[i]A man seduces an adolescent girl for the purposes of what he calls “art.”
I’m kind of getting a rep for sweet little teen romances. This is a more twisted tale. I do have a few more romances in the works, probably in the next month or so. Romance is my true nature, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend to be “the other guy.”
First time, reluctance, male dominance, oral, anal, young[/i]
I am an artist. You many not think so, but I know I am, and others have told me the same. There are others who do the same thing I do; some even make more money at it. But most of them lack passion, lack respect for their subjects, lack heart. Their act of creation is like mine only on the surface.
This is the tale of one of my creations and the beautiful young girl with whom I crafted it.
I found myself in yet another rental house in a lower middle class neighborhood. There was a neighborhood or two like this in every town, but I liked to pick a town with at least 100,000 or so population. In the really little towns people tended to take more notice of a new neighbor, people in larger towns were used to having people they didn’t know in the neighborhood. It gave me freedom to create. Freedom to play the sweet game.
This gambit cost me some money every single time I ran it, but it always got me subjects worthy of my efforts—and then it allowed me to move on before the unappreciative locals zeroed in on me. Besides, money I had, more than enough. Sweet young girls were the real treasure in this world.
I had one partner in my efforts, and he was perfect for the task. He loved the pretty young girls, and he never sullied them. And he never spoke a word about any of it to outsiders who would not understand. His name was Buster, and he was four years old. Young girls gravitated toward him and his soft hair and big brown eyes. They would just walk up to him and drop to their knees and start stroking him. Buster never asked for more than that, although he did like to lick their faces once in a while. Collies make great partners in seducing adolescent girls.
Once I arranged with a local landlord to rent a well-kept but tiny house and paid a couple months ahead of time in cash, I had little contact with anyone that I didn’t seek out. That was exactly the way it had to be. Then, Buster and I just had to figure out where the more-inclined-to-stray local girls hung out and manage to take our walks there a few times a day. The less-inclined-to-stray girls were usually in someone’s basement or rec room, under the watch of parents’ eyes and out of my reach. My sweet game wouldn’t work well with them anyway. I needed a girl who would be a little drawn toward trouble.
In this particular neighborhood, the slightly more adventurous tween girls hung out at the run-down local park. The really little girls, beautiful but not my thing, played at the west end of the park. The high school girls liked to get out of the neighborhood altogether in order to avoid any form of parental supervision. The girls just experiencing the bloom of adolescence and the mind-bending urges that accompanied it hung out by the old gazebo at the east end of the park. It was adjacent to the woods into which the slightly older boys constantly tried to lure them. This was not the place where I would make my move toward a girl. It was the place where they would see me and my very pretty dog. We would almost instantly become a non-threatening part of their local landscape.
Once I noticed which girls got all starry-eyed over Buster, I figured out where they lived and what their routines were. Within a few days, I would walk Buster by their house when they were just starting to walk over toward the park, preferrably with a friend. Invariably, the girls would ask to pet the dog and strike up a conversation with me as they did. Soon, they would approach Buster and me wherever they saw us. I’d sample a few girls and weigh them out. Within a week or two, I would have the right subject for my next opus.
This time around the leading lady was going to be Charlyce Hannity. The ch was pronounced like sh, but because of the spelling, she was usually called Charly. She even introduced herself as Charly, but then looking up at the older guy she addressing, she added, “Charlyce, actually.”
“That’s kind of a movie star name,” I said.
“I keep telling her that!” her friend added. “I’m just Becky. They didn’t even bother to name me Rebecca.” Becky was definitely the more conventionally pretty of the two, and was far more used to getting attention when males approached them. I used that to my advantage. The more attention I paid to Charly, the more it bothered Becky. The more it bothered Becky, the more Charly liked it and sought my attention. She’d come in second place to Becky’s blond hair and slender figure enough times to have developed a bit of a BFF rivalry.
I politely looked at Becky when she spoke, but at all other times, I kept my eyes on Charly. She had pretty brown hair and big blue eyes against pale, lightly freckled skin. Her frame was actually more feminine than Becky’s; it had curves and a nice budding chest. But Becky’s build was willowy, and she was leggy compared to Charly’s slightly shorter and thicker frame. Our dear Charlyce wasn’t chubby in the least. She just didn’t have the frame our society had foolishly decided was ideal. The thirteen-year-old girl dubbed “cute, but not as hot as so-and-so” was always my first choice.
A week later, I made the first real move. “I hate to ask this, Charly, because we hardly know each other…” I started. Charly stiffened slightly. She liked me, but she wasn’t going to go for anything naughty with a strange grown-up. Becky took her hand protectively. “But I have to leave town for a couple days, and I can’t take Buster with me. He hates being kenneled. It was upsetting enough to pull him out of familiar surroundings and move here. Could you maybe come over to my house when I’m gone and feed him, walk him and just spend some time hanging out with him? He obviously loves you.”
