Eleven - Part 1

This story contains sexually graphic and explicit material and as such it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, sex between minors and adults, or any other situation, please check the story code before reading the text.

I never planned to be a criminal. In fact I always thought of myself as an upright citizen. But some things are too strong for the human will to resist. 
This may turn into a long story, so I'd better start by telling you a little about myself. I'm thirty-two years old, I have an Ivy League degree and an MBA, and until recently I was right there in the rat race with the best of them. I made some good money, but most of it got swallowed up by the high life I was living and by the cost of real estate. Then a couple of years ago I got laid off from my job in finance, and on a whim I decided to sell my studio apartment in Greenwich Village and buy a house in New Jersey. I guess I'd just had enough of the city life, and wanted some greenery and some quiet. I didn't move on my own. My girl friend, Angela, came with me. We hadn't been living together in New York, but with the move, we though it made sense to take things to the next level. 

We bought a three-bedroom colonial in Upper Cranston. That's Upper Cranston - the residents there don't like you to forget that. They think it's a cut above plain old Cranston, and it certainly is a pretty little town, with big white-painted houses, leafy streets, and lots of greenery. Most of the people who live there are stockbrokers and stuff in the City. It's only half an hour by bus from 42nd street, and there's a train service into downtown Manhattan. Of course I was hoping that I would end up being one of those commuters, but that's not how it worked out. When I couldn't find a new job, I started doing consulting work for a big research outfit in the City. Then I realized I liked the lifestyle, so I set myself up as an independent consultant, and began working for three or four clients. The money was nothing like what I'd been making, but I enjoyed the work, and I really appreciated the freedom of working from home and setting my own schedule.

The other thing about this new situation was that it allowed me to pursue my dream, which was to become a professional photographer. I'd been interested in photography since I was a kid, and during my high-rolling days I'd bought a stack of top-of-the-line equipment. And I had some good pictures to show for it, too. Most weekends, Angela and I would go out with our cameras and find interesting places to shoot. We'd shoot families picnicking in the park, we'd shoot the Labor Day parade, we'd shoot wild birds in the New Jersey marshes, we'd drive out to little old towns on the coast. Angela and I had actually met in a photography club in the City, so cameras and photography were the cement the bound us together. 

Angela was still working, in an advertising agency in midtown, so she was the one that got on the bus each morning, leaving me to clean up the breakfast and decide how to spend my day. 

I bought my place in March, and by the time I was getting used to this new life it was summer. Upper Cranston has a beautiful swimming pool, in a big field just a little out of town. Once the weather warmed up I became a fixture there. 
I guess at this point I need to explain something else about myself - something that's more on the dark side. I don't really know how to lead up to it, so I'll just take a deep breath and out with it. 

So... Here goes with the big confession. 

For as long as I can remember, I've been attracted to young girls. 

There, that wasn't so hard. 

I expect you get my drift, but just in case, I'd better spell it out. 
I mean, very young girls. 

You've probably all read Lolita, and that's about the age range that I'm talking about. You know, ten to twelve years old. Preteen. What I think of as the quicksilver years, when a girl is touched with that magical, fluid, slender, mercurial grace that fills people like me with the most exquisite, unbearable, unfulfillable longing. 

I won't go into all the details of how during my teen years I slowly realized I wasn't like other people, or how I struggled and resisted this unnatural perversion, or how I finally learned to accept who I am, even if I'm not happy with it. If you stay with this story, I'll talk more about it later, since I assume that if you're reading this you probably have the same tendencies that I do. Suffice it to say that I believe there are a lot more of us out there than most people think, and if people could really talk about it openly, they might realize that the horrific persecution we suffer is also the greatest hypocrisy of our age.

You might wonder how I squared this with my relationship with Angela. Well, all I can say is, I loved Angela - still love her, actually - and we managed to have a perfectly healthy sex life. Perhaps it didn't hurt that Angela was a petite Chinese-American with a delicious young body. But she was an adult when it came to sex, no doubt about that. We were still young and in the first thrill of love, so our sex life was actually pretty steamy. But somehow, the more I had sex with Angela, the hotter I got for those slender little-girl bodies of my dreams.

