LIPSTICK GIRL

Author Easy

Circumstances bring a young girl of 11 and a man twenty years her senior together. He soon finds out she is wise beyond her years, and why.

Keywords; Mg(11), cons., oral, intercourse, underage, incest

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My wife’s a teaching-assistant at our town’s secondary school, which is just round the corner from where we live. Loads of the kids walk past our front window to and from school every day, but I had no reason to take particular notice of any of them. Until one day, shortly after the beginning of a new school year. I’d seen a new girl walking past, obviously in her first year (so 11 years old); what had struck me was her vivid blond hair and the fact that she seemed to be wearing lipstick. On one particular occasion, Carol was in the room with me, getting ready to leave for school, when the blonde girl walked past. I turned to her; “That girl, is she wearing lipstick? I didn’t think that was allowed.”

“Mmm,” she replied. “Thereby hangs a tale. I can’t tell you too much because of confidentiality. But we’ve been warned that she’s thought to be sexually experienced and very precocious, so we have to keep an eye on her during the school day to see that she doesn’t get up to anything she shouldn’t, if you know what I mean. But we can’t do anything about what goes on at home,” she finished with a raised eyebrow and a knowing look.

“So is she allowed to wear lipstick in school, then?”

“No, she’s made to clean it off before she comes into class. But we can’t stop her putting it on before she leaves.” “Or,” she said with another knowing glance, “having it put on her by someone at home. Right, I’m off to school”

Intriguing, I thought. A few days later my wife asked me to run her to school as she had a lot of heavy books to carry. As I pulled up in front of the house again after dropping her off, the same girl walked by, but stopped as I got out of the car. “Hello,” she said, “you’re Mrs. Dean’s husband, aren’t you – she helps me in class sometimes.”

She had on her red lipstick, which I have to say had been skilfully applied. She was carrying her school blazer rather than wearing it, it being a very warm summer morning. I couldn’t help noticing her budding breasts pressing tightly against a school shirt that was, in truth, a bit too small for her.

“Are you going to take Mrs. Dean to school?” she asked. “If you do, can you take me as well, my school bag’s really heavy?”

“I’ve just dropped her off already,” I replied.

“Oh, well,” she said, and started to walk off. To this day I don’t know what made me do it, but I called out after her. “It’s OK, come on, I’ll run you to school.” At that moment I had no way of knowing that I’d taken the first step down a path that would bring such a big change in my life.

It was only a short drive to the school; on the way I asked her her name, and she told me it was Gemma. When we got there I pulled up. Gemma didn’t get out straightaway, though, but took out a tissue and started to wipe off her lipstick. “They won’t let me in with it on,” she explained.

I smiled at her. “That’s a pity,” I said. “It looked lovely on you. But I don’t suppose they want you distracting the boys –and maybe even the teachers!”

She looked at me for a few seconds; it felt like her eyes were burning into me. My heart seemed to be thumping harder than usual. “Do you like young girls?” she asked me.

“Well, of course,” I replied. “Young people are more full of life than us grown-ups.”

Gemma looked at me exasperatedly. “No – I mean do you really like young girls, you know, like my age – really, really like them?”

“Er – I don’t know what you mean, Gemma.”

She smiled at me. “I think you do know. I’ve got to go now – ‘bye.”

And she was gone. I couldn’t help noticing the way she walked as she headed up the path to the school door, subtly different from the way girls of her age normally walk. Slightly more languid, slightly more smoothly, her check school skirt swaying with the motion of her bottom.

I couldn’t get her out of my mind; there was something about her that had hooked into my psyche. The following day I looked out for her again, but stayed just out of sight behind the curtain. As she walked past she looked up at the window before continuing out of sight. The day after that, a Friday, with my heart thumping, I actually stood square in the window and waited for her again. ‘What am I doing?’ I asked myself, ‘I feel like an idiot – she’s just an 11-year old girl!’ But I couldn’t tear myself away. Then I spotted her, this time walking with a friend. My heart seemed to beat faster as they got level with my house. Then as they passed, Gemma looked up at the window again. As she saw me (she could hardly miss me!) a lovely smile came across her face and she waved excitedly. My spirits soared, and I waved back as nonchalantly as I could, trying desperately not to show in what a state I was. As they disappeared I sank onto the sofa, feeling elated yet silly at how I was feeling over something I couldn’t rationalize or explain.

