
Photoplay – 7

by Feather Touch


      Jans had remained hunched over his little bicyclist friend for the first part of his stories, then, realizing from her avid attention to his narrative of his little cousin Mikey and his friend Craig, student of Miss Williams, that he had something of an epic on his hands, he’d interrupted himself by cumming hard and heavily between the silken, little-girl thighs of his pretty new friend.  They’d retreated to a bed of ferns where they’d continued, the male licking the girl clean and kissing her repeatedly as she asked for more details.  Her enthusiastic response had admittedly led him somewhat into the land of fantasy and he’d fabricated a bit as he went along, twice placing his pixie back on the mossy log and thrusting between her legs, giving the child gentle cums before he again tensed over her and splattered the naked young beauty with his hot teen seed.  The hours had crept by as perfectly as a Saturday afternoon could yield them, the bugs for the most part left them alone, and it was turning evening when the tall male and the happy, satiated girl emerged from the woods.  Their hands squeezed as Electra retrieved her pistol from the bushes and tucked it back out of sight in her pack.  Both knew they’d had the date of a lifetime and that their lives would take them in different directions, far richer for their hours outside the lines.
      
      Likewise, the day was waning and, having taken sufficient video of all three histories I’d parked the camera after snapping a number of stills.  Renaldo had held up magnificently for a fourteen year old, his cousins obviously enthralled at how big and hard he’d stayed, though hours had transpired.  Electra, the young champion of the three literate and thoroughly engaging beauties, now became aggressive with me.  My duties and her stories over, she reached for my hand and coaxed me down next to her, lying me on my back, stripping off my briefs, then her training bra and panties, then lying down on me with her smooth back against my chest.  She arched and my hands went to her flanks, slowly working low across her pretty tummy, then up over her chest and tiny breasts.  She felt sleek and hot, her birdlike torso heaving under my caresses.  She lay inert for several minutes as Renaldo and Madonna huddled over us, their fingers roaming over both the girl and me as they bent over us to kiss each other time and again.  Renaldo, on our left, thrust his huge penis against the chest of his young cousin and I reached across with my right hand to spread his seminal fluid over his swollen, purple glans and the child’s heaving ribs.  For a minute or two he tensed, then Electra spoke up.
      
      “I forgot party of my story,” she whispered.  We all looked at each other.  Everything was perfect, and the pixie told the most wonderful tales… and nodded.  She smiled happily, rolling quickly over to kiss me on the lips.  That lasted long enough for Renaldo and Madonna to get, so to speak, one last taste of each other, before Electra again wriggled on her back, guiding my right hand high between her silky young legs, and began filling in the missing chapter of her account of the experiences of others.  
      
      “It was the next morning at LoveLess,” she said, “you remember, the special resort where the lesser get loved, even if they can’t vote moron one out of office.”  Needless to say, we all did remember, so she picked up the story of Andrew and Craig without further ado.
      
      There was a soft knock on the door.  It was eight in the morning, the occupants had slept like logs since midnight, and Andrew jumped alertly to the entrance, dressed in a terry robe.  A staff member entered.  He came right to the point.
      
      “My name is George Kitrick,” he said, “and we have an emergency situation.  It’s not a fire or anything effecting you, and it’s a little complicated, so if I can…”
      “Go right ahead,” the executive said, nodding to a chair.
      “Thanks,” the bellboy said, “this happens eight or ten times a year.  The management deals with two psychiatrists in the area, both of whom are the first to see police cases in their districts.  Both these doctors also believe in an alternative therapy for rape victims.  Immersion.  The girls – once in awhile it’s a boy, but this time a ten year old female, victim of her grandfather – are brought here sedated.  When they wake up there in an angel environment, soft light, a special heart-shaped bed with white pillow all around.  Both children and adults wearing ancient Greek costumes of tunics and skirts are lying on the pillows.  The youngest children crawl to the victim and offer her food and drink.  This goes on for maybe half an hour to an hour, then slowly older children and young teens come to talk to the girl, watch television with her, tell her her parents are waiting to see her and everything is okay outside and ask if she wants to stay.  In some cases this gentle re-entry is enough and the girl chooses to leave, but the atmosphere is especially pleasant and beautiful, so most are happy to lie back on the silk pillows and talk with the boys and girls.   Then the girls start doing the victims hair and playing around with cosmetics.  Meantime, some of the older males are moving closer to the boys and girls, flirting and acting playful with them.  It’s a dance, I suppose, with the victim calling the tune just by virtue of her response.  Gradually, the adults move against the children, first touching them playfully, then more sensually, and finally, molesting them openly in front of the victim while they slowly strip.  Then sometimes the girl is asked if she wants to play a special game, one that she can play because she’s not a little kid anymore.  So far, every one of about six hundred victims has wanted to play.  The game is called dream partner, and it’s explained that it’s to balance the nightmare she’s just been through.  When the girl nods, the adults and children arrange them in a circle around the bed, standing or sitting on pillows.  The victim is allowed to choose which she brings onto the bed.  Very childish, but very therapeutic.  After that, the remaining adults and children begin having open sex play, and the chosen male on the bed begins touching the victim.  So,” the so-called bellboy said in conclusion, “we’re asking you to volunteer.”
      
