From: email@example.com (Dungeon Master)
Subject: REPOST: The Pedophile (MFFFFFFFFFFF, Ped, inc,etc)
**NOTICE: I am not the author, just the poster. Enjoy. If you don't
like this sort of story, go on to the next one!
An Erotic Story
I guess the time my life started to take a turn for the better, was when I got my new apartment. Previous to this, I hadn't been able to stay put for more than a few months, before someone recognized my name, and I was forced to move again. I had begun to regret my appearance on the TV show, even if it had been responsible for my getting the high-powered legal help that allowed me to be free, instead of locked up behind bars, where the life-span of men who were known to like little girls was short and brutal.
At least the last place I had been at, the owner had been fairly decent; returning my deposit, and the unused portion of my rent-money, when he told me I had a week to be cleared out. The previous place I had lived had just dumped my belongings in the carport, and when I came home from work had told me I'd better be gone before morning, or he'd tell everybody in the apartment building who I was. I was in no condition to face a lynch-mob, so I left. It was over a year, before my lawyer was able to collect the rent I had already paid, and I never did get my deposit money back.
It's not that I really needed the money. The work I do, pays fairly well. My boss knows who I am, but doesn't care WHAT I do for a sex-life, as long as I don't bring it to work. Still, having to move every month or so, when people found out who I was, was not pleasant. THAT is the main reason I was so happy to find the "Open Arms" apartments. There were other advantages as well.
When my lawyer heard about my having to move again, he wanted me to sue the landlord. After all, it's not as though I were a convicted felon or something.
Well, in a way I was. I was convicted. Then the Marshall foundation stepped in, with their high-powered legal staff, after someone saw our family interview on TV. They got me an appeal, and not only did they manage to get the case dismissed, which would have left the possibility of it being reopened, they managed to force the judge to give a directed verdict of "Not Guilty." I was free.
So, the interview on TV was both responsible for saving me from the slammer, and my difficulties retaining an apartment. When most people found out that I had not only fucked my own 10, 12, and 14 year old daughters, but had gotten all three of them pregnant, they didn't seem to care that it was the girls who had tied me down, and made me squirt incestuous cum inside them, until I gave in, and let them have their fun.
After fucking the two older girls for almost a month, I began to like it so well that I didn't raise too much objection, when Lisa (the youngest) came into her big sisters' bedroom one night, where I was fucking Terry, and demanded to be let in on the fun.
Within 3 months, I was a confirmed pedophile. The feeling of my little girls' tight little pussies, swelling bumps of breasts, and bare little cunnies, was too much for me. I still loved my wife, but it was only because I DID love her, that I continued to have sex with her. I hated to cheat Mary, when it wasn't her fault. Besides, as I said, I still loved my wife (Still do, for that matter.) so while it didn't have the illicit thrill of screwing a cute little pre-teen, the fun of knowing the woman you loved was turned on by you, was still enough to make it enjoyable. Enjoyable? Oh heck! I loved it. No matter how much I liked fucking my little girls, Mary was the one who had loved me enough to give them to me, and it was still fun to try to make another one in her still sexy little belly.
There were two troubles, however. You would think that I would lose interest in fucking my wife, what with three little girls all vying for my sexual favors. Well, surprisingly, that wasn't the trouble. It seemed, that the more and more varied sex I got, the more I wanted. No, the trouble was, that I wasn't superman. All that sex was tiring, and it affected my work, until I was caught falling asleep on the job, and almost got fired.
The other trouble was one you might suspect. Terry got pregnant. I didn't dare put the girls on birth-control, and they wouldn't have stood for it anyway. So, when my eldest daughter told me she had missed her period; it wasn't really a surprise.
What WAS a surprise, was my wife's reaction, when I finally confessed. Yes, Mary was mad at me; but not for fucking our little girls, as you might think. No, my wife was mad at me for sneaking around, and not letting her know. After all, they were her kids too.
It was only when Terry, Denise, and Lisa all told her how much I had worried about her, and how I had wanted to tell her from the beginning, but they had all talked me out of it, that she relented.
Mary insisted that we put the two younger girls on birth- control right away, before it was too late. Only, it was already too late, as you have probably guessed. There I was, with three daughters ranging in age from Lisa at 10 years old, to Terry at 14, all pregnant by me. Oh shit.
Still, we might have been able to bring it off, with no more than a minor scandal, if some nosy neighbor hadn't overheard one of my daughters talking to the other, and figured out who the father was.