“OHHHH! And I love him,” she said and snuggled against his face, prompting him to lick her cheek. “I’d be glad to.”
“I haven’t even told you what I’m paying,” I said with a laugh. “Buster gets all the cute girls!” Charly looked up at me, not at all minding being called cute by the man whose intentions now appeared totally innocent. “Is forty bucks a day enough?”
Becky gulped a little, but didn’t say anything. I was paying way over the neighborhood rate for this sort of thing. “Um, that’s sounds fair,” Charly said without skipping a beat. She was the cleverer of the two girls. Too clever by half, as they say. Her natural curiosity was essential to the sweet game.
“Well, I just want you to know that I expect you to spend a lot of time with him, and I don’t want anyone else in my house besides you. Nothing personal, Becky. Insurance reasons.” Thirteen-year-olds didn’t get insurance at all, but they knew it was important.
“I get it,” Becky said softly. Charly hid her grin in Buster’s furry neck.
So, I walked Charly over to my house alone. This was still setting the trap. I was nowhere near springing it. I gave her a tour. I kept a Spartan place, and she seemed a little disappointed until she went by my open bedroom door. The numerous cameras, tripods and the raft of computer equipment immediately caught her eye. “Um-“ she said a little tentatively. “What’s with all the cameras in your bedroom?” She was actually a bit frightened that she had walked into—well, exactly what she had walked into.
“Oh, I never told you what I do for a living? I’m a photographer and videographer. I have to go out of town to shoot a wedding this weekend. That’s why I can’t take Buster. People don’t like dogs at the wedding.”
“Oh. That’s a cool job!”
“Weddings kind of suck,” I said. “Everyone is having a wild party except you. I guess the only benefit is the girls. I can usually… Whoops, forgot you were only thirteen! You just seem more grown-up than most girls that age.” That one was a bulls-eye. She loved hearing that. “I mean, sometimes Becky seems more like your pesky little sister than your BFF.”
“I know, right?” she said with a sigh. “But if you hate shooting weddings, why do you do it for a living?”
“Oh, that’s just for a little extra money. I do glamour shots for a living.”
“Like fashion models?”
“No, women come to me and do sexy shoots for their boyfriends and husbands. Sometimes they come as a couple. It’s fun helping couples live out their fantasies, to let them see themselves for the sexy people they are… and I’m forgetting that you’re thirteen again.”
“Geez, Eddie, thirteen isn’t grade school. Besides, you know I’m kind of grown up for my age.”
“That’s true. I guess I could show you some of the stuff, but definitely not all of it. I think it would probably actually be a crime to show you some of it.” I let her see how I had organized my desktop into folders with “client” names. Actually, I had invested a little time and money getting high end escorts to pose for me. They were worth it, because they reeled in almost every girl Buster and I approached. They were good-looking, sexy girls. Girls like that struck adolescents as whom they wanted to become. I showed Charly a series of increasingly racy photos, but never any nudies. She could see they were there in the thumbnails, though. She got really turned on by the couples’ photos, and I could hear her almost whine when I stopped short of any of the pics showing them actively engaged in sex acts. Her eyes were straining to figure out what was happening in the thumbnails across the bottom of the screen. “The rest, I can’t show you,” I said as if I was following our society’s conventional definition of a decent and moral person.
When I closed the last folder, I could see the wheels turning in her head. The fact that perusing my work bordered on criminal was more incentive than prohibitive. She was going to investigate my files end-to-end the second she was alone in this house. She would never see my real art, although she would participate in adding to my collected works. My real art was in a well-hidden floor safe at my true home.
Charly would, however, find my computer “journal.” In the last few entries, I would mention how I had run across a young girl with whom I had a frightening connection. And the way Buster trusted her and took to her proved she was an extraordinary person, because dogs have a sense about these things. These feelings were wrong, of course, and I would never act on them. If it got much worse, though, I was going to have to move away in order to escape the temptation. It was a ploy I used every time. I just had to adjust the dates, the hair and eye color and the initial I used for the girl.
So, on Friday evening I headed “out of town” for the weekend and left Charly alone in the house with Buster. I pulled into a motel near the interstate, less than two miles from the little house. I retrieved two laptops from my luggage and set them up. The first showed me video feeds from the half-dozen cameras hidden in the bedroom. The second showed me exactly the same thing as Charly was viewing on my main computer. By the time I was set up, she was already browsing the photographs of naked couples making love. At first she was slowly flipping through the romantic shots, but soon she discovered some of the more naughty play. There were no torture shots or extreme hardcore, but there was light bondage and spanking and definitely a lot of submissive girls pleasing their man. It wasn’t true art, but I had really enjoyed working with these escorts and had managed to create a feel that they were really into it.