On the Saturday morning my wife had gone to the school for a training-course for the day, and I went out to the front to wash the car. I was completely absorbed in soaping the vehicle, so was taken by surprise by a voice behind me. “Hello, Mr. Dean!” I turned around; it was Gemma. She was wearing just a thin t-shirt and shorts. My heart leapt at the sight of her.

“Hello, Gemma – where are you off to?” I asked, trying desperately to sound normal.

“Going to help at the Brownies stall in the town,” she replied.

“Aren’t you too old for Brownies now you’re at secondary school?” I asked.

“I’ve just gone up to Guides, but they’re short of helpers on the Brownie stall. Well, short of helpers who know how to take the money, anyway, there’ll be a few 6- and 7-year olds there. Are you washing your car?”

“Yes, unfortunately it won’t wash itself!”

“Can I do a bit, I’ve got a few minutes?”

“Course you can; here’s the sponge. Have a go at the back window, if you like.”

Gemma took the sponge and dipped it into the bucket of soapy water.  She started to soap the window; being not very tall, she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top, and I silently chided myself for enjoying the sight of her t-shirt riding up, and her long bare legs, as she stretched upwards. As she concentrated on reaching the very top, the tip of her pink tongue emerged, sending a frisson of excitement through me. She had to lean against the window to do the top, but of course the water on the wet glass immediately wetted her t-shirt. She finished the window and stepped back. “There, is that OK?” she asked, looking up at me.

“Perfect, Gemma, well done,” I replied. “But your t-shirt’s all wet now.”

She looked down. “Oh, it is, isn’t it. Never mind, it’ll be dry by the time I get to the market-place.”

Mmm, I thought, if it’s not there’ll be quite few men making unnecessary purchases from the Brownie stall. I tried to turn my eyes away from her nipples and budding pubescent breasts pushing against the almost-transparent thin wet material, but failed miserably. Gemma couldn’t fail to notice me looking; “Oh, my top’s gone all see-through!” she giggled. She looked up, directly into my eyes. “It makes me feel all funny, you looking at me like that.”

I started to try to speak, but nothing coherent came out. What is this girl doing to me, I thought?

Gemma giggled again. “Right, got to go now, don’t want to be late!” She ran off down the street, turning to wave at me when she reached the corner. I gave a wave back, and she disappeared out of sight.

I finished washing the car, my mind a maelstrom of thoughts, about Gemma, about myself. I’d never been remotely attracted to young girls before, but had to admit that there was something about this one that I couldn’t shake off or explain away. But deep down I knew that I would just have to live with the confused feelings and thoughts in my head; why would an 11-year old be at all attracted to a man in his thirties, and even if she was, any untoward interaction between us would be illegal and would be a terrible risk to take. I knew it couldn’t happen, and in truth, I didn’t want it to happen, for so many reasons.

But I’d reckoned without Gemma.

For the next couple of days my shifts were such that I was at home neither for the start nor finish of the school day. I found myself actually looking forward to being at home at a time when she would be walking past, to see her again, to enjoy the confused yet delicious feelings that coursed through me at the sight of the young girl. On my day off I waited outside at the time she usually walked past in the morning, on the pretence of cleaning the inside of the car. But she didn’t show up. I chided myself for feeling disappointed, even though I knew how ridiculous it was to feel like that over a schoolgirl.

In the late afternoon I was outside weeding the flower-bed in the front garden. I’d actually forgotten about it being school chucking-out time until I heard the kids coming. But as Gemma hadn’t appeared in the morning I didn’t expect to see her. Suddenly, though, I saw her – my heart skipped a beat! As she got level with the house she saw me, smiled, and stopped.

“Hello, Gemma,” I said, trying hard not to sound excited. “Didn’t think you were at school today; you didn’t walk past this morning.”

She giggled. “Oh, you were looking for me, then!”

“Er, no, of course not,” I stuttered.

“Yeah, right! My mum gave me a lift to school coz she was going that way.” She looked at the flower-bed. “Nice flowers – have you got a big back garden?”

I recovered my equilibrium. “Quite big; it takes a lot of looking after.”

“Can I see it? Have you got lots of flowers?”

I quickly estimated I had about twenty minutes before my wife would be home. “Come and have a quick look, then, if you like.” I led Gemma through the side gate and closed it behind me.

“Oh, wow, it’s lovely,” she exclaimed. “Much bigger than mine, and look at all those flowers.”

“Have a look round. Would you like a cold drink?”

“Oh, yes please – got a Fanta or Diet Coke?”