      “We’d be delighted,” Andrew said with a nod from Craig, “and, by the way, you might try the room next door; a ten year old girl with her brother and his best friend.  Her name is Mary.”
      
      “Thanks,” the visitor said, and telling the volunteers the victim would be arriving after breakfast and where to assemble, he went on about his task.
      
      “Do you suppose that really works?” Craig asked, laughing as he tried the shower door before remembering that the moral imperative part and parcel of the exotic resort included a hatred of wasting water and especially hot water. Both males slipped quickly into their khaki shorts and white shirts and headed for the dining hall.  Again the steaming cart immediately followed the headwaiter, no choice, but everything hot and savory from tortillas to the exquisite huevos rancheros.  
      “It must be so awesome to cook here,” Craig said.  “Can I help with breakfast tomorrow?”
      “From crises intervention counselor to itinerant cook,” Andrew laughed, “you’re not missing much on this trip.”
      “It’s heaven,” the boy smiled shyly in response, “I’ve never had to pinch myself in the morning before, but this morning I did, about a dozen times before I knew last night hadn’t been a dream.”
      “Well,” his friend kidded, “a lot of your dream was in the shower, but there were no damp towels in the bathroom, so what does that tell you?”
      “That I’m glad you trusted me enough to bring me here,” the eleven year old replied, “and what happened at the end, just lying comfortably side by side with my leg over yours watching you while you watched me, that was the best of all.  The fact we did wait, I guess that was most of it.”
      
      They ate in contended silence which fit the overall mood of the dinging room.  Soft conversation, soft clatter, it was all way cloud nine.  
      
      George, the bellboy, met them as they left the dining room and escorted them to the wardrobe department.  “This is where I’m going to get my dress for the tea party, too,” Craig whispered.
      “Why don’t you ask George,” Andrew said, “maybe he’d think it would be a good game to play during the therapy session.”  So the youngster did.  The bellboy made a quick call and nodded in approval, guiding the boy to the display of girls’ party clothes as Andrew busied himself with slipping into the folds of the Greek costume.  A minute later Mary, Paul and Doug arrived.  Andrew approached them and extended his hand.  “We’re your neighbors,” he said, “and I guess we were kind of creeping around in the secret hallway last night, ‘we’ being the eleven year old I’m with and myself.”
      Paul introduced his sister saying their last name was Reynolds and Doug Merchant.  They exchanged commonplaces, both teens obviously impressed their new friend was CEO of Abrams and describing the ranch they lived on – horses – hardly a ten minute drive from Craig’s house.  By accord they agreed to hang out together and chatted on for a few more minutes, the newcomers slipping modestly into their Greek costumes as they talked.  All was fitted and arranged when George reappeared guiding an apparition, a foaming blond beauty in a cloud of pink.  Andrew stared blankly for three full beats before he realized it was Craig.  Though he wasn’t much attuned to practical jokes, he did manage to keep a straight face… had he mentioned Craig’s name, or the fact he was a male?… no, he hadn’t.  
      “Crissy here,” he said, nudging the child at his flank purposefully, “wanted to wear something different because we’d planned a tea party for the day.  George said it would be okay, so she’s been plundering the place, wig to party shoes.”
      “She looks incredible,” Paul said, to “Crissy’s” dubious smile, Doug and Mary nodding as the later took her hand and led her in pursuit of George.
      “Sweetheart,” Andrew intoned as they passed their wing of the resort, “we can’t be forgetting out guests for the tea party.  Why don’t I go collect them from the room while you go with Mary.”
      “I almost did forget,” the “girl” piped sweetly, and George gave Andrew directions as he left.
      
