that were
seldom used.  I checked the time.  It was nearly eleven o'clock.  I
caught a wiff of myself and was momentarily offended.  Abruptly, I
stripped off my clothes and left them in a pile just outside the bedroom
door.
It felt good to be naked and unashamed.  I returned to the car and
carefully opened the passenger door. Disturbed, Daryl recovered herself
from falling and, still asleep, rolled away to curl up on the seat
facing away from me.  Her dress was skewed around her chest and the
filthy cotton panties hung about her left calf.  Her otherwise smooth
and unblemished buttocks sported several light bruises in the soft dome
light. I lifted her seemingly weightless form carefully and hugged her
close, realizing for the first time how small she actually was.  She
might have been three feet tall and probably weighed no more than sixty
pounds or so.  God!  What a little powerhouse she was.
The panties slipped off her leg and, cradling her in one arm, I stooped
to pick them up.  Still asleep, she reflexively hugged my neck to keep
from falling.  Once in the house I dropped the cotton briefs on top of
my own clothes and placed her carefully across the foot of the bed. 
Removing her arms from the dress, I eased it over her head and tossed it
back through the door.  Entering the bathroom, I filled the roman tub
and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment.  Although inclined to
be soft and paunchy in my late thirties, I was still in pretty good
shape.  Put in perspective, Vietnam had been reasonably good to me. 
There were a few scars, but I still had all my parts and they were in
good working order.  By my standards I needed a shave.  Otherwise, I
still liked the person I saw.
Returning to the bedroom, I nudged Daryl's small shoulder several times
with no apparent effect.  She was gone.  What the hell.  She was getting
a bath, anyway.  I was beginning to be repulsed by this continual
rolling in our combined filth.  Lifting her again,  I carried her back,
stepped into the tub, and carefully lowered her into the temperately hot
water.  A gray cloud immediately spread out from her and dissipated. 
Christ, she was dirty.  I wondered when last she had taken a real bath. 
I should talk.  As I lowered myself down opposite her an equally dark
cloud spread through the water, taking away the crystal clarity.  I
poured a dollop of bath oil out of the bottle and turned on the water
again, closed the glass door and diverted the flow to one of the several
showerheads.  A pulsing stream of hot water sprayed over my face and
chest.  I luxuriated in this bath, staring lazily at the still form
across from me and smiled at the yellowish stain in the water roiling up
from her cunt as she reflexively drained her bladder.  I grinned,
feeling the same sensation come over me and aimed my cock so as to shoot
a stream of hot urine arcing over to splash down in her face, giving her
a liberal golden shower.  Her tongue eased out across her lips and she
wrinkled her nose, then moved comfortably, her arms floating loosely in
the water.  Her breastless nipples were the size of quarters and
standing out from her chest like small volcanoes.  Damn!  She was a
turn-on.  Although her ass was round and firm and her thighs somewhat
heavy with baby fat, she was nonetheless on the thin undernourished side
with bony shoulders and elbows.  Her padded ribs were discernable while
her abdomen seemed muscular in contrast.  If not particularly well fed,
she was obviously healthy and active.  She had that feral look about her
reminiscent of a fox or coyote.  Her hair was dirty and matted with
tangles although it had been kept cut to the middle of her back.  Even
with the shower running and the overflow taking up the excess, the water
was becoming brackish.
Reaching down, I captured her ankles and drew her toward me.  Her head
slipped down the tub and under the water, her hair spraying out in a
brown cloud.  Her legs stiffened in my hands as she sat bolt upright,
sputtering, and staring wildly around her surroundings, completely
disoriented.  A high, keening screech tore from her throat and I covered
my ears, thankful we were isolated from the world here.  Recognition set
in and she flushed from chest to hairline in embarrassment and
confusion.  It was another turn-on.  Something about her when she became
animated just made me hard as hell.
She covered her face and stared at me sheepishly through her fingers. 
"I'm sorry," muttered ruefully.  "I thought I was somewhere else.  There
was this dog "  It trailed off as reality washed back over her, then, as
if nothing had happened, she said with a trace of excitement, "Where are
we? Is this your bathtub?"
I was stroking my cock with a soapy hand while she stared at me in
fascination.  "This is my bathtub," I grinned, "and you need a bath. 
Slide over here."
She complied as if all this was perfectly natural and usual in her
life.  I poured some shampoo on top her tilted head and began massaging
it in with both hands while, giggling to herself, she lathered with a
bar of soap and began stroking my cock with one hand to stroke my cock
and with the other to knead her fingers experimentally into my pubic
thatch, creating a rich lather.