The rest, you probably know about. My arrest. The big scandal in the tabloids, about the unidentified father, whose daughters had "raped" him. It was only because the legal fees had mounted so high, we were about to lose the house, that the family agreed to do that interview on the "Opal Winter" show. They kept my face darkened, so people wouldn't recognize me, but my name became almost a household word for a while.
At first, the interview concentrated on the girls. The people couldn't believe at first, that all three girls actually wanted to have sex with their own father. It took most of the show, to convince them, that all three girls not only wanted to have sex with me, but they were all delighted that I had gotten them pregnant, as well.
After that, they concentrated on me. What kind of father was I, to fuck his own daughters, two of whom weren't even teenagers yet? If they had almost forced me the first time, why hadn't I told my wife? Why hadn't I at least put the girls on birth-control?
On and on the questions went. I fielded them as best I could. I could tell that some people in the audience, including a surprising number of the women, seemed to feel some sympathy for me. After all, I hadn't raped my little girls. In fact, they had almost raped me. It was that "almost," that did me in.
The last question, was the one that damned me.
Opal knew the answer, from talking to my daughters, but she was trying to improve her ratings, like any talk-show host.
"Mr. Jenkins," she asked, "I know you were forced into it the first time, but what about now? I'll bet you really like the feel of having sex with a little girl, don't you?"
I blushed, which thankfully the audience couldn't see, but I started to answer truthfully. "Well yes, but I wouldn't do it, now that I'm not being pressured to any more. I love my little girls too much for that."
"Well," Said Opal, "there you heard it folks, from his own mouth. The man who got his own daughters pregnant, just admitted that he is a pedophile. A man who likes to get his sex from little girls."
The nasty thing, was what they did with the tape of the show. All you heard of my remarks, were the words, "Well yes, I love my little girls." The bastards cut out the middle part, then broadcast this edited version all over the country.
In a way though, I was lucky. One of the directors of the Marshall foundation was in the audience; where she heard both my original answers; then saw the aired tape the next day. I understand she was furious, and directed their lawyers to help me out, by suing the show.
In the meantime, I went to trial, and predictably, lost.
The DA managed to get the judge to admit a recording of my wife's discussion of the girls' pregnancy with the doctor on the grounds that it wasn't protected by a doctor-client relationship, as it was her daughters she was talking about, not herself.
The trial was paused for almost a month, when Terry and Denise had their babies.
It didn't become completely clear why, until the prosecuting attorney had DNA tests done, which while they didn't PROVE I was the father of all three little girls, showed that there was at lest a better than 50% chance that I was.
The worst part, was that while the court was recessed, there was a news-report on the Opal show, and the lawsuits they were fighting. Including mine. They showed the edited version of the tape, saying that this was one of the items Opal was being sued for. It turned out, that over half the jury saw that tape. Even though the judge instructed them all to ignore any outside testimony like this, I could see that they all looked at me with disgust, after that.
My lawyer tried to get the case dismissed on prejudice, but the judge wouldn't do it. Personally, I think he saw the edited tape himself, and had decided to convict me anyway he could.
The judge thought he was being lenient. He only gave me 8 years. He told me that was because of the mitigating circumstances, of the girls forcing me. He told me, that I should have found some way to stop, if I really loved my daughters like I professed to. The public had to protect itself against men like me, who wanted their sexual gratification from little girls. Eight years, and he was being lenient.
Some leniency. I read in the newspaper about a month later, where he sentenced a man for raping his girlfriend at knife- point, to only 5 years. "After all," he said, "it wasn't as if it was the first time, the two of them had sex together."
That was his idea of justice.
It was about this time, the lowest point in my life up to that time, when I contemplated suicide. The only thing that saved me, was the constant support I received from my wife and daughters. Even though I wasn't allowed to see the girls, Mary kept me informed.
It was Mary, who introduced me to Mark, my new lawyer.
I was in the process of being fitted (if you can call it that) for my new prison wardrobe, when I was told to get dressed again, and hauled out to the visitor's center. My wife had a very businesslike man with her, who she told me was a lawyer who had taken over my case, If I would accept him.
Well, what did I have to lose? Of course, I said yes.
On the spot, Mark pulled out a writ of Habeas Corpus, from a circuit-court judge; and after 15 minutes of paperwork, I was back out on the streets.
