Chapter 3
A Slow Day for Harry
by knight_b_4@hotmail.com
Story codes: Mff, hum, les, rom, preg
Author’s Note:  This story involves sexual activity between a variety of people, some of whom are underage. If it is illegal in your jurisdiction to read about such things, please delete this story immediately. (And know that you have my sympathies for living in such a repressive atmosphere.) This story is entirely a work of fiction; none of the events described herein actually took place (at least not to the author’s knowledge). The author does not condone sexual activity with minors, although he does recommend most of the following if done with a consenting adult.
This story may be posted with no changes or deletions on a free site, or the free area of a commercial site. The work is copyright 2012 by the author, and all rights are reserved.
I woke up still smiling, and still clutching Christie’s panties. They surprised the hell out of me, in fact; still groggy and forgetting they were there, I brought my hand up to wipe the sleep out of my eyes when this green thing dropped onto my face. I jumped, then grabbed them off my face and looked at them, remembered what they were, and yesterday came back to me in a rush.
So it had really happened. I’d met a cute and sexy pregnant little girl and had some really great sex with her- in front of witnesses. I was so fucked, and not in a good way. It’d just be a matter of time before the cops were at my door, and I’d never again see daylight that wasn’t striped by passing through steel bars. “Don’t drop the soap” passed absurdly through my mind.
I wake up hard in the morning. (Yeah, yeah, I know, all guys do. I meant that it takes me at least an hour and two cups of coffee before I really start getting any higher brain function again.) This morning, though, my mind was already creaking into action, spurred on by green panties and a pair of green eyes.
Did I really regret yesterday? Did I really think Christie, or Lily, or Rose, or Charlene was going to turn me in? My heart started beating a little slower as I realized that no, they probably wouldn’t. I probably wasn’t going to jail, at least not yet, so I might as well get out of bed and get started with the day.
My hard cock pointed me to the bathroom and didn’t go down much after I pissed. “Make yourself useful then,” I thought, and hung Christie’s panties from it; the sight made me chuckle. I stumbled into the kitchen, still naked and with a green thong hanging absurdly from my dick, and started coffee. While it brewed, I wandered into the living room, set the panties on my desk and turned on my computer. I went back to the kitchen while it booted and Traveler jumped on the counter for her morning scratch. I scratched her behind the ears for a few minutes while the coffee finished. (I swear that’s the only reason cats tolerate humans- they can’t scratch themselves behind the ears, or at least not as well as us two-legses can. Well, that, and the fact they can’t use can openers.)
When the coffee was done, and Traveler satisfied, I went back and sat at the computer. I moved the thong between the keyboard and monitor so I had a place to set my cup, then brought up my email program, the start of my morning routine.
I half hoped I’d have a message from Christie, but I didn’t really expect one so I wasn’t too disappointed when there wasn’t. Most of it was the usual collection of spam- penny stocks “about to soar through the roof,” herbal remedies more likely to poison you than cure you, and lots and lots of “the latest miracle to make you longer, make you harder, increase your volume of ejaculate.” Yeah, well I’d found a better way to be longer, harder and squirtier (squirtier? if it’s not a word, it should be), and her name was Christie.
Sighing, I deleted all the junk and looked at the few that were worth keeping. 
One of my brother’s kids had broken his leg in football, and likely wouldn’t ever play again. Jim Jr. was about Christie’s age (Can you do anything without thinking about her?) (Are you back again? Go away.), and had always been a sports nut. This was going to be tough on him, and I wrote a long note back to Jim, expressing sympathy and telling him to give Katie (his wife) and all the kids a big hug from Uncle Harry. I brought up my “To Do” list and added a note to go online and find a nice present for Jim Jr. Was he still into the Harry Potter stuff? I remembered seeing somewhere online a replica of Lucius Malfoy’s cane. Jim would probably think that was cool, and it might come in handy when he got off the crutches but still needed a little help walking. I added a note to look for it later.