      A few minutes later they were all gathered in the heavenly chamber getting comfortable amongst the snowy pillows and studying the sleeping girl on the heart shaped bed.  By a stroke of maximum wisdom, no staff members were present, just the ad hoc gathering of guests.  Mary took Crissy’s hand and the two girls moved to either side of the sleeping victim, both gently stroking her brow.  “It’s safe to wake up now,” Mary, more confident in her role as a girl began, “this is a special place and there are a lot of kids here to talk to, so you can open your eyes whenever you want to.”
      “He hurt me a lot,” the ten year old murmured.
      
      “But you’re okay,” Crissy said, “you can’t believe how many doctors say so.  And it’s something that happens to lots of kids.  It’s not your fault, you’re very pretty and that can cause men to lose control and do bad things they wouldn’t want to do with most other girls.  And someday it will pay off, keeping slim and taking care of yourself, it will attract the right person for the right reason, but this time you got raped.”
      “You sound nice, and your friend, too,” the girl murmured, “they gave me something and it’s hard to open my eyes, but I want to.”
      “There are a lot of us here,” Mary said, “and we’re not phony like saying we all want to be your friends, and we’re not going to murmur over you and recite incantations and burn incense, we’re just here for company and your family is – guess what – out by the pool, because this is kind of a special resort, not a clinic or hospital or anything medical or psychiatric.”
      
      With that, the two girls moved back on the bed making room for two more youngsters to come and talk with the waking princess.  In awhile there were half a dozen kids asking about her parents, her school, her pets, what she liked on television, and half a barrage of general chit-chat.  Her name was Sally Hutchins, she had two older brothers, Allan and William, her dachsund was Dofi, and by the time ten minutes had passed her eyes were open and flicking from non-professional to non-professional, not staring blankly at the ceiling in the medically approved response to being done over against her will.
      
      “Why are you dressed like that, Crissy?” she asked in her first question.
      “Because you caused a big emergency,” the child replied, “we thought you were some poor little victim retrieved from the gutter and rescued from the jaws of hell.  I had this awesome tea party planned with my daddy and two dolls I borrowed from school, but they dumped you here and asked us to see if we can do anything for the poor little victim, and, well, there went my party, tea pot, dainty napkins and all.  Plus, I’ve got an absolutely huge secret, so I’m going to have to hang around until you’re strong enough to ask me about it and hear the gory details, and I may never get around to playing hostess.”
      “Well,” Sally said, “you all look very nice, even if you’re kind of in a dream, so it’s nice to see someone in pink.”
      “Hold that thought,” the eleven year old said, “and what I said about tea parties and normal stuff like that, okay?”
      “Sure,” the girl said.
      “Good,” Crissy responded, “because that’s about the only normal thing that’s going on around here.  This is a really different place and secret, too.”
      “How is it different?” the girl asked, her eyes becoming animated as she glanced from one beautiful couple to another, mostly handsome young men and lithe boys around her own age, plus the two dressed as girls.
      “The kind of stuff you got in trouble over,” the pink beauty replied, “we like.  letting older people touch us and playing games with them like we’re little boys and we’re alone in the locker room with the handsome coach, or having a pretend tea party with a friend and pretending he’s our daddy, and young boys dressing up like little girls, plus there’s a special pool in back where we skinny dip, then there are little cabins out in the woods in case we meet someone we like in the pool and want to take a walk with them.”
      “Oh,” the girl said, appearing both engaged and perhaps a little benumbed at her new friends cut-to-the-chase description of the novel environment.
      “They bring girls like you here,” Crissy went on, “because nothing else works.  Psychologists get stuck on a chapter or with a theory and are generally too dumb to know what they don’t understand, so they do no good, and smiling ladies from church are even worse, either phony or religious, neither of which is anything to do with fun.  So boom, ambulances, first-responders, stretchers, and all, they drop victims on us and we tell them all kinds of wicked secrets so they know just because you’re a kid you’re not some kind of zombie denied access to the human rat race.  What happened to you was abnormal in one way, and LoveLess is abnormal in exactly the opposite way, and the idea is to stretch you between the two and hope when your arms pull out, you’ll drop back into the world that is normal, or at least sometimes perceived that way.”
      