The pool opened in time for Labor Day weekend, and a few days later the school term ended, and the kids began showing up. I would usually arrive around one or two in the afternoon, and by three or so the place was humming - by Upper Cranston standards, I mean. 

It was pretty much the same group there most days. There were a few moms there with their little kids. There was a hard core of women, and one or two guys, who came to work on their tans. Well, who knows what they were doing there really? Perhaps those guys with their oiled black bodies were there for the same reason as me. And that was to enjoy the third group who came to the pool: the school-kids. 

There were usually about eight or ten of them, and for some reason, they were mostly girls. They would come on foot or by bicycle, or they'd be dropped off by their moms, and they'd stay for hours, sunbathing by the poolside, gossiping and laughing together, and of course playing in the water. 

I would do my best to look as though I was minding my own business, but my eyes were feasting on them under my dark sunglasses. There was a core group of four or five girls who were there almost every day. Pretty soon I'd even learned their names. 

First there was Alana. She was a slightly plump girl, who I could already see would run to fat one day. I guessed from her skin and hair color that she might be Italian-American. And of them all, she was physically the most developed. She already had a bust, and her hips had filled out a little. But her olive skin glowed with health and youth, and her smooth thighs were firm and strong. Her great big brown eyes glowed with laughter and play - she was still a kid all right! She was the most playful in the water, always full of fun and mischief, always ready to join in. And when she pulled herself out with her smooth, muscular arms, the water slid off her dark skin like the flash of a mirror. She wore a tight-fitting, dark-blue one-piece swimsuit that beautifully showed off her plump, firm figure. I loved watching it stretch over her smooth buttocks as she bent down to dive into the water. 

There are no laws against using your imagination, and my favorite game in the hot July afternoons was to stand in the water against the edge of the pool, and in my mind do anything I wanted with those beautiful creatures. I would take Alana the moment she pulled herself out of the pool, while the water was still glistening on her skin. First I would pull that tight blue swimsuit down over her little breasts. They'd be pure white next to her deeply tanned chest and shoulders, and her nipples would be little dark rosebuds on those smooth white mounds. I'd take each nipple in my mouth and suck on it a little, as I smoothed the swimsuit down over her hips. I'd run my tongue down her middle, past her belly-button, and into the little clump of newly-grown hair above her private parts. Then I'd turn her around, and enjoy those beautiful smooth, firm buttocks - they looked like they'd been bursting to get out of that swimsuit. I'd bend her down, and plunge my tongue into her slit, from behind. And after moistening and loosening it up with my tongue, I'd waste no time in pulling down my own shorts and thrusting myself into her tight hole. She was old enough to take it! It would take me all of ten seconds of deep thrusting to come all over the insides of her untouched pussy. 

Then there was Amber. She was an Asian girl, although her parents were white - I guess she was adopted. She was small for her age (which I guessed to be eleven) and her body was slender and tight. Her black hair hung straight down her back, rich and glossy. When it was wet, it glistened like oil in the sunshine. Her skin was a gorgeous dark bronze color, almost black after being burnt by the sun for a few weeks. Her eyes were lovely almond flashes, her teeth perfectly white against her dark skin and tight bone structure. She was athletic, an excellent swimmer and diver, and a picture of health. She hadn't even a trace of sexual development, but her body was as firm and muscular as a young colt.
 
I would take her as she lay sunbathing, her narrow eyes closed against the sun, her slender arms lying by her side. She usually wore a black one-piece swimsuit that was a little demure for my taste, but that showed off her dark skin perfectly. I would strip off the whole thing in a single movement, leaving her white and naked under the hot sun. Then I would just sit and watch, gently stroking her warm shoulders and her rich black hair, as she relaxed under my touch. Once she had gotten used to her nakedness, I would run my hand down her chest and stomach, to the hairless mound between her legs. I would gently stroke the inside of her thighs, forcing her legs to part more and more, until I could clearly see the dark opening of her smooth little slit. I would take her little foot in my mouth, and run my tongue over her toes, while my hand ran up and down her thigh. And then, slowly, as though I were sipping a delicate wine, I would bring my tongue down onto her slit, and run it up and down the smooth edges. When I reached the top, I would run it around her little bump, and feel her shudder. Then I would gently explore the inside of her slit, enjoying the warm moisture and feeling her react to every movement of my tongue. I would gently lap at her until I could feel her building up to a lovely little-girl climax, and then, once I had felt her shuddering to completion, I'd roll her over and quickly come all over her firm little buttocks. 