She dwelt on these pics for much longer, and soon she had her pants unzipped and was fingering herself gently. Charly had a light touch and some patience. She had clearly diddled to porn before and knew how to tease herself to make it last. Somehow, though, this was racier to her than mere porn. This was a forbidden invasion of privacy, and in her mind these were real couples doing the things all adults must do in their free time. To her, I wasn’t a pornographer, but a man who helped couples fulfill fantasies. She came the first time while looking at pics of a girl taking her lover’s cock up her ass.
That sent her away from the pictures and into a phase of exploring deeper into the folders. I had created bios for the couples, notes to me about shots that they wanted, but also info like, “Sharon wants her first time doing anal with hubby to be preserved as a cherished memory.” “Alex and Jennifer have been afraid to try bondage, but have decided to explore it. Alex says he needs help learning how to take charge without being mean; Jennifer has expressed that she actually wants him a little rough. Be careful to help them maintain a nice balance.” “Cindy has been saving herself for marriage. She desperately wants to please Mike on the wedding night but is terrified. She has urged me to push him toward being forceful. (See related video file 11 B.)”
That one sent her directly to the file marked 11 B. The escort playing Cindy was barely eighteen; the escort playing Mike was in his mid-thirties. Time and again, Cindy would offer light protests and Mike would overcome them, insisting that he loved her, but she needed to get past these childish fears. In the end, he pinned her down and took her forcefully. Cindy’s tears and resistance quickly faded as she felt the carnal pleasures given her by her strong man. She became loud and lusty, repeatedly thanking him for making her go through with it and urging him to take her harder. By the end, Cindy was leaning over the edge of the bed, frantically fingering her pussy while Mike rammed his ridiculously large cock up her “virgin” ass. She collapsed in exhausted ecstasy as they both came simultaneously. The video had a title card that said, “Edit into Cindy and Mike’s montage here, delete rest.” But then the video continued as an exhausted Cindy struggled to her feet and moved toward the camera, arms extended as she was obviously going to hug the cameraman.
“Thank you, Eddie!” she said with tears of joy obviously choking her voice. “You made it so special, and we can remember this night forever.”
As all this flitted on one screen, I was watching Charly on the other. She was thrashing about on the bed, banging herself mercilessly with two fingers. No video had ever seemed more real to her; no erotic scene had ever driven her so wild. She would lift her head and peek up at the monitor and then throw it back down on the bed as she drove herself to an absolute frenzy. Charly watched good old 11 B three more times that night, sending herself to two more body-wracking orgasms.
She left for a while, and I assumed she had headed home. I left the monitor on just in case. About an hour later she returned with Buster on a leash. She had taken him for a nice long walk. Good girl. She began reading the bios on the couples and looking for word files. The scenarios had become more important than the visuals to her. That was the way girls generally worked. I imagine if I had set a middle school boy loose on my computer he wouldn’t ever read a word. There was too much visual stimulation there.
Finally, she found my journal. Charly looked around the room as if someone was going to pop out and catch her. Eventually, she was satisfied and began to explore the journal. Her eyes went wide as she found year-old entries about great sex with my girlfriend, and she opened the front of her shorts again. I caught a smile on her face when she got to the part about our break-up and how I was moving to a new town for a fresh start. That’s when the journal set loose one of the key elements in my game. I wrote of my four-year-old son and the way my ex had spitefully gained custody of him—not because she loved the child, but because I loved him so much. Charly seemed almost heartbroken when she read the first few entries about being lonely. She was moved to genuine pity when I confessed that I may never trust a woman again, may never be able to love another.
But her jaw dropped when she skipped to recent entries and began to search to see if she merited a mention at all. Soon, she read about this amazingly beautiful and mature adolescent girl I had recently run into. Frantically, she searched for confirmation that it was her. She began to finger herself faster as it became increasingly clear that she was the girl I dreamt about.
She had let her curiosity get the better of her. In a way, she had seduced herself. Few things in the world were as enticing as the sound of my name being called over the visual of this innocent beauty grinding desperately on her clit. The hour’s rest had given her little body enough time to recharge. She went over, crying my name and urging me to fuck her.
Charly looked around the room guiltily and then turned to Buster. “This is just between me and you. Right, big guy?” The computer feed went blank as she shut down, but the cameras captured her snuggling with Buster for a bit and promising to see him in the morning.