"Mmmmm.  That feels good," I sighed, attacking her hair more vigorously.
She giggled some more.  "So does that."
The water was nearly black now and I reached over to the controls,
toggling the drain.  The water level dropped away, leaving a dark ring
and residue down the sides of the tub.  "Yucky," she scowled, pushing a
finger through it, then shaking her hand in the water to wash it off. 
"People sure get dirty!"
"We sure do,"  I agreed.  Taking up a wash cloth, I turned onto my knees
and began wiping down the ring before it could set up.  There were still
several inches of water in the tub, making the task somewhat easier.
I felt her tiny hands stroking over my buttcheeks.  My ass was obviously
in her face.  "You're all hairy!" she exclaimed with a trace of awe.  I
could feel only one hand then and, glancing back, saw that she was
feeling her own backside by way of comparative analysis.  She returned
her attention to mine.  She began to soap up my cheeks and the back of
my thighs, using handfuls of the rich lather from her own hair.  My ass
wasn't THAT hairy, but nobody could accuse me of not having any,
either.  Her small hands moved over my backside and up into the small of
my back, inevitably discovering my browneye.  She probed it
experimentally with a tiny fingertip.  My cock throbbed.  Pausing with
the tub cleaning, a pushed back at her.
"You can wash it out if you like," I urged.  "Go ahead.  Use the soap
and just slip your finger in there."  She responded readily, wild with
curiosity about my alien body, pushing the bar of soak against my
sphincter in a scraping motion, then easing her finger up inside me all
of its two inches or so.  Recalling my experiences with Phil, the owner
of this cabin, I suddenly needed this to happen.  I wiggled my ass
against her playfully like a little girl.  In a falsetto voice, I
urged,  "Use more fingers.  Slowly, honey.  First two, then three.  Try
to get your whole hand in there and wash me out reeeaal good.  Please,
Daryl, baby?"  I showed her how to shape her hand.  After a moment of
uncertainty, she got caught up in the game and grinned broadly.
"Okey, doggy!  Here it comes!"  With that, she screwed the bar of soap
against my sphincter until she was satisfied there was enough slippery
there and began pushing her pursed fingers against the still unyielding
aperture.  I squeezed my cock convulsively and began to masturbate
slowly.
"Yes, baby.  Push into doggy's asshole!  Get in there as far as you
can.  Pull out all the bad old shit!"
"Ohhh.  That's gross!", she replied, screwing up her face.  Still, her
hand rotated and pumped in and out until her small wrist disappeared and
I could feel her fingers exploring my rectal cavity.  I actually began
to tremble at the deep stimulation.  She pulled out a handful of shit
unceremoniously and a felt a wave of nausea pass over me at the sudden
unexpected evacuation.
"Easy, baby," I sighed with a tremor to the falsetto.  "You have to do
it slowly.  Be careful with your fingernails, too.  Just reach up in
there real careful and pull it out real slow.  Shit can be fun, even if
it does smell bad, huh."
"Doesn't smell that bad," she almost chirped.  "Doesn't taste that bad,
either."  Unbelievable!   I was about to remark on that when she plunged
back in, slowly and carefully snaking up into me, pushing into my lower
tract with her strong thin arm until I could feel her hand exploring
around behind my bladder, her elbow rolling against my wildly
contracting sphincter.  Again, she pulled out a handful of feces,
carefully this time.  "Awesome.  You had peas," she said breathlessly. 
She was really getting into this.  Again, she plunged into me up to the
elbow, gently feeling the walls of this curious flexing sheath she had
discovered, stroking the organs beyond with an innate curiosity.
Pressing back and stroking my cock quietly, I stretched my torso as much
as I could.  The sensations were outrageously grand.  "More,"  I gasped
softly.  "Try to go to your shoulder!"
"More?" she asked dubiously.
"More," I gasped again.  "Just soap your arm some more!"
She pulled out a little and after a moment, I felt her easing back in
again and rested my forehead against the bottom of the tub.  I could see
her upper arm lathered to the shoulder and several cupfuls of gelatinous
shit between us.  The heady pungent odor filled the tub enclosure. 
"Okey," she commented almost cheerfully, pushing past her elbow. I could
feel her biceps and triceps flexing with my sphincter as I rocked
against her, drawing her in.  Another trace of awe entered her voice.
"It's getting real hot up in there.  I can feel your heart!  Things are
moving around!"
"That's just an artery," I babbled, rocking more quickly now as her
shoulder bottomed out.  Her arm was perhaps fifteen to eighteen inches
long and she had all of it up my ass!  It was unbelievably wonderful. 