And then there was Claire. She was a blonde girl, with fair skin and dark blue eyes in a long, lightly freckled face. Her hair was cut short at the shoulders, and it was so blonde it was almost white. I'm guessing she was the youngest of those girls, and her body was still as straight as a boy's, and rail-thin. Her arms and legs were covered in a dusting of fine blonde down. She wore a white bikini most days, and as the sun worked on her body, she tanned to a deep honey-color. When she lay by the poolside, I could see every bone in her body - her little bikini left almost nothing to the imagination. Her mound jutted out from her middle, and if she'd been in the water, the fabric would stick to her slit, giving me a perfect image of what it must look like in the flesh. She had no consciousness of her body or her sexuality, and she would sit and lie in all positions, her legs wide apart. Sometimes she would practice gymnastics by the poolside, and I would watch in fascination as she brought her thighs closer and closer to the ground - I was sure that her bikini bottom would split wide open from the pressure. Claire was very physical, and the other girls loved to tumble with her like little kittens. She was always throwing her arms round them, or riding on their backs in the water, her eyes blue and laughing under her goggles. 

My fantasy for her was a little different. It would be getting late in the afternoon, and the sun would already have sunk. The girls would be tired after their long afternoon of play. Claire would be lying on her towel, her knees apart, her hands beating against the concrete. The other girls would be laughing and joking with her. Then Alana would whisper something to the others, and they'd all burst out laughing. Alana would bring her face down over Claire's, and the two of them would stare into each other's eyes. Then Alana would kiss her, right on the mouth. Claire would splutter and laugh, and Alana would whisper into her ear. Claire's face would suddenly go serious and thoughtful. "All right, if you want," she'd say, in a little voice. And, giggling, the girls would playfully untie her bikini top, and pull it out from underneath her. Then Amber would gently ease Claire's bikini bottom down over her mound, and Claire would be lying there naked. Her chest was completely flat, with tiny, pink nipples. And her slit was a smooth, hairless fold of magic. Pulling down her own one-piece, Alana would tell Amber to hold Claire's legs apart. Slowly, with her finger, she would explore Claire's little slit. Then, kneeling over Claire's face, she'd lower her own pussy with its sparse black hairs over Claire's mouth. Claire would begin to lick it, as Alana reached down and slipped her own tongue inside Claire's pussy. Then Alana would stand up and tell Amber to strip off her swimsuit, and lie down over Claire's mouth. Amber and Claire would begin licking each other's pussies, giggling at first, but soon getting excited and then frantic. Claire's legs would be stretched wide apart, while Alana would be squatting behind Amber, rubbing her breasts over Claire's face, and licking Amber's tight little behind. And that's when I would grasp Alana's waist from behind, and thrust myself into her wet insides for the few seconds it would take me to spray off all my pent-up desire and frustration.

These were pleasant fantasies for a summer afternoon, but of course they were nothing more than that. I've never thought of myself as a molester or a criminal, and I've always been much too scared of the consequences to try anything on - besides, as far as these girls were concerned I was just an irrelevant object by the side of the pool, one of those unknown men who their parents had told them never to talk to.  

But there was one more girl in the group of regulars. Karen. I've saved her for last, because she is the real subject of this story. She was the one who made me cross that fatal line from fantasy to scary, ecstatic reality.

The thing about Karen is, I knew exactly who she was. At the top of our street was the main road that led out of town and in to Manhattan. On the other side of that busy road was the railway line. And between the main road and the railway line were the little cul de sac streets that contained the poorest houses in Upper Cranston. Don't get me wrong. The cost of real estate in our area had pushed even these undesirable residences into the hundreds of thousands. But many of the residents had been there for thirty or forty years, when you could pick up one of those little box houses for ten or twenty thousand. While the sleek white colonials of my street housed purring Lexuses and Mercedes, these houses boasted rusting Dodge vans and obsolete Neons.
Angela and I hadn't made many friends yet, but one couple that we did know were Steve and Elaine. Steve was a young trader who I had known from my previous company - he was just getting started, but he was tipped for a great career. Elaine was his high-maintenance girlfriend, peroxide blonde hair down to her buttocks, half a dozen studs in each ear, tattoos on her arms and hips. They had bought one of the entry level houses by the railway, and fixed it up into a cozy little nest. We went over to each other's houses occasionally for a beer, and it was at their house that I first saw the lovely creature who was to become the center of my whole life. 