The following morning, I caught movement on the monitor. She was in my room. She started up the computer and went right to the journal. She reviewed it to be certain what she had read was really there. She was shocked to see a new entry. It took her a moment to realize I had the file housed on a server and was able to create entries from anywhere. In the entry I grumbled about how obnoxious the people I was working for were, and wondered why the bride and groom were really getting married since they were obviously not in true love. I went on about love and romance for a while. Then I added that I wished I was at home. “My heart goes to a dangerous place when I look into C’s eyes, but I can’t help it. She’s everything I want in a girl. But she’s too young. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to stay in that town. I will miss her so much my heart is going to break into a million pieces, but I can’t let myself fall in love with a girl that young.” Tears were streaming down her face. I thought she would start in on herself right away, but she took Buster for a walk instead. She obviously needed to think.
An hour later, she was back at the computer. She didn’t go to the journal. She went to 11 B. Charly stripped naked and went to my dresser drawer, pulling out one of my t-shirts. She slid it over a pillow and lay down next to it. She started the video and began reciting all of Cindy’s lines from memory. She replaced the name Mike with Eddie. She acted out the scene as best she could with one hand in her snatch, but I never saw the end of it. I was in my car and on my way back down the road to my little house.
I came in quietly, and Buster never uttered a peep. He would have been a snarling mass of fur and teeth if anyone except Charly or I had walked into the house. I opened the bedroom door to find Charly naked and spread eagled on my bed, my t-shirt pressed to her nose. She was basking in the afterglow of her fantasy romp. “Oh, my god! I’m sorry!” I said and closed the door. I gave Charly a heartbeat to let her terror build, but not enough time to find her clothes. Then I opened the door again. “Wait a minute! Charly, what the hell are you doing in here?”
“I-um—I’m so, so sorry, Eddie! I didn’t know you’d be—I was just so curious about the photos and then I—Oh, my god, Eddie. I am so sorry!”
“Is that my shirt?”
“It smelled like—I have to go!”
“Charly, wait. Look, let’s calm down. Sit here on the bed.” She looked at her clothes, but I stepped in and took her hand and sat down next to her. She wasn’t physically trapped, but she felt like staying was the right thing. “You know, don’t you?”
“I didn’t mean to re—“
“It’s okay. I haven’t hidden it very well. Of course a smart girl like you is going to re—alize when a guy has a crush on her.” I had let her off the hook on reading my journal and given her credit for figuring out my supposed infatuation with her all on her own.
“Eddie, I—I kind of feel the same way.”
I took the shirt from its spot next to her on the bed. “I guess so. Look, Charlyce, this is going so fast it’s making my head spin. But I do know that I have very real feelings for you, and now it’s obvious that you have the same kind of grown-up feelings I do. Maybe I underestimated how mature you are. God, your body is sure more grown up than I thought.”
She started to cover herself, but decided against it. “Eddie, please don’t go away! I know you think this is wrong and dangerous, but I can’t stand to think of you leaving. And it’s not wrong. I feel the same way about you.”
“I doubt that, Charlyce.”
“You think I’m too young to have those feelings?”
“I don’t know,” I said, standing and pretending to be agitated. “One second I think you’re a pretty little girl; the next I think you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Help me.”
Charly rose from the bed and threw her arms around my neck. She kissed me sweetly as I encircled her naked form in my arms. “Does this help?” she asked in her best femme fatale voice. I pretended to be shocked and then so overcome with emotion that I kissed her passionately. I let my hands wander her back and bottom like a man in love.
“I could love you, Charlyce. I could love you like no one ever has before.”
“Oh, Eddie,” she whispered. “I could love you, too.” We made out for a while. I finally pushed her down to the bed. “Is this really happening?” she asked.
“Have you ever done this before?”
“I’ve done a couple things, but not everything.”
“Show me, Charlyce. Show me how you can love a man.”
She smiled at that. I was playing in her home court, now. She was going to get to show off what she had learned with the neighborhood boys. “I’m glad you caught me, Eddie,” she said playfully as she started to unbutton my shirt. “Wait a minute. Why ARE you home?”
“They called off the wedding. The bride got caught fucking the best man after the rehearsal dinner.”
“No shit! People really do that? I thought that was just in the movies and stuff.”
“No, it happens. Worst part is… he was her cousin and also the guy who had introduced her to the groom.”
“Fucking weird,” she said, never seeing the irony in the fact that the person calling a situation weird was a thirteen-year-old girl undressing a thirty-year-old man. She kissed my chest for a long time, and then like a child proud to show Daddy her a new trick, she boldly unfastened my belt and removed my slacks. She stood to finish the job and then returned to the bed. Her little hand found its way inside the waistband of my boxers. “I know what guys like a girl to do with one of these,” she said with quiet pride in her voice.
“Wow! Your hands are amazing!” I said softly as she began to stroke me off. There was a good chance this was as far as she had ever gotten. She didn’t do a bad job of it. She had a nice sense of what was hard enough, and her small, warm hands were soft and clever. I kissed down her neck and bent toward her half-apple-sized breasts. She was responsive and accepting, but not overwhelmed. She was still within her frame of experience.