Good thing you can't get in any farther.  You'd get into my stomach and
the acids would probably burn you."  I was rocking feverishly against
her now, the raw smell of shit filling my nostrils and hers as well. 
She sloughed around in the mess, resting her cheek against my ass while
contentedly ass-fucking me with her arm.  I humped to a crescendo and
finally blew my nuts all over my face, at last spent once again. 
Gradually, she withdrew her arm, bringing with it a last handful of
shit.  I felt clean and empty inside.  It was probably the best enema
I'd ever had.  I rolled around and sprawled in my own shit, this
beautiful little soap and shit spattered nymph lounging between my
knees.
She rested her face against my inner thigh.  "You had fun, huh."
I nodded contentedly.
"That was weird," she said.  Abruptly, she knelt with her ass up toward
me.  "Do it to me."
Soap and shit was spattered over her.  There was a light bruise
developing along her side from the previous encounter with the armrest
and her buttocks and the backs of her thighs were discolored from the
encounter with the dog, not to mention the scratches across the tops of
her thighs and hips.  She looked like a refugee from a fallen building.
I showed her my arm.  "This won't fit inside you, honey," I shook my
head ruefully.
"If it was good for you, it has to be good for me," she pressed
insistently over her shoulder, pushing her ass at me while stroking her
clitty.  Still, she stared at my arm dubiously and compared it's size to
her own, bringing the situation more into perspective.  "What about
that?" she suggested.  "Use your pisser."  Now, there was an original
idea!  "Use your pisser," she repeated more insistently.
"It's called a cock," I grinned, watching it begin to rise to the
occasion.  "You can call him  Wally', too, if you like."
"Cock!  Wally!  Pisser!  Fuck my ass like I did you," she suddenly
demanded, almost hysterically.  She actually started to cry!  "I wanna
feel good, too!  I made you feel good!"
Startled at her insistence, I felt a wave of consideration for her
feelings and reached forward to draw her back against me.  My cock
slipped along her ass and labia in the effort until she rested on my
lap, closing her thighs around the hard-on and toying petulantly with
it's sensitized head.  "It's okey, baby," I soothed, stroking her slick
head. "I was just thinking of you because you said it hurt so much when
the dog was doing it."
"That was different," she pouted quietly, sniffing back her tears.  "He
was being mean and rough.  You wouldn't do that.  You'll be nice the way
I was with you."  She moved her ass around in my pubic hair, pulling
absently at my cock.
"Wally might be too big for you, too," I said doubtfully, but knowing I
would do it anyway.
"If it hurts too much, you'll stop," she went on confidently.
"I don't know.  When people are horny "
"What's  horny'?"
"You're horny,"  I grinned.
"Do it!" she bounced.
"Okey," I responded more cheerfully, reaching for a ten-inch long
basting syringe about an inch thick that had been conveniently left in
the shower by some other pervert.  Standing up and watching her slide
off into the mess, I reached out around the corner into the medicine
cabinet above the sink and located a bottle of baby oil.  I filled the
syringe and liberally coated the shaft of it.  That finished off that
bottle.  She stared at me in pure lust, licking her frosted lips, and
quickly assumed the position she'd had in the park.  Small shoulders
rested on the bottom of the tub.  She raised her ass in anticipation,
staring back at me with puppy eyes while nibbling anxiously at her lower
lip.  I seated myself behind her, flanking her with my legs, and wiped
away the mat of fecal residue from her cheeks with a damp cloth.
I touched the tip of the syringe to her sphincter, which instantly
clamped down for a moment, then loosened again.  I eased the tip inside,
then began a slow probing.  Inch by inch I slipped the tool in and with
each effort she moved responsively and moaned softly to herself.  Her
eyes were closed now and her mouth had gone slack as the rest of her
body and the pleasure centers of her mind took over.  What she lacked in
vocabulary she made up for with desire.  At six inches I felt the tip
bottom out against the upper end of her rectal cavity.  I could feel
strong young muscles pulling at it.  I stroked it back and forth a few
times while cradling her ass in my other arm and was rewarded by various
contractions and spasms of delight.  I slowly squeezed the bulb until
the baby oil was oozing out around the shaft followed by a small steady
flow of liquefied light brown shit.  Releasing the bulb, I watched the
syringe draw up several inches of the rectal mix.  Slowly, I removed the
shaft to deliberately give her the most pleasure from the act.
Unable to resist, I succumbed to a minor temptation and squirted it into
her face with a chortle.  "Here.  I think this is yours."
Pushing up on her elbows, she wiped at her face with her hands. 
"Nyech!  That was mean!"
I wiped her face with my own hand, then smeared the warm residue across
both my cheeks.  "There.  Now we've both shared our shit.  Happy?"