Karen was a cheerful eleven-year-old with a huge black dog called Bono. She would wave at Steve and Elaine as she passed us by while we were sitting on the porch. She seemed like an ordinary little girl, but Steve and Elaine shook their heads and laughed. "Jailbait," whispered Elaine, her lip curling. "She's doomed. I'll bet you she'll be pregnant by the time she's fourteen."
"Her parents are weird" added Steve, giving his intelligent, ironic smile.
Karen's mother was one of those huge, unsightly women who seemed to have given themselves over completely to poverty and self-indulgence - the sort you see sitting alone in the all-you-can-eat restaurants, staggering up to pile more calories onto her plate. Her husband, on the other hand, was a small, thin Chinese guy. You would think she'd just had to roll on top of him to crush the life out of him, but the rumor had it that he was a fearsome drunk who beat his wife mercilessly. "And who knows what he's been doing to that little girl," added Elaine, ominously. Their house was an eyesore - lean-to car-port, rusting hulks in the yard, trash on the front porch. Apparently the Chinese guy had married the whale in order to get a green card, but for completely unknown reasons they had stayed together. And between them they had created this lovely little diamond. Strange are the ways of the Lord.

Karen didn't come to the pool as often as the other girls, and when she did, she never seemed to quite belong to the group. She would play with them at times, but at others she would sit a little apart, dipping her legs into the water and gazing off into space, or sometimes swimming and playing in the water on her own. Perhaps even children have an instinct for those social distinctions that make some people and families more desirable than others. Karen seemed to be marked as an outsider.

She was average height for her age, well-built, with a sturdy, athletic body. Sometimes you could see a hint of her mother's unfortunate genes in the fleshiness of her chin or the texture of her thigh, but whatever misfortunes they would bring her were still far in the future. Her skin was a lovely honey color, burnished by the summer sun. She had a wide mouth with a ready smile, and perfect white teeth. Her eyes had a definite Asian slant, her pupils a shining dark brown inside pure whites. Her hair was black and straight, cut at the shoulders. Her upper lip had just a trace of dark hair, and her eyebrows were strong and well-defined. She was a lovely girl by any standard.
She had two swimsuits, both of which turned me into a virtual mass of jelly. One was a light blue bikini, not exactly glamorous, but such a lovely frame for that gorgeous form of hers. The other was a shabby old one-piece, that looked like it might have been bought in a thrift shop. It was decorated with the stars and stripes, and it would have been an embarrassment on any other body. But I'll admit that on Karen, it was the garment I dreamed about at night.
The thing is, that over time, the elastic round the edges of that swimsuit had grown a little loose. So although it was supposed to hide more than the bikini, it was actually a treasure-box of lovely revelations. If I sat in the right position, I could glance to my side and see clearly into the gap between the loose swimsuit and her delicate little breast. I could see the line between her golden tan and the white skin of her chest, and sometimes I could even see the whole, puffy little mound of her breast, all the way to the dark, soft nipple in the center. I would feel myself blushing, my breath caught in my throat, my mouth dry as a desert, as I allowed myself to take in that magical sight. And if I stood in the water and waited patiently, I was sometimes rewarded with an even greater treasure. As she sat on the edge of the pool, her swimsuit would pull away from her thighs a little, revealing a hint of her lovely female essence. Once or twice, as she shifted her position with that playful restlessness of childhood, I had even been rewarded with a clear view of her dark, mysterious slit. Oh my god, the fantasies that followed those tantalizing, magical glimpses! Of all the girls by the poolside, Karen was far and away my favorite, the object of my evening fantasies, the one whose body I had explored the most thoroughly in my mind.

Never in even my wildest dreams did I imagine the incredible adventure that awaited me.