It was there, in a coffee-shop, across from the prison, that I learned the downside. Mark was fairly sure he could get me off, but he couldn't protect me from an overzealous DA who would feel that he had been cheated.
If I went back to living with Mary and my daughters, people would think I was still fucking them, whether I was or not. They would then charge me with a new crime, and this time I wouldn't get off. And if any of the girls turned up pregnant. . . I'd probably NEVER get out of jail. So, Mary and I would have to divorce. We would have to be careful to not make it final, until after the upcoming hearing though.
That's the last time I saw Mary, at least, for over 5 years, anyway. Then. . . Well, I'm getting ahead of myself.
I almost decided to go back to prison, rather than give up the woman I loved. Not to mention our daughters.
It was only when Mark pointed out to me, that I would lose them there, in an even more permanent manner, that I accepted.
I kissed my wife one last time, tasting the salt of her tears joining mine then I watched her go. Somehow, she managed to make it to her car, and drive off. I don't know what I would have done, if she had weakened.
The next two weeks were a blur. What a difference, having a GOOD lawyer, and money to use him.
Mark explained that the Marshall foundation specialized in cases where people like me had gotten a steamrollered by the judicial system. It was set up by some woman who had more money than she knew what to do with, who got mad one day, when a friend got convicted for stealing something that the self-confessed real thief was acquitted of.
The woman set up the foundation to pick out 5 or 10 cases a year of this nature, and fight them. She wasn't as big or well known as the ACLU, but the foundation had a much higher success rate.
Mark got the circuit-court judge to order me a re-trial, on the basis that my wife had been forced to testify against me, when the judge had used the doctor's tape without her consent. From there, the prosecution's whole case fell apart like a house of cards.
Mark got a ruling from a supreme-court judge, that they had improperly obtained the blood-samples from Terry and Denise's children. They couldn't get new ones, without the mother of the baby's permission. No way, were my daughters going to help them convict me, when they didn't think I had done anything wrong. They all felt I had only done what was right for them. (In fact, I learned many years later, that they all wished that I had been able to give them each more than one child, before our family got broken up.)
The tape of the Opal show was ruled inadmissible on two grounds. First, self incrimination. Second, it had been altered. By this time, one of Mark's fellow lawyers had won an out-of-court settlement from the Opal show, for almost $250,000. They didn't care. They had already made more than that, from the tape, and the increased audience, was easily worth three times that.
Even after paying legal fees, and taxes, there was enough to set up Mary and the girls, so that I didn't need to support them any more. One less tie, as Mark pointed out, to get me in trouble. I wanted more ties to my family, not less, but knew he was right.
Even the original neighbor who had overheard my daughter's conversation, was no longer around. Her family had come into some money suddenly, and they had all vanished. My daughters wouldn't testify. My wife wouldn't testify. There were no witnesses. They couldn't use my own admissions on the Opal show against me. They couldn't prove the babies were mine. The whole case against me collapsed.
Since there was no case, Mark moved that the judge make a directed verdict of "Not Guilty," which I could tell that he didn't want to do, but was forced to.
When he handed down the verdict, the judge looked me square in the eye, and told me, "Mr. Jenkins, I'd better not see you in MY courtroom, for even a traffic-ticket. Do you understand me?"
I did, and told him so. If the local DA even caught me jaywalking, I'd probably go to jail.
Mark told me, that I could probably sue the judge and win, for threatening me like that. We both decided that it wasn't worth the cost. Better to retain the threat as a weapon, in case the judge or the DA DID try something sneaky.
As soon as I could, I moved out of state. Mark agreed that this was a good idea. No only to get me away from the District- Attorney's wrath, but to protect both me and my wife from suspicion that I might be sneaking around and molesting them again. As if I EVER "molested" my daughters. They molested ME! Not that I fought them all that hard.
It was afterwards, that I found out the real downside of the Opal show. People recognized my name, as a self-admitted pedophile.
I'd barely get moved into some new apartment, when I'd start noticing people looking at me funny. Then the notes, or telephone calls, or other threats would start. Sometimes within a month, sometimes even sooner. The longest, was only 4 months, before someone almost burned a whole apartment-complex down, including their own apartment, where their two daughters were sleeping, just to "protect" them from the "pervert." Some protection.
Almost killing his own children to "protect" them from a guy who wouldn't hurt a child to save his own life. Right!