“Oh, shit!” she whispered. “You’re good at that!” So, her experience here was limited to overeager neighborhood boys with no sense of teasing and tenderness. “Ummmm!” she purred as we continued at this game for a while. I was happy. My art was always more satisfying when the subject was a little vocal about things. I was wondering if we had reached the limit of her experience. Most of the girls I selected had at least a little experience with petting and “I’ll show you mine.” Sometimes, they had considerably more experience than that. That was fine with me. Those girls deserved pleasures, too. But the art I created with them was a little less dramatic. Sometimes I’d end up with a girl with no experience at all. They could turn out to be fantastic subjects, or they could turn out to be complete busts. The girls like Charly, in possession of an adventurous spirit and definite desires but still pure in many ways, were the ones who reliably fulfilled all expectations for a successful venture.
Charly had a good sense of the things within her experience. I knew that if handjobs were all she had ever done, she would start going faster now and try to finish me off. To my delight, she stopped, looked up at me and said, “I know how to do one more thing, Eddie. Scoot down to the edge of the bed.” I scooted to the foot of my bed, and she slipped my boxers down to my knees. She paused for a moment, internally debated logistics, and then pulled them off over my feet. This was no quickie behind the gazebo. She was comfortable kneeling fully between my legs. Charly again had the look of a proud little child. She took my cock in her hand and lowered her mouth to it.
Her delightful kisses and licks sent shudders up and down the length of my spine. I was hoping her skill set extended beyond that, but I was willing to be teased for quite a while before I would press the issue. I didn’t have to wait too long. She soon took me within her warm and willing mouth. She was really quite good at this as well. She mixed tongue action with suction and managed to throw in some nice “Yummy” sounds as well.
“Oh, little angel,” I said tenderly. “You OWN me.”
“You haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” she said with a sly smile. She tapped me gently on the outside of my thigh, “Stand up,” she said happily. She grinned like the cat who ate the canary. “My older cousin taught me how to do this when I stayed over at her house. Becky can’t even do it.” There was my work at her BFF rivalry paying off. Charly tilted her head back and opened her throat. She guided me in. My shaft slid over her tongue and deep into her throat. I held her by both sides of her head and began to pump very slightly back and forth as my unexpected chance at deepthroat unwound. Her muscles trembled and worked me. I gave her air. She took a few deep breaths, raised her eyebrows and then opened up again. This little girl had definitely done this on more than just a carrot or toy before. She had been so proud of what her cousin taught her that she had just had to show it off to some neighborhood teenage boy. Lucky little bastard. Well, good for him. Sometimes the best things in life are what you make of golden opportunities that land in your lap.
Charly kept it up for quite a while. She genuinely loved doing this. I had no hope of holding out. I knew that I wanted a nice visual for my project. I stayed deep within her for as long as I could and then pulled back out just as my orgasm overtook me. I plastered her pretty face with string after string of hot white semen. “Gross!” she said, laughing slightly. “You didn’t have to do that! I can swallow!”
“I’ll remember that,” I panted and then placed a gentle knuckle beneath her chin and tilted her face up to me. “It looks damned sexy on you, though. Such a beautiful face.” She took the compliment and the shirt I offered her. She wiped her adorable face clean. “My turn,” I said and quickly snatched her up from the floor and sat her on the edge of the bed. I knelt between her legs.
“I-I never did this before,” she said.
“Some bastard let you do the incredible things you just did for me and never returned the favor? What a selfish asshole.”
She opened her mouth to say something, possibly even to offer a mild protest, but I was already down on her. “Oh, my fucking god,” she whispered. “Oh, my fucking god!” The second time was more of a squeal of girlish glee. She was a lusty girl, and she was experiencing an intense pleasure she had never known. “Yes, Eddie! Yes! Yes!” It was the sound of art being made. She was more sweet than salty in flavor and her aroma was incredible.
I had already liked Charly more than most of my subjects, but now I was finding her irresistible. She responded vocally to nearly every movement of my hungry tongue against her tangy sex. She didn’t thrash about like an animal, but she squirmed and writhed in youthful ecstasy. Emotion seemed more immediate and unrestrained in girls her age. They were a raging storm of hormones and feelings too often held in check by a repressive society. Given a chance to act out in uninhibited lusty play, they were a sheer delight to watch, to feel, to hear, to taste.
I slid a finger lightly into her tight entrance. She drew a sharp breath. No boy’s hands had ever visited her intimate domain, either. I worked the finger ever so gently back and forth as I brought my tongue up to tenderly lash her clit. I struck her barrier so lightly that she may not have even noticed the contact. This piece of art would have a red shot, a favorite dramatic visual for many connoisseurs.