It began on a warm afternoon in September. The pool was closed for the season, and school was back in session. I missed the long, fantasy-filled afternoons by the pool, but I was also glad to be back at work and away from those impossible dreams. I was sitting on my porch, sipping a cold drink, and reading through a report I had just printed out, when who should walk past but Karen with her dog Bono. I didn't expect her to recognize me, and she didn't greet me, but just as she had walked past my house, Bono somehow got free of his leash, and bounded into my yard, chasing after a terrified squirrel.

"Bono", she shouted, but the dog ran off round the side of my house.

Karen hesitated, but I told her "Don't worry, you can come and get him." And she raced round the side of the house, finally dragging Bono back to the front.

"Sorry," she said, flashing me a brilliant white smile.

"That's okay," I said. "Bono's a good name for a dog."

"Yeah, his real name's Jackson, but he loved bones ever since he was a kid. So we always call him Bono."

"You're Steve and Elaine's neighbor, aren't you?" I could see her hesitation as she considered how to deal with this advance from the neutral to the personal. Until now we had been pretending we had never seen each other before. "Yeah." She said it with a whatever sort of tone. But then she added, perhaps to make up for her awkwardness, "Elaine's pretty, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is. I'm Jason. I used to work with Steve."

"Hi," she said, still hesitant.

"Want a Coke?"

She glanced at the cooler beside me with its ice-cold drinks. She knew she should say no, but it was a hot day, and I could see she was tempted. And after all, we were neighbors, not strangers. "Okay, thanks," she said, and gave me that brilliant smile again. 

And there she was, sitting beside me on the porch. I hoped no one I knew would walk past - I wasn't sure how I would explain this liaison, innocent as it was. We sat in silence for a moment, then I asked her about her school, and mentioned a couple of other kids I knew in the school, children of our Upper Cranston acquaintances. My heart was beating hard and irregularly in my chest - I honestly didn't know where I was going or what I was doing with this - but that comment of Elaine's kept on coming back into my mind, to give me courage. Karen was "jailbait." She was doomed to pregnancy by fourteen. She wasn't protected like all the other middle-class girls in the town. I wanted to protect her, even as in my fantasies I violated her.

I honestly wasn't very experienced at conversation with eleven-year-olds. I was twenty-eight myself, not quite old enough to be her dad, but not so far from it. So even though it made us both feel awkward, I stayed with the cliches. 

"What are you going to do when you grow up?" I asked. She seemed to be fine with it. 

"I want to be an actress," she said, her eyes lighting up a little. "I love movies. Or a model."

"Really? Have you done any modeling before?"

"No, but next year I'm going to enroll in John Robert Powers." I guessed this must be a talent school of some sort. 

"I hope it works out for you." 

Karen gave a little sigh. "The only thing is, it costs twelve hundred dollars for a season, and my mom and dad will never pay for it. So..." she looked up at me with a resigned smile. "I guess it's just a dream."

"Don't you think it's our dreams that make life worth living?" As if she'd ever worried her little head about the meaning of life. She smiled vaguely and said, "I guess." And she downed the rest of her Coke and stood up. "Thanks for the Coke," she said.

"So why don't you get a part-time job?" I asked. "Pay some of it yourself?"

"Oh, sure," she said. "Like someone's going to give a job to an eleven-year-old."

"Hey, I have an idea. You know, photography's my hobby. I'm pretty good, though I say it myself. I've sold quite a few of my pictures to magazines. Why don't we try a model shoot? If I can sell the pictures, I'll give you half. Anyway, it can't hurt to try." My heart was suddenly pounding in my chest. I could hardly believe the proposition I had just made. Any girl in her right mind would run off as soon as she could, perhaps tell her parents. But Karen...? There was something about her that made me feel she would deal with this differently.

She stood there for a moment, holding Bono close to her side. What she said next surprised even me. "I'll do it for fifty an hour."

Did she know how much I wanted this?

"You mean, even if I can't sell the pictures?"

She stood there, smiling, and gave me a little nod. "A job's a job", she said.
And so, the very next afternoon, she came for our first modeling session. She was dressed in a pair of clean white shorts and a light-blue halter-top, and there is only one word for the effect of this combination - sexy! Even a fusty old schoolmistress would have to agree. I felt my insides turning to water at the very sight of her. I would be spending the next hour photographing this lovely creature!