“Yep, coming up.” I went inside the kitchen and got a Diet-Coke from the fridge. Before going back out, I allowed myself the pleasure of just looking at her through the kitchen window as she moved about the garden.  But I was jolted back into reality by the phone ringing. It was my wife, telling me she was going to be back a little late, and to put the spag.-blog. ready-meal in the oven. I put it in the oven and took out the Diet-Coke bottle for young Gemma.

I sat on the garden-bench, and she came over to me. “Can I sit on your lap?” she asked, and before I could answer, plonked herself down on me and took the bottle. I knew what I should have done, but couldn’t bring myself to tell her to get off, especially as I could feel a certain stirring in my loins!

Gemma sipped from the bottle. There was something about the interaction of her lips and the tip of her pink tongue with the top of the bottle that was quite erotic. Was it my mind reading something into it that wasn’t there, or was she doing it deliberately? I was soon to find out.

“This is nice,” she said. “Do you like me sitting on your lap?”

“Er – yes, this is nice,” I spluttered, trying hard to sound as normal as I could with a nubile 11-year old nymph’s nether regions separated from my rapidly-hardening cock only by my trousers and her knickers.

Gemma smiled. “I love the smell of flowers, especially your lovely roses.” She looked straight into my eyes; I could see a slight flush coming into her cheeks. “It makes me feel really sexy.”

Looking back, I realize that was the point of no return. I could (and should) have found a way to divert the conversation and interaction between us to something innocent. It will come as no surprise to readers to know that I didn’t.

“Well, you’re a very sexy girl, Gemma,” I found myself replying. “I bet you’re very popular with the boys at school.”

She pulled a face at me. “Boys – they’re so silly. They don’t know anything.” She looked directly into my eyes again. “You didn’t tell me if you like me sitting on your lap. But you don’t have to; I can feel that you do.”

‘Oh. God!’ I thought; ‘there’s no fooling her, is there!’ My cock was seriously hard by now; of course, there was no way she couldn’t be feeling it under her bottom.

Gemma put down the bottle and put her arms around my neck. She gave me a soft peck on the cheek – it was like an electric shock, and seriously erotic, much more so than a full-blooded kiss would have been. She started to gently wiggle her bum on me, all the while looking intently at me for a reaction. The flush on her cheeks was getting more noticeable.

“Oh, Gemma!” I gasped. “We shouldn’t – I don’t know…..”

She bit her lip sexily. “Don’t know what? Don’t know if your cock should be getting hard at a young girl sitting on your lap? I know what men like, and I like them liking it.”

‘This girl’s wise beyond her years,’ I thought. ‘Where has she learnt all this?’ I finally gave up any pretence. “Of course I like it, Gemma, of course I do. You’re seriously sexy, and I know perfectly well you can feel the effect you’re having on me.”

She smiled at my surrender. “Can we do kissing?” Again, without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward and kissed me full on the lips. The kiss was soft and sensuous, lasting just a couple of seconds before she pulled back and looked at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Mmmm,” she murmured. “I can tell you liked that!”

I started to try to speak, but in truth had no idea what to say. But Gemma leaned forward again and hushed my lips with another kiss. This time she didn’t pull away, but continued the kiss; I could feel the tip of her tongue flicking against my closed lips, inviting me to part them. The sound of her breathing, so close to me, added to the eroticism of the rapidly unfolding situation. I could do nothing other than let myself go, and relaxed my lips. As I did so, she darted her tongue into my mouth with a little murmur to celebrate her victory and my further surrender. As her gently probing tongue explored as far as it could reach, I found myself responding with my own tongue against hers. For a minute or two our mouths remained locked like this, both our breathing becoming heavier. Then Gemma pulled back slightly, so that contact was just lost. She opened her eyes, as did I, and looking straight into mine, once again flicked her tongue out against my lips. I sensed what she was after, and my own tongue emerged and made contact with hers. Without our lips actually meeting, our tongues duelled out in the open as we looked into each other’s eyes.

This was seriously arousing; I didn’t know where we going with what we were doing, and I didn’t care. An extremely underage girl of 11 years old was turning me on like no female had ever done before. I briefly wondered how she had learned how to kiss like that and work a man up, but quickly got lost in the heat of the situation and pulled her mouth onto mine once more. In a glorious mixing of lips, tongues, and saliva, we got lost in each other’s mouths.

But my seriously hard cock was at an awkward angle, and hurting. “Gemma, I’ve got to, er, sort something out that you’re squashing; please, lift yourself up a bit a moment.”