      “It can even be boring,” Sally observed.
      “That all depends,” her friend said, “especially if you have two older brothers, which is something we should talk about.”
      “Okay,” the girl in bed nodded.
      “Do you like them?” the eleven year old asked.
      “Yes,” the girl said.
      “Are they okay looking?”
      “Very,” the child answered, blushing prettily.
      “Good,” Crissy responded, “then we’ll not only help you get over what happened with your grandfather, we’ll pack Mr. Boring off about his business.  And how about your dad, is he okay?”
      “Yes,” the victim said, “he’s great.”
      “Cool,” the therapist said, “because LoveLess has a number of extremely close father and daughter relationships, brother-and-sister, too, even though most of it is for boys who come here with their uncles, teachers, coaches and other older men.”
      “That doesn’t sound boring,” the new girl noted.
      “Mary can tell you more than I can,” Crissy noted, “she’s here with her beautiful brother and his best friend, Paul and Doug, and guess what, they all stayed together in one room last night.”
      “Really?” the girl whispered, looking at the Greek-clad cutie her own age.  Mary nodded and Crissy, breathing an inward sigh of relief, moved aside so the two real girls could huddle and whisper together.  This they did avidly, both blushing prettily in their turns as tellers and learners, as the adults moved closer to their children perched on the special bed.
      
      Andrew moved beside his companion, plastic bag in hand.  Craig responded by continuing his role as a preteen female, mincing and sashing it up perhaps a little as he went through a ritual copied from various media portrayals.  “Now you girls,” he said to the bag, “have had a long day at school and Daddy and I want you to be on your best behavior if we let you join us, do you promise?”  He held his ear to the sack, nodding from time to time, alternating between tolerant smiles and stern frowns.
      “Daddy, they didn’t like show-and-tell,” the pink apparition said in her pretty girl’s falsetto, “but they promise to be good, anyhow.  Do you think we can take a chance or will they spoil everything.”
      “It’s two against two,” Andrew said, “that’s pretty fair, all things considered, I say we invite them aboard.”
      “Did you hear that?” Crissy said down into the bag, reaching in to retrieve their guests.  He pulled out the adult male doll first, held it up, and squealed, “Oh, Daddy, look.”  With that he plunged his hand back in Miss Williams’ bag of tricks, hauling forth the little-boy doll.  By this time everyone had moved their pillows around the couple seated at the victim’s right flank.
      “What are these, Daddy?” the girl squealed, “they’re certainly not Itsy and Bitsy.”
      “Darling,” the concerned parent said, “those are special dolls used in school to teach boys and girls about their bodies, you must have grabbed the wrong bag by mistake.”
      
      “But why is it a man doll and a little-boy doll, Daddy?” the girl whispered.
      “Because, sweetheart,” the Greek beauty said, “sometimes men like to get little boys naked and touch them all over, and the dolls are used to warn kids about what might happen, and demonstrate what a child molester does when he gets a kid alone.”
      “That’s right,” the girl recalled, “we were meant to have some kind of special talk, then there was a fire drill and I guess everybody forgot about it.”
      “Well, doll,” the affectionate father said, “our guests are not dressed for a tea party with a nice little girl in a pretty pink party dress so I guess we better put them away.”
      “It’s not their fault, Daddy,” the girl observed, “can’t we let them stay?  Besides, even though Miss Williams is a really good teacher, I’ll bet you know as much about what men do with little boys as she does, and at least enough to explain some of it to me.”
      “Well,” the man mused, “the thing is, men like to do the same thing with little girls, so that’s something to think about.”
      
      The Loveless staff might have felt it best to leave recovering victims alone with a roomful of non-professionals but that didn’t mean they tuned out, entirely, not with the whole resort openly wired for sound and video.  The door to the dream chamber opened and their friend George escorted in two handsome boys, one a mid teen and the other an older teenager.  “Hi sis,” they said crossing to the bed as the door closed quietly behind them.
      “Allan, William,” the girl said reaching to the new arrivals and drawing each to her for a hug before they took their places sitting on the bed across from Andrew and his dolls.  “You look outrageous in those costumes,” Sally said, her eyes now fully alive and ravenous for the sight of familiar faces, “why doesn’t everyone wear them all the time?”
      “You look good to,” Allan, the elder responded, “your hair is really cute and somebody’s been painting on you like you were a starlet.”
      