The photo shoot went incredibly smoothly. She seemed to be completely comfortable in front of the camera. We worked in my photo studio, which was virtually the entire ground floor of the house. Angela and I had converted the living room into a multi-use studio, with a full range of lighting equipment as well as a battery of equipment. I had Karen stand in front of a white screen while I snapped her in a variety of poses. I hardly needed to tell her which pose to strike - she seemed to know instinctively what to do, from the pert little forward thrust of her chin, to the hardly-noticeable pushing-out of her lovely little buttocks in their delicious white sheath. She smiled dazzlingly, and honestly, by the end of the session, I really thought I might have some images I could show to a modeling agency or a teen magazine.

We worked together for an hour a day all through that first week. One day we took shots in the yard (I made sure that we stayed in the areas discreetly hidden by my neighbor's fence), and the next I drove her down to the river, where we were suitably anonymous - a young father and his precocious daughter, perhaps. After each session I immediately paid her fifty dollars, which she stuffed in her pocket with a little white smile. I was careful not to behave in any way that might be considered inappropriate or illegal - though believe me, my imagination was running wild half of the time, and I had to constantly turn round to adjust the monstrous bulge in my pants.

On Friday, after another session out in the yard, I offered her a popsicle, and we sat together on a swing bench left by the previous owners, sucking on our popsicles and chatting. We had worked hard together through the week, and the ice between us was well and truly broken. Karen told me some more about her family. She was an only child, and wished that she had a brother. Wouldn't she prefer a sister? No, she'd always been more comfortable around boys. She told me about her mother, who she found embarrassing and suffocating, and her father, who she hated and feared.

"He's a bastard," she said, shocking me with her adult demeanor. "When he comes home drunk, he'll beat anyone or anything that gets in his path. One day he locked my mom in the closet and threw out the key. She nearly died in there, not like he cared. He was passed out on the floor while I had to call a locksmith to let her out."

"Does he hurt you, too?"

Karen looked at me for a moment, as though weighing how much she should tell. "He tries," she said family. A tear rolled out of her eye. "It's just that - this is the first time I've ever been able to talk about it. I mean, the woman from social services comes over sometimes, but we all lie to her just to get rid of her - I mean, I'm not stupid - I know that if I talk too much they'll take me away and put me with a foster family, and you know where that can lead to."

She gave a little sob, and for the first time in our whole relationship, I leaned over and touched her. "It's okay," I said softly. "You're safe here."
"I just don't have anywhere to go to get away from them. All I can do is take Bono out and wander around. Thank god for Bono - he's my only friend."
The following week Karen didn't come by even once. We hadn't made a definite arrangement about another modeling session, but as I sat through the long afternoons working at my cases, I found myself longing for the doorbell to ring and her pert little body to push its way into my house. As for the pictures we had taken - I made sure to save them all on removable media, and I worked on them some in the mornings, picking out a few good ones to possibly send in to talent agencies. 

On the next Monday afternoon, right after school ended, there was a knock on the door, and there was Karen, dressed in her signature white shorts and halter top, a bright smile on her face.

"Hi Jason. Ready to take some pictures?"

I hadn't prepared a thing, and a part of me wanted to send her packing, teach her a lesson in fact. But another part of me was just lost in wonder at her lovely, fresh beauty.

"Sure, come on in, Karen."

"Where shall we work? In the studio?"

And the studio it was. I don't know what had gotten into Karen on that particular day, but she was almost inspired as a model. I didn't need to tell her a thing, she just picked one pose after another. On a previous visit she had looked through the different backdrops we had in the studio, and this time she picked one out for herself. It was a bedroom scene, with canvas illustrations of a lavish, four-poster bed in the background. The props were an antique dressing table, and a velvet chaise longue.

Karen looked sexy in all of her poses, but today she seemed to have taken on a special dose of the magic elixir. Her smile was alluring and erotic, the bend of her body was inviting. I don't know where she had learned all of that body language, but she knew exactly what she was doing. In one set of shots, she stood looking over her shoulder at the camera, her lips pouting, her teeth flashing that brilliant smile. She wasn't wearing any makeup at all, yet she looked for all the world like a sophisticated adult model.