I withdrew the finger and slowly began its journey downward to her delicious backside. I knew I was reading this girl right; she had revealed so much in her selection of a favorite video. She might not yet realize it, but this area of her body was going to be very much in play yet today. I pressed the tip of my slickened finger to her tight rosebud. “I don’t think…” she began to say, but was cut off by her own scream as I latched onto her clit. The suddenness of that move pulled her focus away from my finger, and the tip was inside her before she could react. Once there, she realized it wasn’t causing her real pain. And the things going on inches away were so overwhelming to her that she simply didn’t bother to protest. My finger was almost up to the second knuckle when she erupted in a squealing, bucking orgasm, heightened not impeded, by the insertion of my digit into her backside. “That… that… was… incredible!” she said in gasping breaths. I slid the finger gently from her ass without comment. She said nothing of it. It hadn’t hurt; it had even felt good by the end.
“You deserve nothing less than incredible,” I said as I took her in my arms and helped her back up onto the bed. “You’ve opened my eyes to love again, little girl.” I grew suddenly serious. “Beautiful Angel, you’ve opened the lock on my heart.” She was a jumble of emotions and chemical responses to carnal ecstasy. My words moved her deeply, and she took my face in both hands and covered it with kisses.
Timing was coming into play now. She needed some time to recover or she would be too spent to completely throw herself into the acts to follow. But, I had to keep her romantically involved or she might have time to clear her head. Beautiful little Charly loved the emotion and the romance, thrived on it. But even such girls can throw up their barriers when their initial itch had been satisfied and their body felt a little tired. “I don’t deserve you,” I said and seemed close to the edge of tears.
“Oh, Eddie. Oh, Eddie, how can you say something like that? You are the most wonderful man I have ever known.” She then pretended to be insightful, but was actually using the knowledge gained from my journal. “Someone hurt you really bad, didn’t they?”
“I’ve never talked about that to anyone,” I said as if the idea terrified me. “How did you know?”
“I just know your heart, Eddie. You can talk to me, baby. You can talk to me.” She wasn’t going to confess about the journal. She was playing the sweet game in her own way. Perhaps, she was creating her own drama, her own piece of art.
“My girlfriend left me a while back, and she took our son. He was my life, and she took him away. It almost killed me.”
“But it didn’t. You’re strong, Eddie. I need you to know that you’re strong, because I need a strong man.” She brushed my hair back. “Can you do that for me?” I maintained my expression of emotional pain while my heart was actually turning cartwheels. Change the name Eddie to Mike, and she had just recited a line from the very beginning of Video 11 B. She hadn’t decided that she wanted me to take her here today, but she was identifying with Cindy. She fantasized that I would someday take her forcefully to the bed and press the issue. In her mind that might have been weeks or even months down the road, but she knew that she ultimately wanted it to happen. I would accelerate her schedule for the sake of my art, and it would be even more poignant than the image of it in her mind’s eye.
So, I spoke softly of my pain but slowly demonstrated that I was gaining control over it, owning it. As I spoke, I gradually became more passionate and certain. I told her that she made me believe in myself and that she made me believe that someday my son would be with me again. I told her that she had done more than capture my heart. She had, through the strength of her spirit and soul, given me back my life. She smothered me with kisses again.
She didn’t even notice at first that I had turned her flat to her back and rolled onto the top of her. She took little note of the way my knees slid between hers. My kisses to her neck and breasts were occupying her mind. It wasn’t until I spread her legs with my thighs that she realized she had been fully mounted and opened. “Eddie, I can’t!” she whispered urgently.
“There can be no moment filled with more love than this. There can’t be a more perfect time.” I wasn’t quoting Mike exactly. If I was too on the nose she would recognize the play.
“But, I’m frightened. Please, just give me more time, my love.” Her dialogue, however, was Cindy’s—almost spot-on.
“It’s time to put away our fears. You’ve taught me that. Let me be strong for you, now.”
“I’m—I’m not sure!” That was Charly, not Cindy.
“Everything you’ve done and said today was leading you to this. You’ve been bold and passionate. Be brave for just a little longer, my sweet angel.” I pushed gently at her opening. When she raised her arms to push at me, I pinned them to the bed. “No fear, ever again,” I whispered in her ear as I took her.
“It’s just a moment, my love,” I said as I remained deep within her and felt the warmth of her flesh enclose around me. I had her positioned perfectly so that when I withdrew a camera would get the red shot of her virgin blood.
“It… it hurt a little.”
“There can’t be growth without a little pain, but after the pain comes this.” I began to slowly and tenderly work my way in and out of her ridiculously tight passage. Her arms relaxed, and I released them. She wrapped them around my neck and buried kisses beneath my ear. I continued to work her gently.