She wrinkled her nose and went back into her shoulder position, an
expectant look in her eyes.  Still doubtful, but determined, I raised up
and placed the head of my cock against her sphincter.  It tightened a
little, but the syringe had loosened her up considerably.  Still, my
cock was easily half again as thick.  I pushed tentatively a couple of
times, then it opened up and practically sucked me in, enveloping the
entire head.  The oil slickened shute beckoned spasmically.  She gave a
sharp intake of breath, then seemed to relax into me.  Wally slid in
another two inches and she sucked air again, mewling and pushing back to
get yet another inch. I pumped her slowly several times, lost in the
sheer raging pleasure of that viselike grip sliding over every cell of
my steel prick.  I needed to have it all inside her.  She willingly
pushed back again and I sat down, grasping her hips and drawing her
carefully down until she was thoroughly impaled, her buttocks nestling
solidly in my lap.  She began to rock her body, rolling her head and
shoulders in opposite directions until the sensation was that of her
insides clamping solidly at my enraged prick, stoking it in all
directions at once.  She moaned and rocked and bounced and rolled and,
with eyes closed, I luxuriated in all this, reaching around to  massage
her clit while hooking a finger into her sucking pussy.  Continuing her
gyrations, she clamped her hands over mine and pounded away as several
spaced orgasms rocked her body.  My own came as a gut-wrenching
nut-buster that boiled out into her in several waves, leaving me
completely spent.  I think we may have passed out since it was several
minutes later that came up out of some deep place of bliss to an
awareness of her sprawled backward across my chest.
Gradually, a sense of revulsion at wallowing in our own filth came over
me.  I had never been so carried away and uninhibited by the sexual
experience before, but then, I'd never experienced such heights of
profound pleasure, either.  Daryl was so young.  I wondered if she would
ever again be able to match this experience and survive it.  I believe
it was de Sade who said that  the ultimate experience of pleasure is
death'.  Personally, I would have to forego that one as long as
possible.  However, of equal import is Dante's observation that our
baser instincts such as greed, lust, and so on compel us to continually
attempt to improve upon our experiences.  His assumption was that this
is a positive thing in the pursuit of good, a negative thing in pursuit
of evil, and therein lay the distinction. How does one categorize
pleasure? 
I eased us both into a sitting position and surveyed the mess. 
Fortunately, it was contained to an area easily cleaned.  
Daryl drowsed awake and turned her face back and up to look at me. 
"That was sooo goood," she purred.  Straightening up, she sniffed and
looked around.  "This is really gross," she said emphatically.
I nodded in judiciary agreement.  "How about we get things cleaned up
here.  This was supposed to be a shower, not a pig wallow."  She giggled
and began cleaning out a washcloth as I turned up the water to full and
opened all the showerheads.  Still, it took us a full five minutes to
wipe down the tub and pretty thoroughly purify the environment. 
Standing facing each other, I lathered up her hair again and she
scrubbed soap into my groin, belly, and chest, then began working up a
lather along my legs.  This was nice.  We lathered and rinsed playfully
two more times before deciding we were clean enough and I helped her out
onto the plush mat where we toweled each other down.  A blow dryer left
her hair thick and naturally wavy.  It turned out to be a very pale
tawny color not quite blond, yet not really any shade of brown, either. 
Her pale scrubbed skin actually seemed to glow a soft pinkish hue as she
blushed all over from the attention I was giving her.
As we moved into the bedroom, she commented hopefully, "I'm hungry."
"So am I," I grinned down, laying a hand on her shoulder.  "So am I."
The Night Flows On  



We were seated opposite each other in the small breakfast nook that
spurred off the kitchen, surrounded on three sides by multi-pane windows
that, in the daylight, gave refreshing views of the various aspects of
the encompassing forest and rustic unkempt yard.  I'd cycled a couple of
TV dinners in aluminum trays through the oven and wolfed one of them
down myself, as had Daryl.  She was now working on her second one.  I
wondered where she was putting it.  Personally, I found the things
flavorless alternatives to starvation and, at best, an expedient when
one was hungry and nothing else easy to prepare was readily available. 
At the moment, she was finishing off the cranberry snack that came as an
afterthought with what was billed on the package as a  Thanksgiving
Feast'.
Needless to say, we were both still comfortably naked.  In the
background I could hear water running in the washer, where I'd thrown
all of our clothes earlier.  It would not do the suit much good other
than removing the various forgettable stains, but would make it less
questionable when I eventually dropped it at the cleaners - should I
bother to do so at all.  I noticed she only had one hand in sight and
was rocking gently as she ate.  "Are you playing with yourself," I asked
a bit incredulously, grinning nonetheless.