      “That was Mary,” the girl said, “it gave us something to do while we were getting to know each other, and Crissy’s pretending to have a tea party for her pretend daddy, but she brought the wrong dolls.”
      “Hey, we had those in sixth grade,” William said, focusing on the tangentially bizarre scene across from his brother and him.
      No one was carefully avoiding what had happened to Sally, afraid of upsetting the delicate child with a thoughtless reference or tactless remark, weren’t time.  Too much new stuff going on to worry about what couldn’t be changed by all the prayers in churchville. 
      “Did they explain everything?” Crissy asked, looking at William, “because I think my daddy’s embarrassed to tell me some of the details.”
      
      “I guess Mr. Watson tried,” the boy said, “but we had four dolls, two male and two female, and they were all white.  That scared him because there’s never meant to be more than three kids without a tokenberry, an ethnically correct kid.  It wasn’t a case for smelling salts or anything, but he was obviously upset so the dolls were packed away while he wrote a memo exonerating himself and asking that the administration be more vigilant in protecting the sensibilities of the student body and teaching staff.”
      “Very sensitive,” Crissy agreed, “which means he might have been just the person TO teach you, had not the unfortunate event occurred.”
      “Not-exactly,” the fourteen year old responded in meaningful cadence.
      “That means the spotlight’s on you and your dad,” the victim said to the party girl, sitting up while a second pillow was stuffed behind her.  There was a general nod and murmur of agreement in the dream room, attention alternating between the sick girl and her new friend, while, not far away, George approached a couple by the inner of the resort’s two pools.  A short conversation ensued, both adults smiling with relief, then the bellboy escorted the attractive parents to the wardrobe department.
      
      “Is it a fate worth than death?” Crissy asked, holding the child doll so the adult teaching aid touch it.
      “Religion is the fate worth than death,” Andrew replied.  “Religion indoctrinates and causes psychosis.  Part of this is making the most normal of physical acts appear monstrous and hateful, same way they do with devils, ogres, and the fevered visions of hell that pour from badly-warped minds.  Lots of nice shock value for the bishops to sell, and the same thing goes for ‘fate-worse-than-death’ allegories, when what it really is is a fate about the same as a boxing match, and that’s assuming physical punishment at the hands of the rapist; otherwise, it’s a fate no worse than many hospital workers face on a daily basis, touching and being touched by people who are unattractive or even repulsive to them, and often enough dead and smelly.  It’s not fun, duh’uh, but eminently survivable.  Being raped isn’t fun, but it’s hardly worse than escorting a raving lunatic to the toilet or bathing a four hundred pounder; maybe about the same as being beaten up on the playground.  Yes, it’s a fate worse than ice cream, but assuming no serious physical damage, one you bring to yourself if you let yourself be poisoned by social attitudes and conventions.  They’re just guidelines which first should do no harm, and sometimes it’s healthiest, in the long run, to ignore bits and pieces of the web, not including red lights and stop signs.”
      “How about all those little charts on bottles of mustard and soy sauce?” Sally asked, her participation in the conversation causing no stir because it seemed as natural as sun through scattering clouds.  “Are we meant to obey them?”
      “That’s why the hypodermic needle was invented,” Crissy answered the girl, “so nobody would ever put into their body a gram too much protein or carbohydrate due to crude, kitchen-quality measuring instruments, and that’s not even mentioning the dreaded sodium.”
      “We are so lucky,” the girl breathed in wonder, about as cured as they get.  Indeed, most of liberalism was so insane as to be highly comic and a sure cure-all for a case of the blues.  Attention remained on the girl and her handsome young father.
      
      “Okay,” the man said, half-embarrassed at being the focus of all eyes, “the way we start is by putting the big doll behind the small doll, okay?”
      “Okay,” Crissy murmured, helping her dad place the foot-high figures in the proper position.
      “Yes,” Andrew said when she had it right, “his hands on the boy’s shoulders, just like that, but don’t bring them too close together at the beginning.”
      “Okay,” the girl repeated.
      “Now,” the instructor said, as all huddled a little closer for the details, “what happens next?”  He looked expectantly over the twenty or so in the room, catching the eye of a preteen boy who had his hand half raised and nodding to the child.
      