Gemma grinned, and moved off my lap. “Let me sort it out,” she offered. Without waiting for an answer (no surprise there, then!) her hand moved to my trousers. Her nimble fingers very quickly had them undone and pulled them open. She reached in, and gently freed my cock from its sideways position, to point straight up, completely exposed. “Oooh, nice!” she cooed. “It’s just like…………..…..”

“Just like what?” I blurted out. It’s a wonder I could speak at all!

“Never mind,” she said, as her small hand gripped sexily just below the glans and started to move deliciously up and down. This 11-year old schoolgirl was actually wanking me, and it was immediately clear that this wasn’t the first time she’d masturbated a man. Almost without thinking about it, my hand slipped up inside her school shirt (she wore it in the current fashion, hanging outside rather than being tucked in) and stroked the smooth skin of her back. She arched her back; “Mmm, that’s nice,” she murmured as she continued her lewd manipulation of my knob. “Do you like this, what I’m doing to you, or do you want me to stop?”

“Oh, Gemma!” I panted. “Don’t ask daft questions, of course I don’t want you to stop!”

She smiled. “Do you want me to make you cum?” she asked, teasingly.

“Oh, God, yes, keep doing it to me!”

Gemma took her hand from my cock and licked her palm wetly before returning it to her obscene task. She rubbed her now-slippery hand all over the top of my cock-head; almost immediately I felt the familiar and welcome sensation of my balls coming to the boil. “Gemma, it’s starting,” I gasped, “I’m going to cum, I’M CUMMING, I’M CUMMING!”

The young girl squealed excitedly as my spunk burst forth, spurting up between her fingers. “Oooh, that’s lots!” she giggled. As her hand movement slowed to a halt, my cock started to soften; I was drained!

“Where the fuck did you learn to do that, Gemma?” I gasped.

“I’m not allowed to say,” she replied as she wiped her sperm-covered hand on my shirt. “Look, I’d better go now, before your wife comes home and catches us.”

She kissed me on the cheek and got up. I managed to get myself together enough to stand up and do my trousers up again, albeit with somewhat shaky fingers.  I followed her down the side of the house. When we got to the front she looked at me quizzically. “We’ve just done that and I don’t even know your first name,“ she said.

“It’s Richard,” I replied. “Gemma, that was awesome. That’s quite a talent you have.”

“I knew you’d like it,” she ventured. We stood for a moment just looking at each other, neither of us knowing what to do or say next. I broke the silence. “Look, Gemma, can I – can we – maybe……..”

A lovely smile spread across her face. “See each other again? I hoped you’d want to. I don’t know when your wife’ll be out, though. Maybe you could take me out in your car, that’d be nice.”

At the thought of getting to grips with this hot little nymph on the back seat of my car in a secluded countryside spot, my cock gave a little start. “Sounds good to me,” I replied. “What are you doing on Saturday morning?”

“Nothing,” she said. Her face brightened up again. “But I’ve just thought – my mum works on Saturdays, I’ll be alone in the house. You could come round if you like.”

Wow, even better than in the car, I thought. “Are you sure that’d be alright? What sort of time?”

“She goes to work about half-past eight,” replied Gemma. “I’m not very good at getting up early, so about ten? If something goes wrong and she doesn’t go to work I’ll leave my bike parked outside the front door, so you’ll know. 36 The Chantry.”

I chuckled inwardly. She was clearly serious about this! And, I must admit, so was I. The thought of getting to further grips with this willing and precocious 11-year old, maybe even fucking her, dispelled all rational thought about morality or legality.

She quickly looked all around, and then leaned up and kissed me. “I want to do lots with you, I know how to do it – see you Saturday. Number 36.” she murmured. And then she was gone.

And hardly a moment too soon; five minutes later my wife Carol returned. Over the next three days until the weekend I couldn’t get the 11-year old out of my mind; hardly surprising, really. My cock would start to fill just at the memory of her small hand bringing me to orgasm, and I was onto my wife as soon as we got into bed each night (and in the morning as well!). I’m almost ashamed to say that a couple of times, as I shot into Carol, I closed my eyes and imagined it as being Gemma’s heaving belly I was filling. The thought was exquisite!

Saturday morning seemed like it would never come, but of course it did. I told Carol I was going to the gym (which I suppose wasn’t entirely untruthful!). As part of the subterfuge I took my bag with shorts and vest and shower-gear, and with mounting excitement walked round to Gemma’s address. But on the way I called in at the gym, signed in as a precaution, but slipped out unnoticed again almost straightaway.