She shrugged without breaking stride in either of her activities. Around
a mouthful of cranberry sauce, she commented, "You said pisser-playin'
stuff was okey."
"Well, there's a time and place," I laughed.  "Generally, it's not
accepted behavior at the dinner table."
"Feels good," she swallowed.  Looking up from the all but empty tray,
she added, you still wanna do pisser stuff, don't you?"  She leaned over
and looked under the table, then straightened up again with a grin. 
"You got a hard-on.  We're gonna play some more, huh!"
"In a bit," I laughed again, helplessly stroking myself.  This feral
little beast was more than anyone could hope for in a given lifetime. 
"I think you could use some expansion on your vocabulary, though, just
for the hell of it.  Have you ever heard of  sex'?"
She shook her head, scowling.
"What's another name for a  hard-on'?
"Big Pisser!" she grinned.
"Okey," I grinned back, standing up with a big pisser waving above the
table, "Come on.  We're going to learn some more sophisticated names for
our anatomical variables."
"Huh?" she asked, reaching for my outstretched hand in anticipation of
whatever form of education I might have in mind.  She trotted after me
toward the bedroom, where I picked her up and playfully tossed her
insubstantial bulk toward the half dozen pillows piled against the
headboard.  She landed on her back with legs splayed and bounced lightly
before rolling over and thrusting her browneye at me, all the while
laughing gleefully.
I impulsively poked at her with a finger while assuming a sloppy lotus
position on the bed and jerking her toward me by one ankle.  "Turn
around here and sit just like I am.  We're going to play  Learn the Body
Parts' until you understand what the rest of the world calls them."
"Pisser and pooper work fer me," she scowled.
"Well, this is a fun game and when you learn all the new words, people
won't think you're quite so, uh, inexperienced," I explained.  As if she
was inexperienced!  I stoked Wally a lick or two for my own benefit as
well as hers.
"What's  in-spear-incst' mean?" she pressed, reaching for Wally.
"Not having done a lot of something," I went on foolishly.
"I done a bunch," she insisted. " I got lot's of  spear-ince'!"  She'd
pushed my hand away and had one of hers wrapped around Wally below his
knob, which she was caressing experimentally with the curved palm of her
other hand.  My cock was again swollen and laced with various shades of
purple and pink.  It was also somewhat raw from the recent spate of
welcome abuse and the mild aching sensation was almost unbearable.  It
twitched involuntarily under her touch as I reached for her shoulders
and she paused uncertainly.  "Does that hurt?"
"Not really," I sighed.  "It's just dry."
Without further encouragement, she leaned down and began to carefully
coat it with saliva, using her tongue like a paintbrush.  As I watched
in fascination, massaging her shoulders and neck gently, she dipped into
the spread urethra, then began a slow spiral out over the glans,
gradually slipping it between her moistened lips.
"This is called  cock-sucking'," I babbled.
"Um-hmmm," she mumbled, sliding up for a moment.  "Cock-thucking," she
repeated around her tongue, which was still laying against the underside
of the glans, before lowering her mouth back over that pulsing hood. 
She encompassed another inch, then sucked in her cheeks and moved up and
down the shaft a couple of times before letting go with a smacking
sound.  "Wanna kiss again to make spit?" she asked innocently.
Fuck the game!  I dove into her willing mouth with my tongue as she
parried with her own.  She obviously subscribed to the philosophy that
experience was the best educator.  She slurked greedily at my tongue as
our lips mashed down on each other and it was I who fell backwards
across the bed under her almost vicious assault.  My gorged prick was
caught between us and she hunched her swollen clitty rapidly along it
just above my balls, which slapped happily against my inner thighs.  I
arched up at her as a rapidly expanding pool of cum layered in between
us, viscous and hot.
She broke for air and sat back, her face moving down my chest and
abdomen as she exclaimed, "Good stuff!" and began licking up the
accumulated semen.  I rose up on my elbows and stared down at the scene
with a silly grin on my face.  Having thoroughly washed my belly, she
squeegeed a small hand across her own and drew it up in front of her,
then offered it to me.  "Want some goodie?" she offered almost
apologetically.