Somehow, I received the blame for the whole thing, and it was only the police investigators who came to arrest the nut who started the fire, who kept me from being lynched.
I was told by the lieutenant, to leave town, as they couldn't protect me for very long. He was the only one, who seemed to be as disgusted at the jerk for almost killing his own daughters, as he was at me. Somehow, I felt the rest of the police wouldn't have been too unhappy, if they had been a little late in rescuing me from the other angry tenants.
Seven times, in two years I had to move. That's why it had been so pleasant to move into the "Open Arms," and why I dreaded the time when someone would recognize my name again. By now, a lot of people had forgotten who I was, and I surely made no effort to remind them.
There was another reason I liked the "Open Arms." It wasn't only their arms that were open. Almost every thing else, except the gate in front was open, as well.
The first time I entered the complex, following the striking figure of the apartment-manager, I almost died of embarrassment when a gorgeous redhead came out of her apartment, waved at the manager, and dove into the pool, wearing nothing but a smile.
"That's Gloria," said Anne, when she noticed my gaping jaw, "she lives in the apartment next to yours."
"Didn't she forget something?" I asked, "Like maybe her swimsuit?"
Anne looked at me with some amusement. "I thought you knew this place was C/O," she said, "It was in your contract."
"Oh!" I was too dumbfounded, to say more, so I kept quiet and followed Anne to my small apartment.
It was the smallest apartment in the complex. Barely three rooms and a bath. Anne explained to me, that all the apartments were partitioned so that they could be made smaller or larger, as needed. The rooms in any adjoining apartment could be made part of that one instead. Locked doors kept the tenants apart. One person in the complex rented out three whole sets, for his extended family. The place next to mine, used to be the manager's apartment, before she took over, and the people there needed extra room. That left the place she was renting out to me, cut down to bare-bones.
I didn't object. The price was right. I was now a bachelor; and besides, the view was great. Of course, I didn't know just HOW great it was, at the time; but I soon found out.
The "view" was of the pool. Being right up in front, next to the original manager's apartment, put my main window directly overlooking the big pool, where almost all the women liked to sun in the afternoons. WHAT a view!
I soon grew to love my new digs, and wouldn't have moved out, if somebody else paid my rent for a place twice as big.
I had never heard of a "Clothing Optional" apartment before. The biggest difference, was the entrance and lobby. You couldn't come in, without either a key, or being admitted by a tenant. There were strict rules, "NO nudity in the lobby," that they tried to enforce. Not always successfully, as sometimes someone would dash down there naked, just to pick up their mail.
Once I got used to it, I found I liked it. It wasn't a swinger's paradise as you might think. It was just normal people, who weren't all that uptight about wearing clothes. Or not wearing clothes for that matter.
Nudity was not required either. Many days, I would look out at the pool, and see quite a mixture of full-bodied swimsuits, mixed with bikinis, mixed with full nudity. Nobody seemed to care, and after a while, neither did I.
After a month or two, I was just as happy chatting with my neighbor, Sam when he was lunging nude, potbelly sticking out, as when he was dressed to go out on the town. Even more relaxed, in fact. It was Sam, who showed me the real advantage of my location. Sam pointed out the gold privacy film on all the windows. It also kept the afternoon sun from baking the apartments, but its main purpose was privacy.
The film acted somewhat like a one-way mirror. When it was sunny outside, everyone inside could have a good view of the pool, without being seen themselves. Sam showed me how you couldn't see inside the apartments from the outside, on any normally sunny day. Even fairly overcast days kept you from seeing in. On the other hand, except for a slight tinge to the view, it was almost as if the film wasn't there, when looking out.
At nighttime, the situation reversed, and you could see in, but not see out. Of course, most people kept their curtains drawn at night, and anybody peeking in windows at night, would have been an obvious "Peeping Tom."
Sam showed me how, with a pair of strong binoculars, you could look at all the pretty girls from inside your apartment, almost as if you were standing beside them. He handed me his pair, in his apartment, and pointed out one of the younger girls who was sunning herself about 30 feet away.
"Oh my God!" I found myself looking right up the crack of a barely pubescent girl, who couldn't have been much older than my Terry. There was a fine little fuzz just beginning to show where her future womanly bush would be.
It was then, that I found out that the accusations were true. After all I'd been through, I was still a pedophile. Or maybe I had just become one. Whatever. My prick ached with the thought of how tight the young woman's cunny-hole must be inside. I was almost ready to leave a big mess on my neighbor's carpet, when Sam nudged me, interrupting my train of thought.