There was a note from one of my current clients with changes she wanted in her ad brochure, “just a few little things.” This was going to be the third time I’d had to dump an almost complete brochure and start from scratch for that ditzy bitch. She was going to pay for it big time when I sent the bill, and I vowed to never accept work from her again; I don’t need this kind of shit.
A few more notes from clients and friends, which I took time to answer, stopping a couple of times to refill my cup, and my email was done. It was a little after nine o’clock by the time I finished and I had just clicked on “Send” when the doorbell rang.
Panic time. The cops were here. I was fucked.
I stuffed Christie’s panties into a drawer, then headed for the front door before I remembered I was still naked. As I ran into my bedroom for my robe, I thought, “Shit! I didn’t even wash up last night. DNA evidence still on my cock. I’m sooo screwed.” Heart pounding, hand shaking, I cinched the belt around my waist and opened the door.
“You OK, Harry?” asked Mr. Towsley, the retiree who lived next door. “You look a bit shaky this morning.” Relief, blessed relief flooded through me.
“No, I’m fine, Mr. T, just a bit slow waking up this morning. Come in for some coffee?” I opened the screen door and he walked in, a FedEx envelope in one hand.
“Can’t this morning, Harry, I was just about to take Sheila to her arthritis doctor. You weren’t home yesterday afternoon, so the FedEx lady left this with me. Thought I’d bring it over before we left, in case it was something important.” He handed me the envelope and I looked at the return address on it.
“Thanks, Mr. T, I appreciate it. I’ve been waiting on this so I could finish up a project. If you feel like it when you get back, come on over. I’m planning on heading down to the bakery in a little while and getting some of those molasses cookies you like so much.” He smiled.
“Thanks, but you know Sheila keeps fussing at me about my weight.” He patted his stomach. “But I might sneak over for just one when she takes her nap. You take care, Harry, and maybe I’ll see you later.”
After he left, and my heart quit racing, I sat back down at my desk to get some work done. Glancing down, I noticed the drawer was still slightly open, so I pulled it out, retrieved Christie’s panties, and hung them from my copy holder. (Got yourself a new talisman, Harry? Going to carry them with you wherever you go?)  (Fuck off.) Traveler jumped in my lap, sniffed Christie’s thong, wrinkled her nose and got down. Guess she doesn’t like the smell of cum and pussy juice.
The next couple of hours went by pretty fast, and I got a fair amount of work out of the way. The FedEx envelope held a CD with some files I needed, so I finished and printed the client’s annual report. I’d get these in the mail today, and if the client approved it, this one was done. I finished up a second project, made minor progress on a couple more, and finally decided it was time to get dressed and run a few errands (including that trip to the bakery).
Shower first, though. I probably still smelled “like a beat-off booth at the Pussycat Theatre,” since I hadn’t showered before bed. I picked up Christie’s thong, and headed into the bathroom. (You are getting obsessed with that thing, aren’t you?) (I just want to clean it up for her, in case she wants it back.)
The heat from the shower felt good, and yes, I did take the thong in with me. I held it under the flow, watching as the cum-stiffened material slowly softened. Maybe I could get her to wear them again for a while, put her scent back on them, and then give them back. I thought about that sweet-tasting pussy they’d molded themselves to, thought about putting them on her, and taking them off again.
Mr. Happy rose up hard and firm, and I started stroking my cock, all the while staring at Christie’s panties and rolling them around in my hand. They were soaking wet, and I imagined what it would be like to have them this wet from her juices instead of the shower. Soaping up my hand, I ran it up and down my shaft, imagining it was back inside Christie’s tight pussy. Bringing my hand out to the head, I twisted it around and around, rubbing the soft underspot and feeling my balls get tighter and tighter. I remembered my mouth on Christie’s clit, Lily’s mouth on my cock, that huge dildo ramming into Rose’s ass, the other end slipping out of Lily’s pussy, the smooth chocolate hairlessness of Charlene.