What the hell.  A little protein never hurt anyone!  I washed her hand
with my tongue, ending up by sucking her fingers clean - down to the
wrist.  She wriggled her fingers in my throat, setting off a gag reflex,
and giggled cutely.  As she withdrew her hand, I caught her by the knees
and slid her up my cock and chest until she was straddling my face.  I
covered her full velvety mons with my mouth and began slowly exploring
her labia with my tongue, working my upper teeth gently against the
hooded end of her clit.  She made a soft high keening sound and sprawled
backwards down the length of my abdomen where I felt her own tiny teeth
against my cock as she began to side-suck it's length.  She arched into
my mouth eagerly as I began a studied penetration along the inner walls
of her vagina.  That muscular little cunt gripped my tongue voraciously
in a series of orgasmic spasms as she released her oral grip and began
to thrash about wildly.  It was all I could do to hold her in place by
gripping her waist and pulling her down harder onto me.  Her hot sweet
juices poured into my mouth like a flood of lotus-scented honey and I
savored it with the will of an alcoholic with a cask of cognac.  Even
after her thrashing subsided to a series of trembling jerks, I kept
trying to suck more of those juices until, finally, my tongue just gave
out.
I drew several deep breaths and just lay there contentedly lapping at
those firm inner thighs still filled with those marvelous flavors and
scents.  Meanwhile, she seemed to be at least partly asleep, nursing
quietly at the head of my cock.  I was thoroughly spent and had probably
blown another load, but Wally was only partially up, rubbery, but not
hard.  Happily, I drowsed off into a deep and nearly dreamless sleep
interspersed with slowly revolving images from the past twelve hours or
so along with some uniquely creative additions.  Alas, to be able to
fall asleep this way all the time!





I was sucking my thumb.  Why would I be sucking my thumb?  I groggily
opened my eyes to a tawny cloud of thick silk covering my face and
realized I was sucking a small tongue rather than a thumb.  Alas, to be
able to wake up this way all the time!  This Daryl was becoming
insatiable, but that appears to be the case with most people who find
themselves subjected to new and interesting experiences.  Eventually, we
get enough, become jaded, and return to the reality of everyday
mediocrity, but until that happens, we push at the envelope and hope it
doesn't burst in on us with catastrophic results.  For my own part, I
still felt the envelope had considerable resilience remaining and as for
Daryl, she probably wasn't even aware of such a thing as an envelope.
As I came completely awake, I felt invigorated.  Still locked onto that
wallowing little mouth and exploring tongue, I had that sensation of
overwhelming power and strength that comes over one after a solid
nights' sleep and fulfilling sexual experience.  Closing my eyes again,
I felt around until my hands closed over her firm rounded buttocks and
began kneading them lovingly.  She responded by moaning softly into my
mouth and hunching her clit against my belly.  My cock pulsed into
erectile readiness, moving up along her inner thigh until it rested
poised against the contracting little sphincter just below my splayed
fingers.  I wondered how tight her begging little cunny was going to
be.  She wanted it.  She needed it.  The time had come to let her have
it.  I was determined not to blow another load until it could be
deposited in her tight little somewhat virginal womb.  So what if some
damn dog had beaten me to it.  She was still nominally virginal to me.
She lifted her head to smile into my face.  "You're awake," she stated
the obvious.
"That I am,"  I smiled back, squeezing her cheeks some more and nudging
her labia with my cock.  "You certainly seem ready to rock and roll."
"I wanna play some more if that's what you mean," she giggled, rolling
her hips hopefully.
"What I mean is I'm going to fuck you senseless," I replied, nudging her
some more.
"Are you going to stick your pisser in my pooper again?"  She sat up
hopefully, rocking against my hands.
I shook my head slowly.  "I'm going to stick my cock into your tight
little cunt," I said.
She looked doubtful.  "That's where the doggy really hurt," she said,
chewing at her lower lip while reaching around for my cock in what
appeared to be a size assessment.
"Didn't the ass-fucking hurt a little?"  I grinned.
"That hurt good," she responded quickly.  "The doggy made my pisser
bleed!"
"Does it hurt now?"
She thought about that.  "All your licking made it feel better.  You
sure it won't hurt like the doggy did?"
"The doggy just broke you in," I explained, deciding not to get more
technical with her.  "That's always the hardest part.  Now comes the
good part."
"I don't know," she wavered.
"Well, I do," I stated.  "Trust me.  We'll get it all slicked up again
and you'll love every stroke of it!"
"I need to go potty," she said abruptly.  Before I could respond, she
had rolled away and ran into the bathroom where she straddled the toilet
and began to pee.  Well, damn, I thought, feeling the need myself now
and swinging my legs over the end of the bed.  Finishing the pee and not
bothering to dry herself, she slipped off the seat and chirped, "That's
better.  You gonna pee, too?"
"Yep."  I moved past her.
"I wanna watch!"  She stuck her face in front of me.