"Quite a looker, huh?" he teased me. "I'll bet you'd like to stick that big thing up her tight little hole and make her beg for mercy." Sam grinned at my obvious erection. "Probably would too," he continued. "I'll bet that thing would split that little girl wide open!"
"Oh don't worry," he said, at my obvious discomfiture, "I won't tell her." "Anyway," he continued, "she probably wouldn't mind anyway. She already knows that I like to look at her, and she never says anything. Sometimes, she suns herself right in front of my window too. I feel like I could almost reach out and touch her. Of course, I wouldn't. She's too young, for one thing, and doesn't give me any other encouragement, for another."
Sam sighed, at the injustice in the world, while I got hot under the collar, remembering what I used to do with my daughters. Then, I had a horrible thought, about what would happen if people found out that a pedophile (me) was staring at their little girls like that. My erection wilted like a wet noodle.
"Oh. I guess that the younger stuff just isn't your thing, huh?" observed Sam, misunderstanding (luckily) the reason I didn't have a hard-on. "Well, I'm still a 'dirty old man,' and I still like to look, even if I can't do anything. I guess I'll have to 'handle my problem by myself.'" He grinned at me, and I watched the older man head for the bathroom, to "handle" his "big problem." "Let yourself out Mike," he called, as the door closed. So I did.
Passing the teenager on the little frame lounge, I couldn't resist looking down. So smooth, so firm, so YOUNG. I hurried, to keep from calling her attention, but she noticed me anyway.
"Hi, Mr. Jenkins," she said, making my hair stand on end.
I looked back, and I could see the girl half-sitting up, with one knee cocked. This had opened the slit between her leg up, so that I swear I would have been able to see right up to her unbroken hymen, if she still had one. All I needed to do, was duck my head.
I didn't. In fact, I turned my head to keep from letting the girl know that I was blushing. If I didn't get back to my apartment pretty soon, it would soon be obvious to everyone where my thoughts were leading.
"Afternoon, Jennifer," I replied, now remembering who she was. I hurried towards the safety of my own rooms, when her words caught me. "Aunt Anne wants you to come over Monday night," she said.
Anne, like several of the middle-aged single women in the complex, was obviously making a play for me. Now, she was using her niece, as bait. What a piece of bait. Then I was ashamed at myself for the thought. Anne was too nice a gal to do that. Still, she wasn't the type I was looking for either. I wasn't looking for anything really. My heart still ached with the thought of Mary and my daughters.
I agreed to go visit anyway. Sometimes, an aching heart was best consoled by a willing woman. It had been almost 2 years, since I last got laid.
I was right. Anne and I never did get to have a real "thing" going between us, but we got to be good friends, and more than 1 night I spent in her bed, while she spent several in mine. Still, that's all we ever were. Just friends. We still are, years later.
After Sam had pointed it out to me, I became an avid sightseer in my front room. I picked up a pair of binoculars of the type used by fire-wardens in the mountains. I mounted them on a sturdy tripod, where I could see the women outside.
It was almost as if some invisible message was passed. It seemed as though the minute I set up to watch, all the women in the building picked that moment to show off what they had.
I had never noticed how many fine young specimens of female humanity congregated in front of my window before, but from that day on, it always seemed as if there was always at least one, and sometimes as many as fifteen beautiful girls lying out by the pool, in front of my window. (I found out later, that Sam had given me a gift. Being in charge of the pool arrangements, he moved almost all the lounge-chairs down so that they faced my window.)
From then on, there was almost always a pretty view outside my front window. As I mentioned before, some of the women went naked, and others didn't. Sometimes, a pretty girl in a bikini, is more arousing than one completely nude. Sometimes. Other times. . . Well, I wasted a lot of sperm into the towel I kept handy by the front door.
It wasn't only women, or even men. Quite often, it was little kids, as well. Most of the kids went naked, enjoying the sun on their bare bodies, without a care. Occasionally, a little girl would wear a swimsuit, but it was usually a visitor. None of the other kids seemed to care, if one of them was or wasn't naked. This surprised me, as I really expected some of the kids to tease the others for wearing clothes, while they were naked.
I learned later, that one of the most rigidly enforced rules of the complex, was that "Clothing Optional" meant just that. Anyone who caused trouble about the state of dress, or undress of somebody else, was evicted. Even little children minded their manners, when it came to this.