Back to full stroke now, up and down my cock, from the base to the head and back again, faster and faster, rubbing the panties on my balls, squeezing my balls the way Christie’s cunt squeezed my cock, and I came hard, cum splattering the back wall of the shower. Knees shaking, I staggered and leaned against the wall, thoroughly drained… and just barely satisfied.
When I could move again, I turned off the shower and wrung the thong out as best I could. Stepping out of the shower, I dried off and got dressed, dried my hair and, on a whim, tried drying her panties with the hair dryer. It didn’t work very well, so I left them there spread out on the counter.
The rest of the day was average and dull. I dropped the finished projects in the mail, resisted the urge to go to the mall, ran to the bakery, resisted the urge to drive around the area where I’d dropped her off just to see if maybe she was out, did a little grocery shopping- all the dull normal stuff to keep hearth and home together.
When I got back, it was mid-afternoon. Traveler met me at the door, complaining loudly that I hadn’t put down fresh food and water this morning. I put away the groceries and fed the cat, then casually strolled (OK, ran) to the computer to check my email, hoping. More spam, nothing from Christie. Sighing, I did a little more work, checked my email, fixed and ate dinner (in front of the computer, while checking my email), washed the dishes and checked my email. (Obsessive-compulsive now.) (Piss off.)
I paid a few bills online, resisted the urge to check my email, wrote out checks for the bills that couldn’t be done electronically, resisted the urge to check my email, walked down to the corner mailbox, came back home and went to the bathroom. Christie’s thong was still on the counter, still not quite dry. After relieving myself, I used the hair dryer on it again, and when it was dry enough, took it back to the computer and hung it on my copy holder again.
Remembering Jim Jr., I brought up Google and searched for that Malfoy cane. I found three of them, all at ridiculous prices, and ordered the cheapest one. I had it shipped to me, although I wanted to ship it direct to him. It’s easier that way; when the shipping address doesn’t match the credit card address, these places think you’ve stolen the number and there’s a big hassle to get it done. How much could shipping on a cane cost? ($19.95, according to the site I ordered it from, but that included their handling fee.)
My flat-screen monitor has a connection on the back that lets you plug in cable TV, so I brought up my TV program and started flipping through channels while Traveler jumped in my lap and settled in. There was absolutely nothing good on; stupid sitcoms (is there a sitcom that isn’t?), dull movies, 30-year-old shows that weren’t that funny when they were new and now just looked dated and silly, Cheers. I stopped on that one; why didn’t anyone make anything like Cheers today? Good writing, snappy dialogue, just pure fun. My luck, I came in on the end of it, and 10 minutes later it was over, to be replaced by Gilligan’s Island. I shut the program down as quickly as I could; I’d rather sit right back and hear nothing than listen to that drivel.
Sighing, I walked over to the bookcase and looked through my DVD collection. Not in the mood for that, nor that, watched that a few days ago, was sorry I’d ever bought that, not in the mood for that… nothing there, either. Back to the computer, where I finally relented and checked my email (acknowledgment of my order and more spam).
Sighing again, I decided to cruise the newsgroups. (You think looking at naked young girls will make you think less of Christie? You’re mad.) (No, but I’m getting mad at you.) I shut my computer down and pulled the removable hard drive which had all my work on it. Out of the bottom drawer of my desk came my porn drive and I popped it in and rebooted the machine. While I waited for everything to load, I forced an annoyed cat off my lap then went into the kitchen and heated up some milk in a coffee cup. When the timer dinged, I poured in some hot chocolate mix and topped it off with a little extra chocolate syrup (what can I say- I like my hot chocolate rich) and was stirring it all together when I sat back down. 