Taking a controlled piss through a hard-on is always an interesting
experience.  It's even more interesting with an audience, but gets
really tricky with a participant.  She had one arm around my waist and
was trying to hold my prick with the other.  "Daryl, stop," I laughed. 
"You'll make me piss all over everything!"  Meanwhile, the need was
getting stronger.  She pulled at my hand, stamping her foot in
frustration.  Finally, I let her have it and said, "Keep it pointed into
the toilet.  With any luck "  At that, a hot stream of piss started
spraying down into the bowl.  She stared in fascination, but managed to
keep it pointed in the general direction.
"You pee and cum out the same hole!" she exclaimed in awe.
"So do you," I pointed out.  "Well, sort of.  Since girls are built
almost the opposite of guys, your real pee-hole is sort of between your
clitty and your fuck-hole.  A man's piss comes out the same hole the cum
does because the two come together back inside the penis " I could see
she was not really listening to this and gave it up.  She had dipped her
face and began tasting the head of my cock again.
"Hot and salty," she scowled.  "Not like cum at all!"
I grinned broadly.  "Piss is old used stuff," I laughed.  "Cum is fresh
new stuff."
That evidently satisfied her somewhat.  "Make some more cum," she
prodded.
"Good thinking," I agreed.  "Back to the bed and I'll fill you up with
it."
She led me back by the cock and I snatched at a tube of KY as we passed
the dresser.
"What's that?"
"It makes things slick," I explained, "and keeps dry pussies and
assholes from hurting."
"Like baby oil?"
"Sort of."
"Does it taste good?"  We had reached the bed and she was scrambling
into the middle of it.
I read the brief label.  "This is supposed to be cherry-flavored."
"I like cherry!  Can I taste?"
I squeezed some into my palm and began lubing the knob.  Crawling onto
the bed, I said, "Taste away."  She laid back as I straddled her and
grabbed my swinging cock, getting a liberal coating on her hand.  "Rub
that on your pussy," I told her, pushing Wally against her parted lips.
"Mmmm.  Tha's yummy," she responded, licking around her mouth.
"Now, turn around and settle back here," I instructed, sitting down and
turning her around so she sat backwards in my lap, Wally running out
between her thighs.  I ran another line of KY across my fingers and
began rubbing it into her labia.  She arched her shoulders back into my
chest and turned her face up to me, eyes closed.
"That feels sooo good," she sighed, pressing both little hands over mine
and wagging her tongue up at me through parted lips.
I moved one hand in circular patterns over her abdomen and chest,
kneading those little volcanoes liberally while feeding my cock into her
with the other.  I rubbed my swollen glans between her labia several
times as we got into one of those deep-throated kisses.  Her cunny
clinched tight for a moment, then relaxed just long enough for my head
to slip in.  Those powerful young muscles clamped down instantly, then
began drawing me in.  Her contractions were strong and unbelievably
tight as she settled down on me and I let her do all the work. After my
head was completely inside her, she began to hunker down in little jerky
bumps and I could feel the corrugated walls sliding by until the
remnants of her hymen came in contact with the flaring hood of my cock. 
She gave a little grunt muffled by my mouth and then I was inside her a
good four inches.  The head of my cock flattened against the back of her
womb, which resisted momentarily, then began to stretch accommodatingly
down around it.  As she moved involuntarily up and down countering my
careful strokes, her muscles contracted instinctively, drawing me in
until I had actually managed to penetrate her completely.
"There," I said softly, tonguing her ear, "does that hurt?"
"HmmUmmm," she responded, smiling vacantly, eyes still closed.
"Well, here's where you get your very first honest-to-god, bonafide,
real hard-core fucking," I whispered, sucking on her earlobe a bit
before returning to her eager little mouth and easing her forward onto
her shoulders.  Straightening up, I grasped her small hips in both
hands, encircling her waist, and pulled out slowly to the entrance of
her cunny, then drove my cock firmly back in to the hilt.  She stiffened
in my hands and began a soft mewling as I drew out again.  This time, I
thrust more firmly, again to the hilt.  Her mewling became a louder
whimper.  A rhythm was set.  Gradually I increased the tempo until I was
slamming her tight sucking little cunt several times a second.  For her
part, she was now squealing away and breathing jerkily to the same
rhythm while slamming back to meet me.  She had a deathlock with her
teeth on a corner of a pillow and her fingers were curled talons in the
folds of the comforter.  Her distended cunt puckered out as I withdrew
and folded in as I drove home.  I was fascinated by it.  Pucker and
fold.  Pucker and fold.  I could feel a crescendo orgasm building all
through my body and lost myself in this pure ecstasy.  My cock was a
burning steel shaft inside her as my entire body went rigid in the
effort to blow her brains out.  My aching nuts drew up abruptly and I
began to unload with violent pulsing explosions of cum deep inside the
tight gasket seal of her cunny and womb, filling her insides with hot,
fertile sperm to overflowing while holding her tightly back against me
in a series of convulsions I had forgotten were possible.