As I approached number 36 I half-expected to see a bike propped up by the front door. But my heart (and cock!) leapt when I saw it wasn’t. I looked round quickly to make sure no-one was watching, went quickly up to the door and knocked. At first nothing happened, and I momentarily wondered whether I’d got the right day. Then I heard the sound of feet rushing down the stairs; the door opened, and there was young Gemma in her nightie, bleary-eyed with her shoulder-length blonde hair all over the place.

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” she blurted out. “I’ve overslept. Quick, get in!” She almost pulled me inside, and closed the door. I bent down and kissed her. “Started to wonder if I’d got the right day,” I told her.

“Come on, let’s go up to my bedroom!” she said, excitedly. As I followed her up the stairs I marvelled at her firm young bottom, fully visible below the short nightie. She led me into her bedroom, quickly pulled off her nightie and jumped into bed before I’d time to fully take in the beauty of her young girl nakedness. “Come on, then, get in!” she exclaimed.

I quickly kicked off my shoes and moved to get in with her. “No, silly!” she giggled. “With no clothes on!”

‘Hell’s Bells, Richard!’ I thought; ‘of course with no clothes on! Calm down, calm down!’ As I quickly undressed, Gemma watched me with an impish smile on her face. As soon as I was naked she pulled back the duvet and beckoned me in. In just a few seconds our naked bodies were cosily snuggled up against each other in the single bed. I looked at her shining morning face, her eyes big with excitement, and kissed her. “Mmm, Gemma,” I murmured, “I can’t believe this is happening. Are you sure it’s not a dream?”

She gave me a bewildered look. Her hand went straight down to my erection. “Well, if it was a dream I wouldn’t be able to feel this, would I? And you wouldn’t be able to feel………..this.” She took my hand and drew it down to that sacred place between her legs, opening them a little as she did so.

I hadn’t had any pre-conceived idea as to how things would go, but my head was almost spinning with how fast the situation was developing. ‘Just go with it, you idiot,’ I told myself. Or rather, my now extremely hard cock told me. Gemma kissed me. “Rub me down there, I like that,” she murmured, her lips never leaving mine.

‘Oh, Lord,’ I thought as my finger started to obey,’ who else rubs her down there?’ The heady indefinable odour of a young girl in heat spurred me on, and with my palm covering her smooth hairless cunt, my middle finger soon opened her up. Gemma gasped as I drew moisture up from her opening to lubricate her 11-year old slit, and when I reached the tiny clitoris that I could feel, her tongue delved into my mouth. I concentrated on that lovely button, and within a few seconds she was panting and pressing her cunt into my hand to increase the sensations that were firing her sex-hormones into overdrive.

As we excitedly masturbated each other, I knew there was only going to be one end to this, and so it proved. When I slipped my finger into her slippery opening and started to move it in and out, she gripped my prick harder and gasped “This – I want this in me; please do it to me, right now!”

Well, I’d have had to have been a saint to turn her down, and while I don’t consider myself a bad person, I’m certainly no saint! In one swift movement I was between her widely-splayed legs, holding my knob in position at the luscious entrance to her extremely-jailbait body. For a very brief moment, though, I suddenly found myself looking at a vulnerable young girl that I really shouldn’t be doing anything like this with. But it’s said that a standing cock has no conscience, and in any case, any thought of morality was immediately dispelled with her words of “Put it in – go, on, put it in!” as I started to work my cock into her. In reality, her lust-filled face and panting as I filled her smooth  belly more and more made it quite clear to me that she wanted this as much as I did, maybe even more. I didn’t even stop to wonder how an 11-year old had got to be so sexually capable.

We didn’t speak as our rutting got more and more frenzied; we didn’t need to. Gemma was eagerly wriggling her hips against me as much as I was pounding her cunt, both of us trying for maximum penetration. I’m only of average length, about 6 inches, but even so, for an 11-year old to be able to take the lot inside her, as she was enthusiastically doing, was quite something. Her eyes were closed as I fucked her, her face covered in a thin film of perspiration, her mouth open, her shoulder-length blonde hair in complete disarray on the pillow. She almost seemed to be in a different place in her mind, and when she whispered, almost to herself, “Da……Daddy, Oh Daddy!” I realized not only where she was but also where she was coming from. But the thought in no way diminished my lust for her; in fact, the sudden thought that she could be being fucked (or had been fucked) by her father added a strange new level of eroticism for me.