“Oh, god that’s starting to feel good, Eddie,” she said softly. “My strong man, my love.” Her last remark was again verbatim Cindy. She had surrendered to her passionate fantasy.
Some men who think themselves artists will force themselves on screaming, terrified girls. Their work sometimes makes more money in the market than mine. If they spit in her face, choke her and slap her around a bit, some patrons will pay a premium for it. I have never entered a girl I wasn’t certain would ultimately find pleasure in the consummation of her desires. I guess you could call it my niche in the market. It meant I left some fantastic paychecks on the table and sometimes wasted a few thousand dollars spent on setting the girl up, but it stayed true to my artistic vision. Besides, if I didn’t get to see things through to my desired conclusion I only lost some time and money. If I ever took a girl who didn’t ultimately desire to be taken, she lost things that were much more precious. So, in a way, would I.
I began to increase the frequency and intensity of my strokes. Charly reacted with vocal expressions of carnal desire. She called my name and cried for more. “Yes, Eddie! Take me! Take me hard, Eddie! Please, love me hard!” This was a girl who was born with an aptitude for sex, and having found herself in the midst of the act she wasn’t going to hold back.
I remembered the way she had called out while masturbating. “Do you want to say bad words, angel?” I said lustily. She nodded. “It’s okay. I still know this is about love.”
“Fuck me-eee-ee!” she cried as I went at her harder than before. “Fuck m-my pussy-y-y-y!” Her arms left my neck and she dug her short pink-colored nails into my back. Her legs wrapped fully around my waist and her heels dug into my backside.
“Let it go, baby!” I called. She grunted and swung a tiny little fist into my back several times. It didn’t hurt, she was pinned fast to the bed, and she couldn’t get enough room to drive it hard. “Oh, yeah, my sweet little fuck!”
“You set me on fi-i-ire!” she cried, her desire for drama driving her words. “Fuck me, Eddie!” She was in new territory, but she was making it into her own, now. This was why I picked her. I could see it all simmering beneath the surface. And now I was buried deep beneath her surface time and time again.
I wasn’t fool enough not to appreciate the wonder of the moment. Every time I usher a new girl into the world of sexual pleasure it inspires me and fills me with deep satisfaction. It’s not just the incredible tightness, or the thrill of being the first to experience it. It’s the power of bonding to her, the knowledge that you will forever be part of her life, never just another guy. Always, her first.
But the physical thrill itself was incredible with Charly. She met my thrusts with instinctive timing. She clawed in a way that made me feel alive. She clung to me in a desperate attempt to maximize every moment of passionate play. She produced generous amounts of warm nectar that brought my pleasure to tremendous heights and then, once again, she released in an orgasm so intense that it shook her entire little body. “Oh, god! Oh, god! Fuck y-yes!” she cried.
“I’m going to finish now, angel. Don’t worry, I can’t get you pregnant,” I said soothingly.
“I know,” she said, not able to filter her thoughts. The mention of my vasectomy in the journal was the only way she could have known that. She never did catch on to her error.
I drove hard and deep into her about a dozen more times and then sent hot jet after hot jet of cum into her tight snatch. She obliged with a tired-sounding yummy noise. I collapsed into her arms and kissed her repeatedly. She revived and began kissing me back. I had taken her to new heights, and she adored me completely. It would make the next act considerably easier.
I rolled her to her belly and began giving her a deep massage. She cooed and purred as I worked her tired muscles. She didn’t have the wherewithal to wonder where I got the oil I pulled from the nightstand. Why would the world’s loneliest man have scented massage oil? She simply accepted the pleasing touches and the gentle sensations the warm oil gave her skin. She was in a deep dream of love and sensual pleasures. She didn’t even think much about a single lonely finger rubbing the oil onto the opening of her backside. And when the finger began pushing the oil deeper and deeper into her tight channel, she didn’t panic. The finger had been there before. She happily accepted the suggestion when her gentle lover pulled her hand to her sex. Hadn’t she wanted to do that anyway? It was only when the finger withdrew and all other activities stopped that she realized what I had been preparing her body to accept.
Her attempt at protest was limp and muffled by the pillow into which she had buried her face. Her well-massaged and relaxed body felt a little like a limp dishrag, and it must have seemed that to cry aloud would be somehow wrong in the moment. She accepted the intrusion of the well-oiled shaft into her bottom with only a few soft whimpers.
It had taken me most of the massage to get hard enough to even attempt to drive myself into that ludicrously small opening. I still needed a steadying hand and a massive thrust to get my head through the first ring. But, oh what heaven I found there! Many, maybe most, girls never take a man inside this chamber of delight. But I was burying myself deep within Charly’s ass only minutes after taking her virginity. And she was quietly diddling herself as I did it. “Sweet, sweet, baby girl,” I said softly as I slowly worked the last of me into her. “Such a sexy little lover.”