      “He asks you lots of questions,” the boy said in a breaking, adolescent voice that instantly turned hard erections to solid steel.
      “Exactly,” Andrew said, “and they’re almost the same for a boy as for a girl.”  He nodded again to the youth and the halting voice went on.
      “First, about if anyone has ever touched you, then about things you’ve seen and heard, then about continuing the conversation or going and doing something else, then about things you do at night before you go to sleep or while you’re in the shower.  Then he sits and you sit on his lap and he tells a story about what happened to him when he was a little boy, and, if you like it, he might tell another about something that happened to a friend of his or a kid he knew.  Not made up stories, real ones.
      “After that,” the tyke continued, “his voice gets hoarse and deep sounding which is really scary and exciting at the same time, like shooting a double-barrel twelve gauge, and he asks if he can touch you inside your shirt.”
      
      Crissy patted down the skirt of her frothy dress, using her left leg as a bench for the dolls.  She sat the adult, then looked to James, the boy.  “Cross wise, with the back in the adult’s left arm,” the child instructed, “and the right hand of the adult goes on his knee, that’s right but a little further out, getting close comes later.”  She soon had the little figures correct and her instructor nodded in satisfaction.  With minimal shuffling, the various couples gathered around emulated the positions of the dolls, Sally, having outgrown her invalid status, sitting beside Crissy, facing her, in William’s lap.  James, having gotten things off to a good start, was encouraged to continue.
      “This is where the adult goes up under the child’s shirt,” he said, “if that didn’t happen while the man was behind the boy.  He goes very slowly, watching for any negative reaction, because some kids like talking about it but freak out if they get touched, though usually it’s the other way around, they like getting touched but don’t like any whispering.”
      
      There were nods and again a murmur of approval.
      
      “If the boy sits still the man suggests that he stretch his hands over his head and lean back.  That’s something a kid has to actually do, what they call proactive, rather than just reacting and saying yes and nodding his head, so it serves as a final check.  When the boy is stretched out, the man’s hand goes way up inside his shirt feeling him all over, then he takes it out to unbutton the boy and get his shirt completely off.  Most boys are excited enough at this point to reach to the older male and unbutton his shirt.  When they’re both bare-chested, the man lies back on a bed or on the floor and the boy lies on top of him with his back to the adult’s chest.  Then the man uses both hands all over the boy and makes him start panting and wriggling and arching for more.  This goes on for quite awhile.”
      It was more than show-and-tell, it was show and tell and do.  “Quite awhile” amounted to ten minutes or more of copy-catting to much whispering and purring.  Sally held Allan’s hands in hers as she lay, still in her pajamas, on William’s chest, guiding her older brother to her buttons.  Mary lay beside her on Paul as Doug took on Allan’s role, kneeling between the young girl’s legs and bending to ease her tunic down to her waist.  Andrew worked at the buttons on Crissy’s pink dress, and soon had his beauty bare-chested and lolling back against him, also arching in welcome.  By this time there were eight handsome couples on the spacious bed, with two stretched out on nearby pillows.  Then another quiet knock at the heavy door to the chamber, and it opened to allow the entry of Charles and Vicky Melrose, parents of the victim.
      