I was never going to be able to make this deliciously illegal coupling last very long, much as I would have liked to. The slipperiness of her self-lubricated moist cunt soon stirred my balls into action, and my movement became more ragged as the wonderful familiar feeling took hold. But I suddenly thought ‘Hell’s Bells, I can’t get her pregnant!’, and just before the first spurt reached the top, jerked my cock out. As I pulsed spunk out all over her tummy, Gemma’s blue eyes opened in surprise.

“Why did you do that?” she gasped.

“Oh, Gemma!” I panted, as I half-collapsed onto her. “I don’t want to get you pregnant, do I?”

She put her arms around my neck and pulled me down onto her. “You’re so silly; I can’t get pregnant – I haven’t started having periods yet.”

I looked at her in amazement. It had never even occurred to me that a girl clearly so sexually capable hadn’t even reached puberty. “Really? You’re not kidding me?”

Gemma giggled her young-girl giggle, a turn-on in itself. “Yeah, really. Mum thinks I soon will, though, all the signs are there, she says.”

I slid myself off her, onto my back. There was a box of tissues on her bedside table; I pulled out a handful and proceeded to wipe up the lovely mess I’d made. Gemma watched with a smile on her face. “So next time you can cum inside me, can’t you?”

Wow! So she wanted at least a next time, then. Not half as much as I did in that moment, though, at the thought of actually shooting inside such a hot and capable pre-pubescent 11-year old girl and filling her belly with my semen.

We cuddled and dozed in post-orgasmic bliss for a while. Gradually I returned to full sensibility, and recalled the reference to her father she’d made as I’d fucked her. I just had to know more, just had to.

“Gemma,” I queried, “you clearly know all about sex and making love; how did you learn all that?”

A frown came over her sweet face. “I can’t tell you…….I’m not allowed to say,”

“You mentioned your Dad while we were doing it; has he got something to do with it?”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no, I didn’t, did I? I didn’t mean to.”

I persisted. “Did it feel like it was your Dad doing it to you?”

Gemma said nothing for about half a minute, and then spoke. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you, then.” She looked straight into my eyes. “But only if you promise never, never to tell.”

“Of course I promise, sweetheart; I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble.” Or, I thought grimly, to get myself arrested.

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

I made the sign of the cross across my chest. “And hope to die!”

There was silence. ‘Don’t press her’ I thought. ‘If she’s going to tell you, let her do it in her own way and her own time.’ Eventually she spoke.

“Dad and me used to do kissing and cuddling, as far back as I remember. And then it got to feeling and rubbing as well. And then even more.”

“You mean actually doing it?” I prompted. “Like we just did?”

She nodded. “When did you first do it?” I asked, trying desperately to sound as cool as I could. “You know, him fucking you?”

“About a year ago.” She hesitated for a moment, then continued. “Funny, I can’t really remember how it happened, it was just that suddenly we were doing it. And then it just sort of carried on, we both liked it so much.”

“I’m not surprised” I smiled. “Is he still fucking you?”

A look of sorrow appeared. “He’s not here at the moment. One day two people came round to speak to Mum. They spoke to her, and then Mum came out into the garden where I was playing with my sister and said they wanted to speak to me, but that I absolutely wasn’t to tell them anything about doing sex stuff, and to just deny it if they tried to make me say I had.”

“Where were they from, then?”

“She told me later they were from Social Service, whatever that is. Apparently my teacher thought something might have been going on, and reported it.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I did what Mum said, and told them that there was nothing going on and that I didn’t know what they were talking about. I don’t know if they believed me or not, but eventually they left.”

“Did your Mum know about you and Dad, then?”

A smile lit up her face. “Oh, yes!” she giggled. “She used to take photos of us doing it, you know, doing sex stuff. And sometimes she’d join in.”

My cock was seriously stirring again at the picture Gemma was painting. “What happened, then? What about your Dad?”

“Well,” she continued. “We never heard any more. But Dad got really worried; he told me that he could go to prison for what him and me had been doing, if it was found out. He works in the oil industry, and thought he needed to get out of the way for a bit, so fixed up to work in Saudi Arabia for a year. That was 6 months ago.”

 I kissed her. “So today was your first time since he went, then?”

“Well, of course it was, silly!” Gemma smiled again. ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ I thought, ‘how her face lights up when she smiles!’ “And you did it to me just like he used to do, just the same!”

I smiled back. “So that’s why you said his name, then. Did you imagine it was him fucking you?”

“No, of course not………….well, I don’t know, really. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

I kissed my young lover again. “No, of course not. It was fantastic, Gemma, the best feeling ever!”

Once again her face lit up. “It’d have been even better if you’d have cum inside me! You will next time, won’t you?”