I popped up the newsreader, told it to get new headers in my favorite groups and took a sip while waiting, almost burning my lips. (Considering I have a hot chocolate nearly every night before bed, you’d think I’d either learn to heat it for less time or let it sit longer to cool.) The first group was mostly spam, junk, or pictures I already had. I deleted most of those headers, selected a sampling of the more promising-looking ones that were left and moved to the next group while they downloaded. Same thing there, and I switched back to the first group while the second was sampling.
The first picture in the list was titled, “Hot teanie orgie!!!!!” Why did so many newsgroup posters pretend to be illiterate? Surely anyone stupid enough to spell that badly would’ve been busted a long time ago, just because they were that stupid. I double-clicked on it, and my picture program popped open. I sipped a little more hot chocolate while waiting for the program to load all its bits and pieces and actually open the picture.
When the picture popped up, it looked like a teen party where spin the bottle picked a partner for you to fuck. There were a couple of hot young girls in the foreground, one with a dick in her ass and the other with one in her mouth, and a bunch of other couples (including one lez couple) fucking and sucking in the background. Most appeared to be midteens or older, although the girl in front with the dick in her mouth might’ve been 13 or 14.
The background was a bit dark, so I clicked on the button to enhance the picture, and after working its magic for a few seconds, the program brought out details I couldn’t see before. Some of the girls in back were pretty cute, including a girl with black hair and a rather nice-looking butt. Wait a minute. I looked closer; was that Lily? I grinned at that; I could see Lily in a group orgy like that, although I’d have thought her more likely to be right up front, mugging for the camera. I studied it for a bit and decided it wasn’t her; just a chance resemblance. (Or maybe you were hoping if that was Lily, you might find Christie too?)
It was a pretty hot picture, so I saved it and brought up the next one, “Blonde youngie with bare pussy.” She was neither blonde nor young, and I couldn’t tell about her pussy because some guy’s face was buried in it. It was annoying, but that was Usenet- “truth in message headers” was just a dream. I deleted it and brought up the next one.
This one hit me right in the groin, and my dick, already stirring, popped to full attention.
It was a young girl, bent over with her ass to the camera, looking back over her shoulder, dripping wet hairless snatch gaping open, just begging for a hard dick. It was an unpregnant Christie. No, it wasn’t really, but this girl’s body looked so much like hers, down to the long auburn hair and sparkling green eyes that I ached to reach out and touch her. I saved the picture immediately, then just sat there and looked at it for a while. I reached out and took Christie’s thong off the copy holder and held it in my hand while I looked at this girl and thought about Christie.
Just what was going on here? What was there about this girl that attracted me? I mean, she’s fucking 13. (No, you’re fucking 13. She’s fucking 46.) We had a good time talking, though. She’s bright, obviously reads a lot, has a good sense of humor (which means she laughs at your jokes), is fun to be around even when we’re fully dressed, and seems to be one of the most basically decent people I’ve met in a while. (Decent? Harry, she fucks strangers she’s just met.) (Wrong kind of decent. She might fuck you, but she won’t fuck you over.)
I’m not sure how long I sat there, staring and thinking, but when I finally shook myself and came back to reality, it was nearing midnight. I looked at the clock, looked at the picture, looked at Christie’s thong.
“OK,” I said aloud, “this is getting fucking ridiculous.”
I shoved the panties into a drawer, shut down the computer and went to the bathroom. While washing up, I looked at myself in the mirror.
“You’re 46 years old. She’s 13. She’s pregnant. She met you in a bookstore and you were cumming on her less than half an hour later. She likes to fuck, guys and gals, and you’ll be lucky if you don’t have a disease. She’s apparently fucked a lot of people, and she’ll probably fuck a lot more. Strangers. Random strangers. She watched her friend banging homeless bums. She’s not interested in you, Harry Potter, just your dick, and that for maybe one or two more times before she gets bored and finds some other guy with a bigger dick or more stamina. Knock it off.”
That said, I shut off the light and headed for my bedroom.
And went back to the living room, pulled her thong out of the drawer, and laid it on the spare pillow before I fell into a troubled sleep.