      “Oh, Daddy,” the recent invalid cooed, “I hope you didn’t come with a can of frozen orange juice to wake me up.”
      “We were told you were making excellent progress, darling,” the athletic forty year old said, his slim red-headed wife nodding at his side.
      “It’s like I was in a fender-bender,” the girl responded, “and the other driver gave me a new Rolls Royce so I wouldn’t feel bad.”
      “Well, sweetheart,” the man said, as others made space for Vicky and him to sit near their girl, “the news is that it turns out it wasn’t your granddad at all.  He got drunk, yes, but an acquaintance of his dropped by to borrow some money, found the door open, and started snooping around.  He’s the one that threw a pillow over your head.”
      “I tried to tell the police that,” the girl said, “that Granddad wouldn’t ever hurt me, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, that’s the lady whose house I called from, but Granddad was there, and two and two made four as far as they were concerned.”
      “Well, he’s been released,” the man said, “and appears to be okay and very, very sober.”
      “If a man can’t drink in his own house he might as well go live with the alligators,” the daughter responded.  “And it wasn’t his fault the door wasn’t locked, I was the last one to go to bed, and no one locks up in that neighborhood, in the first place.”
      “Well, speaking of places,” the father said, “you seemed to have landed, so to speak, on your feet, here.”
      “I woke up totally scared, and now I’m totally scared I’ll WAKE up,” the girl said with a shy smile, loving the fact her handsome father’s gaze seemed irresistibly drawn to the budding nipples of her immature chest.
      “George seemed real enough,” Charles said, “and he showed us an album of before and after pictures, when the police found a kid, and after she’d spent a couple of days in therapy a la LoveLess.  I guess it’s no coincidence most of the victims brought in end up as members.”
      “Oh, Mommy, can we?” the girl whispered.
      “Yes, baby,” the girlish thirty five year old said, “we thought we were going to get back a shell; instead our peanut seems to be alive and well, and it would be pretty hard to be prejudiced against that.”
      “Well,” Sally responded, “the church only gives – sells – us a little, so there’s not all that much to forget, and if I can forget that drunken moron jamming in me, you can forget enough to be happy for me, or at least I hope so.”
      “And what you can forget,” the redhead said to her daughter, “is this flat belly.  I’m not leaving until it’s blue times two from your dad or any of half a dozen other males I saw in this rather distinct collection.”
      “Then there has to be a rule,” the girl said.  “I’ve wanted to take baths with my brothers and sleep with them since I was four.  We need to live in a Victorian-free zone from now on.”
      
      “Well, darling,” the young woman said, “you’re beautiful with your brothers; nothing could look more natural, and you have an entirely special dad, to boot.”
      “And you know about the second pool and the outback, right?” the girl asked.
      “Yes, darling,” the mom nodded, “and if I get a sudden hot flash it will be because I know you and your dad are spying on me.”
      “When I grow up,” Sally said, “I’m going to start a chain of motels.  ‘Voyeurtels.’  Cameras and microphones in every room, including bathrooms except for the toilet area, and at least two monitors in every room.  The motto will be: ‘Less boring than other lodging.’”
      “I like the understatement,” Charles said, tilting his head back for a long kiss from his bride-like pixie of a wife.
      “Whatever happens in the outback,” Vicky said to him, “I’ll bet ten-to-one, maybe twelve, the bambina that results will be yours.”  With that, she shyly shook a few hands, smiled mysteriously, and left the dream chamber, exotic and girlish in her ancient costume and very eager for another daughter as dazzling as the one she had.  All pictured her lithe adult body as she attracted a group of males in the back pool, then four or five carefully drying her off before chaperoning her into the forest where’d they’d find a vacant cabin and huddle around the beauty for hours.  In fact so stimulating was the image, Charles pulled down his little girl’s pajama bottoms and panties and, stripping out of his toga, moved forward over his immature daughter.  He paused a few moments, staring down into the child’s huge eyes while everyone else rid themselves of their costumes, then moved fully over his girl, spreading his powerful legs so he could find her.  William, lying under his sister, guided the athlete and they coupled carefully and fully, Sally’s legs and arms surrounding the panting male in welcome.
      “Are you okay after what happened last night?” Charles whispered.
      “More than a hundred percent,” the girl rasped, “much more.”
      
      Paul was equally tender as he mounted Mary, the couples close side-by-side, the little girl’s legs twining around each other as well as pulling their males to them.  Andrew stripped Craig out of his party costume, carefully hanging the expensive confection, then took off the boy’s panties as Sally stared with huge eyes, whispering: “Awesome.”  Andrew moved behind the eleven year old as he knelt close to the girl, her brother, and her powerfully surging young father. His right left arm went around the arching boy’s chest, and his right found the you beauty’s teen-size erection.  Others gathered as close as they could to the two girls, the juveniles masturbating the adults.  Craig was the first to ejaculate, spraying hotly and fully on Sally and Mary, proving Crissy the ultimate joke.  There followed a gentle murmuring, whispering and movement until both mating couples were being slicked with one heavy shower of semen after another.  The girls began wriggling avidly, then frantically, thrusting hard and fast against their vigorous stags until the males were gasping and nearly howling.  Paul went rigid over Mary first and the girl screamed to Sally, grasping her hand.  Then George froze over his little girl and she could make no sound beyond incoherent gurgling as she felt the hot flow of his body pulsing high between her straining legs.
      In a few minutes the young, fit group was beginning to regain consciousness.  “Daddy,” Sally whispered as William moved between her spreading legs, “can I visit granddad again next weekend?”
      