‘Too bloody right I will!’ I thought. “If you want me to, of course I will,” I replied. “Look, you said your Mum took photos. Any chance of us looking at them?”

“They’re on the laptop,” she replied. “I can go and get it if you like, and we can look at them in bed!” I sensed a note of excitement in her voice at the notion of she and I being naked in bed together, looking at photos of her Dad fucking her, and everything else they did.

“Yeah, why not?” I said, trying hard to sound nonchalant about looking at photos of a 10- or 11-year old girl having sex with her father, with the girl herself lying naked next to me. Gemma scurried downstairs and hurried back up with the laptop, mouse and power-lead. Within a few minutes it was connected and turned on (as were both of us; pun intended!).

“You do it,” she instructed. “I’ll tell you where the photos are. Go to ‘Pictures’ first.”

I clicked on ‘Pictures’, and several folders appeared. “Now ‘Daughter Education’”, she said.

I suppressed a smile, and clicked as instructed. A box opened up requiring a password to be entered. Gemma spelt it out; “H-A-P-P-Y-D-A-Y-S”. “Oh, nice one!” I laughed as I typed it out and pressed ‘Enter’. The file opened up.

The photos were simply a series of numbers, starting at 1. “Go on,“ she said excitedly. “Get the first one up!”

I did as I was told. The photo came into view; it showed Gemma and her dad on the sofa, both naked. He was sitting and she was kneeling beside him; their mouths were looked in a kiss and she had one small hand wrapped firmly around his cock. ‘Mmm,’ I thought as I remembered what she’d said in my garden when she first saw mine. ‘She was right, it is very much like mine.’

“Go on,” she urged. “Keep on clicking, so we can see them all. I like looking at them; sometimes me and Mum look at them together, and then do kissing and feeling and sucking and licking together afterwards.” I was building up a delicious picture of a horny mother in my mind, and wondered if I’d get to see what she actually looked like.

I started to work our way through the pictures, which I can only describe as being a complete eye-opener to me. Within a few shots Gemma was being penetrated in the photos. I’d seen porn before, of course, but never with an underage girl. I’m almost ashamed to say that it immediately stimulated me more than anything else I’d ever seen.

“That’s my favourite position!” she said excitedly, as a shot appeared of her kneeling on the sofa but still fairly upright, with her dad’s cock buried in her from behind. His hand was around her front, placed firmly between her open legs.

“He rubs my button nicely while he does it to me like that,” she explained. “Gives me a lovely feeling.” The lewd sights in front of me rapidly gave me a renewed hard-on, which got even harder when I felt her hand grasp it and start to gently wank it. “Go on, keep going !” she exclaimed.

I won’t bore readers with detailed descriptions of every shot. Suffice to say that they showed Gemma sucking her dad’s cock (she looked to be surprisingly expert for an 11-year old!), lying back with her widely-splayed legs and having her cunt licked (and in some of the views it was her mother, quite attractive, doing the licking), and being fucked in a variety of positions. My favourite was a shot of her wearing only white socks, on her knees, sucking her standing dad’s cock, with her discarded school uniform thrown on the sofa. She’d clearly just got home from school.

But suddenly a photo of the 11-year old appeared of her smilingly holding a stiff cock in each hand.  “Bloody hell, Gemma!” I exclaimed. “Who’s the other one?”

“Oh, sorry,” she replied, “I forgot to say. That’s my granddad. Dad said he was lonely after my Nan died, and it would make him feel better if I did it with him, as well.”

I supressed a chuckle. “I’ll bet it did, too!” I carried on clicking; more photos appeared of Gemma either having sex with her granddad alone, or with the two men together. Spit-roasting her seemed to be a popular activity!

“So are you still doing it with him, then?” I queried.

“No – everyone thought it safest for him to stop, too, and to keep away from the house, just in case. He lives about twenty miles away.”

“No wonder you were frustrated, then, sweetheart, stopping dead from being regularly fucked by two men.”

Gemma took a sharp breath in. “Oh, it makes me feel funny when you talk to me like that and use words like that!” Her hand continued its ministration of my prick, which was now almost hurting, it was so hard. As we continued the lewd viewing, I noticed that in most of the shots of Gemma sucking her granddad’s cock, she had red lipstick on, which the photos showed as leaving a red ring around it at the limit of impalement. I couldn’t help noticing how deep that impalement was!

“Mmm,” I said to her. “I see where the lipstick thing comes from now.”