She was stretched out before me to her full length, her legs stiffened
out and upward beside me as she jerked and quivered and gasped for
breath.  Her arms were extended above her head, fingers splayed.  Her
back arched up as the trembling and jerking continued and this only drew
more orgasmic spasms from my unspent cock.  My body was too rigid to
draw out at all, but I still pulled down on her hips and ground up into
her in a futile effort to get even farther inside. Unable to sustain her
airborne rigidity any longer, her body finally collapsed into the
comforter, where her fingers taloned into the folds again and her legs
dropped. Her heels locked into the small of my back and she began to
drive herself back against me in a violent grinding motion even as my
cock, finally spent, began to soften.
Still thoroughly turned on and not wanting to miss a lick even though my
cock was nearly useless, I broke her leghold and flipped her onto her
back, diving in with mouth and tongue for all those rich juices pouring
out of her.  AS my teeth raked her clitty and my tongue scoured her
grasping canal, she continued to jerk and writhe about until that high
keening screech ripped from her throat once again and she collapsed
around me like a rag doll with a tiny undulating machine between it's
hips.  Meanwhile, I continued to lick and suck and swallow until there
was nothing left to enjoy save my own saliva.  Finally, I relaxed
myself, breathing through my mouth in long sighs with my nose buried in
her little stretched cunny.  It had been a long time since I'd
experienced such deep satisfying pleasure.  It would probably be an even
longer time before she would find anything close to this herself.  She
would probably spend the rest of her life in pursuit of this elusive
experience.  I really felt sorry for her on that count - and myself as
well, for that matter.  Pushing the envelope was a hazardous business.
It's always hard to tell about fucking.  I hadn't been timing the
event.  It usually seems like hours and more often than not, the best
encounters last only for a few minutes. Sometimes, they only take
seconds.  This had been one of those events that seemed like forever! 
Alas, you can only have so much fun.  Gathering my wits and
lethargically moving off the bed to get wobbly legs under me, I
perceived she was of a like frame of mind.  She lay there with a lazy
smile on her face, savoring the last lingering sensations of a cosmic
event as it began to fade and the realization came to her how transient
pleasure can be.  Unfortunately, she was too young to accept that
reality yet and therein lay the only crime I could perceive.  Another
regret was that the exigencies of the real world beyond this rustic
Xanadu beckoned inexorably.
Daryl had a sheen about her and I realized I was also dripping sweat as
if we were in a steam room.  The exertions were partly to cause, but I
also noticed a bright sliver of sunlight pouring through a narrow
parting in the drapes covering the larger window in the living room.  It
was decidedly one of those unusually hot late summer days. Momentarily
at a loss, I finally decided it was Thursday.  Finding my watch, I
discovered it was nearly noon.  Christ! I wondered what this waif's
status was out there in the world.  I was decidedly time to get in touch
with Tim, my deceptively waif-like assistant, and find out what made the
world go around on this exhilarating morning.
"Back in a bit," I said to Daryl, making an ambiguous gesture in her
direction and moving out of the bedroom.  I strolled with a degree of
determination out to the car and opened the door.  A wave of hot,
sex-filled pungent air struck me and I surveyed the damaged interior
resignedly.  It would have to be cleaned up and dumped, anyway.  Too
bad.  I rather enjoyed cruising about in it.  Settling onto the tan
leather seat, I turned on the engine for power and picked up the phone. 
I probably was out of range, but necessity dictated that I try. 
Punching in the appropriate codes, I waited through several clicks and
hums for a ring at the other end.  There was only one.  It was answered
immediately, although there was some static.
"Tim?"
"CS?"
"You got it."
"Have you got someone there with you I don't want to know about?" she
shot back apprehensively.
"What the hell does that mean," I scowled into the handset.
"That's what I thought!" she shot back again.  "Find a landline and get
back to me!"
"I'm at the cabin.  The phone might still be up."
"I don't want to know where you are!" she exclaimed.  "Just get off this
damned broadcaster!"  With that, she hung up.
I stared at the house.  I wondered what had her all fired up.  It would
seem discretion was the order of the day for the moment.  Whatever Tim
was wired out about, I had a feeling I'd better put in with her until I
knew more. Gradually, a sense of impending disaster crept over me as I
hurried back into the house.  Of a sudden all was no longer well with
the world.
    

Children