"Do you like that, Jason," she asked, and there was something tantalizing and erotic in the tone of her voice. "God, yes. Karen, where do you learn all these sexy poses?"

Still looking back at the camera, she flashed her eyes at me.

"You think I'm sexy? Jason, you should be ashamed of yourself. Do you know how old I am?" She was mocking me - there were no two ways about it.
Then, as though struck by an idea, she allowed her smile to grow sly and thoughtful: "Okay Jason, if you want sexy, what do you think of this?"
She turned her head back to face away from the camera. I saw her hands fumbling with the button of her shorts. Then, very slowly, she began easing her shorts down over her buttocks. I thought it had to be a tease - there was no way she would go more than an inch or two. But she didn't stop. Slowly, slowly, wiggling her bottom a little as she did so, she eased down her shorts and underwear, until more than half of her bare bottom was showing. Then she looked back at me with that wicked smile of hers. "Is that sexy, Jason?"
I was snapping for all I was worth. My mouth had gone completely dry, so that I couldn't swallow to save my life. All I could do was nod - I actually felt my face burning red - and continue snapping my shutter. And to my amazement, she eased those shorts down even further, until the whole of her buttocks were revealed.

They were just about the most beautiful sight I had ever seen - a powdery white next to honey tan of her lower back. They still had none of the fullness of womanhood - they were straight but full and firm, with an adorable dimple in the corner of each. My eyes strained to catch the budding womanhood at the bottom of her crack, but that she was keeping hidden. Looking back at me, she gave that pouting smile for the camera, then she slowly pushed her ass back at me, and brought her mouth into an arch "O". It was a cliche, but it was also a perfect miracle. I said nothing, just snapped for all I was worth.
Finally, she pulled her shorts back up and turned to face me. "Did you like that, Jason?" I noticed that she had left her button and zipper undone, revealing the top of her white underwear, decorated with a little pink rose at the top.

"Karen, that was..." I didn't know what to say. But she wasn't finished.

"Well, how about this?"

Slowly, she opened up the V of her zipper, until her shorts were opened wide. Then, hooking her thumb into her underwear, she began pulling it down. She pulled down the top of her white panties, until I could clearly see a few wispy black hairs, the first signs of puberty. She stopped just above the beginning of her crack. The mound in which it nestled was clearly visible. All the while, her mouth was pouting in a sexy smile. With her other hand, she began pulling her halter-top up her stomach, until she reached the bottom of her chest. The beginning of her little mound was clearly visible, as was the bikini line from honey-brown to pure white. She thrust her hip provocatively to one side, and thrust her tongue out a little. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, and alarm bells were ringing all over my head as I thought about the possible consequences, but I wasn't it control - she was. It was Karen who was setting the agenda today.

Finally, I managed to find my voice. "I don't believe what I'm seeing," I said, aware that my voice sounded cracked and gravelly.

"Do you like it?"

All I could do was nod, and keep on snapping.

After an age, Karen released her underwear and halter top, and stood facing me. I thought perhaps her breathing was a little heavy. Was she, too, getting excited by this display? Still smiling at me, she stood, expectantly. Finally she asked in a soft voice, "What should I do next, Jason?"

Thickly, I allowed my desire to show through my gesture. "How about lying down?" I managed to say. Obligingly, Karen stepped over to the chaise-lounge, but instead of lying, she sat down. Her shorts were still unzipped. Still smiling at the camera, she put her finger in her mouth while she brought her legs slowly apart. I snapped for all I was worth. Was there no limit to her daring? Just how far was she going to go? Her shorts were just loose enough to reveal her white panties where they sat tightly against the top of her thighs. Easing the zipper even more, she once again pushed the top of her panties down to reveal the sparse hairs at the top of her mound. Taking her other hand out of her mouth, she brought it down to her halter top, pulling it up almost to her chest. The dark skin of her stomach made her white crotch with its few black hairs look unbearably inviting. 

And now she slowly lay down. Her right hand lay gently over her panties, still putting enough pressure on them to reveal the white skin underneath, while her left rested on her chest, holding up her halter top and appearing to gently caress her pubescent mounds. Her knees were slightly raised, her lovely little feet fit snugly in a pair of white socks with pink bobs. Her legs seemed incredibly dark against the white of her socks and shorts, and of her panties which were still visible under the gap of her shorts. 