“Yeah – granddad liked me to wear lipstick when I took his cock in my mouth, coz my Nan used to. Granddad said he loved to see the red ring a long way down it!”

I laughed. “I’ll bet he did – any man would!”

“I got to like wearing lipstick, so I often do. Mum puts it on best. I wish they’d let me wear it in school, though.” She looked up at me. “Would you like me to put some on and do it to you?”

‘Oh, God!’ I thought, ‘this is one glorious surprise after another.’ “Oh, Gemma, yes, of course I would!”

She reached over and pulled open the drawer of her bedside table, and took out a lipstick and folding mirror. Within a minute her lips were a bright red, a little smeared because of putting it on so hurriedly, but gorgeously sexy. She looked like a wanton whore!

I pushed the laptop to one side to give Gemma free access to my cock with her mouth. She leaned over and licked my knob-head a couple of times. She turned her head and looked impishly up at me, then turned back and slowly and sweetly slipped her lipstick-covered lips down over my shaft as she took me into her warm wet mouth.

I gasped at the fantastic sensation of being sucked off by such a fantastic little girl; I wouldn’t have thought it possible for an 11-year old to have the cocksucking skill that she was demonstrating.  As she bobbed her head up and down I could feel her tongue working on me inside her mouth, and within a very short time I was panting and moaning as the delicious feelings coursed through me. A lovely red ring of lipstick appeared halfway down my cock!

“Gemma, Gemma!” I blurted out. “You’re going to make me cum again – do you want me to cum in your mouth?” 

She jerked her mouth off. “No, no! Inside me – cum inside me!”

I swiftly put the laptop on the floor and got between Gemma’s legs again as she opened them for me a second time. As I’d been close to spurting when she pulled her mouth off my cock I knew that I’d be lucky to get more than a minute inside her again before cumming, and so it proved. The young girl squealed with delight as I filled her sweet belly with my sperm before collapsing onto her.

Once again, we just lay there cuddling as we recovered. Gemma had an appealing young-girl scent about her, made even more stimulating with the addition of the unmistakeable odour of sex. But the spell was eventually broken by her opening her eyes, looking at the clock on her bedside table and saying “You’ll have to go soon; Mum’ll be home in half-an-hour, she only works a half-day on Saturdays.”

I kissed her, tenderly and lovingly. “Gemma, thank you so much for a fantastic morning. You’re a lovely, lovely girl, and I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

Her face lit up as she giggled “Feels funny, you saying ‘thank you’,” she said. “It was lovely, just like before Dad went away!”

We quickly got up and dressed. As we went to go down the stairs I noticed another bedroom with the door open and with what looked like little girl stuff in it, you know, cuddly toys on the bed, girlie-motif wallpaper etc.. “Whose room is that, Gemma?” I asked as we went downstairs.

“That’s my sister’s, she’s six,” she replied. “Mum takes her round to my other Nan and Granddad’s when she works on Saturdays. But she thinks I’m alright on my own here.”

I laughed. “And you certainly are, babe, you certainly are!”

Just inside the front door Gemma stood up on tiptoe and kissed me. “You can……you can come round again next Saturday, if you like. If you want to, that is.”

If I want to, indeed! “Oh, Gemma, now who’s silly – of course I want to!” Her face lit up yet again at my words. “I’ll see you next Saturday. And don’t forget to wave when you pass my house, if you see me at the window!”

And then I was gone. For the rest of the day I was in something of a daze, wondering if it had all been a dream, the wet dream to end all wet dreams. But the proof of the reality of what had happened was in the red lipstick-ring around my cock, which I deliberately refrained from washing until taking a bath in the evening, to allow myself the pleasure of furtively glancing at it every now and again as a lovely reminder of the morning’s events.

It’s now a fortnight later, and both Saturday mornings have been spent in Gemma’s bed, in her arms, in her cunt, in her mouth. I can’t put into words my feelings for the girl, so young at just 11 yet so willing to give herself to me, twenty years older. I don’t know whether it’s love or lust – almost certainly a combination of both.

And I know even less about the future for us. Will her Dad come back? Would that be the end for us if he does? Will she tire of me before then? (I certainly won’t tire of her!). Will her Mum or Carol find out about us, and if either does, am I done for? All I do know is that this wonderfully hot young girl has taken me over completely, and to stop of my own volition would be impossible.

………………………………………………………………….

I intend to write a continuation of this sweet tale, and would welcome suggestions from readers as to how they would like to see things pan out. Please e-mail any thoughts about this, and feedback, to chjp1874@gmail.com