“It hurts some,” she said, sniffing and wiping tears from her eyes, “but it’s starting to feel a lot better.” She had accepted my taking this as a matter of course. She had seen 11 B multiple times, and it always ended with Mike taking Cindy in this fashion. To her, this must be how these things ended.
I began to pick up the pace. I pinned her hips down and began to ram her fairly hard and fast. “OH! OH! OW! NO! GO! NO! GO, EDDIE!” This was the loudest she had been all day. It was hard to be quiet anymore; the slow and gentle acts were behind us. But the cries of “go” weren’t solely due to my efforts. Incredibly, she had found her spot with her fingers, and despite all her body had been through this day she was experiencing intense thrills. Never had she even dreamed that she would feel a cock pressing against her from one side while she pressed her pleasure centers from the other. It was a short and wild romp, ending for me when I emptied my aching balls into her ass, and ending for her a few seconds later when she gained release through the efforts of her deft little fingers.
“I think I’m a bit of a whore,” she moaned wistfully as a camera caught some of my seed trickling back out of her ass and running down between her legs. Then she giggled. “If this is what that feels like, I can live with it.”
I stayed around town for eight more days. She was able to sneak away from her parents and Becky for long enough periods to enjoy wild sessions with me four more times. I had hours of footage, including some light bondage and spanking and a deliciously naughty piss shot—hers, not mine. She sobbed uncontrollably on the day I informed her that a minor miracle had occurred. My ex was running off with her new boyfriend, and I was returning to my hometown to raise my son. I just couldn’t pull him away from his family and friends.
Yes, it broke her heart, but it did it in a good way. She made a noble sacrifice and gave a child his father back even though it meant losing her first true love. There was no shame in that, plenty of drama, but no shame. She had not been abandoned by a cruel man. The stars had simply aligned against us. Maybe, in the back of her mind she knew she had dodged a bullet. Was she truly ready for a long-term relationship with an adult? Perhaps part of her realized that she had just had her youth returned to her.
I always ran the sweet game. I invested the time to give myself an out that didn’t make the girl feel like she had been cast lightly aside. Despite all the things done to her, she didn’t feel used.
I would return home, via a circuitous route and a few aliases and makeovers. As carefully as I picked my girls, one never quite knew if they had blabbed about me to friends. I didn’t need someone tracing my tracks. I would turn raw footage into an artful film and deliver it to my distributor, a distinguished Japanese gentleman well-placed within the Yakuza. His buyers payed top dollar for my work, and it had never once leaked onto the internet. It was for private collections only. To violate this rule would lead to deadly repercussions. My beautiful subjects never suspected that they had become film stars. Their names and any clues to their hometowns were carefully edited from the final product. Charly, an Indiana girl, became Sally from an unnamed town in Minnesota.
Three weeks to the day from my meeting Charly, I walked in my front door with Buster at my heels. A gorgeous little redhead with a tremendous rack greeted me at the door. “Hi, Matthew. How was your business trip?”
“Phenomenal, Jeanie. I’ll tell you all about it after we—“
“Daddy!” a high pitched voice cried, cutting me off. A forty-pound redheaded missile latched onto my leg. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too pumpkin. I brought you a present, but not until after you say hello to your best friend.”
“BUSTER! I missed you, too.” She rolled around on the floor with the collie.
“Braylee, go wash for supper and then Daddy will give you that present.”
“Yes, Mommy. Come on, Buster!”
“So,” I said after giving my wife a kiss that was a little too hot to have given her in front of Braylee. “What’s the plan?”
“Well, we’re all home together for the next 18 days,” Jeanie said, giving me her “and you’re going to love every minute of it” smile. “Then I’m off for Tempe, Arizona.”
“You do love those desert girls,” I replied with a naughty grin.
“Well, I just feel like the tans really work well on the vids. God, I hope I get a lively one. It seems like six months since I got my hands on a wild little girl.”
“IN a wild little girl,” I corrected her teasingly. “And the one from Henderson was only six weeks ago.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said as her hand wandered down to my thigh. “Henderson,” she added with a sweet sigh. “So tell me about Indiana.”
“Her name was Charly, and I absolutely adored her,” I began as I slid my arm around Jeanie and headed out to help her in the kitchen. I would tell her my tale and look into her naughty blue eyes. My wife was a master at listening to every detail about a girl’s personality, looking at a few minutes of video to get the speech pattern and mannerisms and then showing up in my bed in an uncanny impersonation of my latest leading lady. Something told me that this was going to be one of those nights where life imitated art.