      Electra’s story actually had an end, say it isn’t so, though there was an epilogue to the adventures she’d cited and I was an included character.  Not only that, the three, in spite of their hair-raising occupation, seemed to be looking to me for leadership.  Hey, I was just the cameraman, but no, it was like being in a science-fiction museum where the eyes of every painting remain trained and focused however you try feinting and dodging.  Of course, dozens of trips back and forth to the computer had blunted my edge, so I wasn’t at my defensive peak, and I assure you, for that reason alone – path of least resistance –  I accepted the mantle, realizing as I responded to their purposeful nods, I had a philosophical out.  It is my belief, and this is repeated in an extensive paper trail, that if something happens, the youngest is strictly in charge.  No coincidence I suppose that the spicy and engaging Electra was the youngest by two years.
      
      “What to you want?” I whispered to her.
      “I want Madonna to see it happen,” the twelve year old replied.
      “Then it should be Renaldo,” I said, “because what happens at my age is more symbolic than copious.”
      “Yes,” the girl responded, with the grace to ponder a moment, chewing her lip, before speaking.
      “On your breasts?” I whispered.  She nodded, “and on hers, too.”
      A good leader often just stays out of the way, and I did.  I vacated to mount the little camera on the tripod and set it by the studio bed.  The three had arranged themselves, girls side by side, naked, one leg linked, the other spread wide.  Renaldo knelt over the twining legs and nodded for me to approach him from the rear.  After turning the Elph on, I moved forward on my knees, wrapping my left arm around his hard teen chest.  With my right hand I found his jutting seven inch shaft and nursed back his foreskin, spreading him with a heavy slick of seminal fluid.  His hands went behind my neck as he arched in response.  It had been hours of excitement, reviewing their histories one by one, and the fourteen year old was impossibly hard and hot and began tensing like a spring almost immediately.  I panted over his left shoulder as I settled into a fast hard rhythm on his huge, slick penis.  Madonna stared up at us in special awe as her cousin began quaking and gasping in my arm, his hips thrusting uncontrollably to my rapid stroking.  “Oh, sis,” Electra whispered, “he’s so beautiful.”
      
      He certainly felt that way, his hard, taut body belying the sensuous delicacy of his childishly smooth skin, his straining muscles, his hands tight around my neck, his jutting penis both of fire and iron; more beautiful than I can describe. And then he thrilled the artist in me, simultaneously greatly enhancing his young male beauty to the girls lying on either side of him.  While the little Canon still had over a minute to go he gasped his warning and cummed off hard and hot in my hand, his sperm splashing everywhere at first, until I realized what was happening with the beautiful young stallion and ran my right hand hard to his base, at the same time holding him in the direction of Madonna.  The sight of his first spray slicking the lithe beauty caused him to grunt and tremble and whisper, “I’m cumming,” as if he was for the first time losing control.  Half a dozen times his silky jets of almost white cum splashed on the girl, the sound obviously loud enough to add to the images being recorded at fifteen frames a second.  Then I guided him to Electra who immediately scooted down on the bed until the shuddering boy was cumming over her cheeks and lips as Madonna stared far lost in a world of her own.  
      
      They stayed another hour, camera put away for good.  Electra chose me as her first mount, and after we’d wet her thoroughly with her cousin’s slick seed, I found her and felt her legs and arms go gently around me as I got used to the heat and tightness of her preteen body.  My senior status paid off, because I was able to fully enter her in a methodical and deliberate way, thrusting through her hymen with one quick lunge of my hips, then holding her gently until I again felt her moving in welcome.  Renaldo raped Madonna the same way, and once we were fully with out females, we thrust to them for ten minutes then twenty then thirty, the younger male tensing twice over the fourteen year old as I continued building toward a single gentle orgasm deep inside little Electra, not even trying to make her cum, hell no, not with that beauty with his body and will of iron in the running.
      
      We dressed slowly and reviewed the video on the LCD, too tired to think of uploading it at the moment.  There was a spot of memory left on the card, so I went for a few “after” stills.  They gathered in a bunch on the freshly arranged bed.  For some reason, I don’t know exactly why, I didn’t even think of saying “queso.”  They were American friends heart, soul, and marrow, so I said: “Cheese!”
      
THE END – Photoplay

Posted by Thomas@btl.net

xxx
      