"Are you getting some good shots, Jason?" she asked. Her voice was perky and normal, nothing like my own thick-coated throat and heavy breathing. It was as if it was completely normal for her to be lying in this position. 

"They're fantastic," I managed to sputter. "But Karen, you know these are almost..."

"Almost what?"

"Almost too..." I had lost my nerve. 

"Too sexy? Why, I'm not really showing anything bad, am I?"

"Not bad, no. Beautiful."

"Well, let's try it like this, then."

And she rolled over onto her stomach. Leaning her chin on one hand, she looked back at the camera and smiled as I continued snapping. Her halter top was halfway up her back, revealing the supple sheen of her spine. I could no longer see her bikini line, but her legs remained slightly apart, revealing the edges of her panties where they gripped her thighs. She raised her calves into the air and smiled naughtily like a playful little girl. 

"How's that?" she asked. "Still too sexy? Or is it not sexy enough?"

"Why, what else did you have in mind?"

Slowly, without saying a word, she began to ease her shorts down over her buttocks. When they were half way down, she raised her behind from the bed, and waggled it at the camera. 

What did she want me to do? What was she trying to tell me? I felt there was no going back. 

"Karen, why don't you take them all the way down?"

Nodding slightly, as though confirming something she had expected, she began to ease her shorts down over her buttocks. This time, she pulled them all the way down, till they were over the middle of her thighs. Her entire behind was clearly revealed, and as she eased her thighs apart, I could clearly see the impossible mystery of that dark crack between her legs. I couldn't tear my attention away from it, and after a moment I realized that the pictures I was taking were pure pornography - close-ups of her buttocks, of the crack of her behind, and of that impossible, smoky dream. I zoomed in on the outline of her labia, still narrow and unformed, but just beginning to unfold. It was only when I forced myself to look back up to her face that I saw she that while she still had a smile fixed on her face, her eyes were full of tears. I didn't have the time or the concentration to unravel it all. What was going on? How had this happened? What had I done wrong? I knew I had somehow betrayed her, but I was also too lost to do anything but follow these rapids to wherever they were going to take me.

"Karen," I whispered, not daring to move, but feeling a sense of inevitability about what came next. She let her bottom back down onto the chaise, and lay her head down to one side. The tears were flowing freely, and she was no longer trying to smile. But even as she lay in that attitude of defeat, she eased her thighs apart a little more still, and when I came to her and ran my fingers over her buttock, she shuddered a little, and put her hand over her eyes.
It was beyond my control now. She was offering me the stuff of my dreams, and I no longer knew the difference between dreaming and waking. Slowly, I ran my hand up and down her buttocks and thighs, until it rested on her shorts. With a quick movement, I pulled them all the way down and over her right ankle. They rested on the bottom of her left leg, like discarded tissue paper. Pushing her legs apart even a little more, I feasted my eyes on the magic of her sex. Her crack was dark, with a translucent pink tinge to the opening that was revealed as her legs came apart. It was like a beautiful exotic flower, and I felt like a honey bee in a tropical paradise as I slowly brought my mouth down over it.
Karen gave a start as my tongue found her crack, running up the outside of her lips. It had a faint, musky, smoky flavor, not like anything I had experienced before, but somehow familiar all the same. When I got to the top of her crack, I couldn't resist going even further, up the slit in her buttocks, until my tongue rested on her other hole. It had a sharp, acrid taste, not pleasant by any description, but not the obvious taste you might expect either. Karen shuddered again as I played my tongue around her asshole, before bringing it back down to her slit.

I played my tongue over the edges of her slit, and then I began exploring the inside. She felt soft and wet - I wasn't sure if it was from excitement, or if it was my own saliva doing that to her. I guess I had no idea about the sexuality of pre-pubescent girls/ But there was no doubt about one thing: Karen was responding to my touch. Every time my tongue found its way up her inside to the bump at the bottom of her slit, she shuddered as if she'd been given an electric shock. My mouth was much too dry from excitement and fear, but I kept up the licking for as long as I could. Meanwhile, I ran my hand up and down her back, and over her plump buttocks.