Around the pool, you could be as comfortable in top-hat and tails, as in a bikini, or nothing at all. Even out on the courts, or in the recreation-room the rules applied. The only exceptions were: Everyone had to wear clothing in the lobby. And the rules of wear in YOUR apartment, were your business. A couple of families I know, enforce total nudity in their apartments, and anyone visiting them has to comply.
Another, (considered a little square) didn't get undressed, even for the pool.
Quite a few, only went naked when swimming. Most fell into the swing of the place, and went nude, when they felt like it, and dressed up, when it suited them also. I fell into this latter group, quite easily.
As I said earlier, I found out that I was a true pedophile. When I first got the binoculars, I mostly forced myself to watch the more mature women, and tried to fantasize about having sex with them.
A few (very few) even let me act about my fantasies. (No, I'm NOT going to tell you which ones. "Kiss and tell," is not a way to keep friends. "Fuck and tell," is a way to make enemies. I like friends.)
After a while, I kept finding myself looking at the little girls, usually picking those between the ages of 10 and 15. The ages my own daughters had been. Younger than that, and I would be afraid of hurting them. Older than that, and they developed hairy snatches, and big bosoms, that didn't seem to turn me on so much.
I never did approach any of the children though. For one thing, the thought of someone recognizing a known pedophile (me) talking to their little girl, was enough to give me the Willies. The other reason, oddly enough, is that I AM a pedophile. I love little girls. That's love. As in Heinlein's definition, where, "Someone else's happiness, is essential to your own." I knew that even the mere thought of someone like me approaching them for sex, would scare these little girls half to death. That would not be love on my part, if I did it. That would be sheer sadistic brutality.
Very few girls in the world really WANT to have sex, before they are 15. A lot get pressured into it, but that's different. Pressuring a little girl would be almost like raping her, and I could never do that.
I know; you're wondering about my daughters. So did I. I never approached them. They came to me. Or more correctly, "came-on" to me. Of course, I didn't resist them, as much as I should have, but that's because I didn't have the heart to refuse the children I had poured so much love into, when all they wanted, was to show they loved me just as much.
I don't know where the girls got the idea, that the best way to show they loved their father, was to carry his babies, but it almost sounds like somebody's sex-story. Who knows, maybe it was. Perhaps, they heard of this from some story like this one, and thought that it would be cute, to get pregnant by their own father.
Maybe not. So many romance novels these days contain stories about how wonderful it is to be a woman, and to carry the baby of the man you love, that they may have gotten the idea from one of those. Whatever. I knew my daughters were unusual, and I love every unusual bone in their bodies. (All the softer parts too!)
So, I love little girls. My fantasy was to make love to some of these lovely moppets that would gather in front of my window, but it was also my nightmare. The thought of even accidentally hurting one of them, kept me from more than barely saying, "Hi," when they spoke to me.
Of course, I was still scared that someone might recognize my name, from that ill-starred TV show. Nobody ever seemed to. At least, nobody ever said anything.
The day things REALLY started to change, was one of those low-points in your life, when it seems that everything that can go wrong does. A perfect embodiment, of Murphy's Law, as it were. My (now ex) wife Mary, had sent me some papers to sign, concerning our daughters. It was a mere formality, as she now had complete custody, but she knew how much I treasured even the appearance of having some say in their upbringing.
Since the annuity bought with the Opal settlement kept her and the girls quite comfortable, I didn't even normally have the contact of sending child-support. I had written the whole annuity over to her, and it WAS my child-support. Actually, the girls were better off than I was.
Mark (my lawyer) insisted that I only send presents on birthdays and Christmas, and that I not spend too much on the presents that I did send. Those were the only contacts I had with the 4 women I loved most in the world.
When I got the paper to sign, I noticed that it was wrinkled in spots. It wasn't until I finished signing my name below Mary's, (For possibly the last time in my life.) that I realized they were tear-marks, as my tears dripped off my cheeks to add further abuse to the poor innocent piece of paper. Mary had been crying too, when she signed HER name.
Almost blindly, I scrambled the letter into the return- envelope, and rushed out the door, before my eyes could fall on the pictures I kept on the desk. Almost 8 months old now, they showed my beautiful girls, as they had looked for their school photos, just before Christmas.
I stumbled out to the lobby, (Luckily, I was still dressed from work.) and stuffed the envelope into the outbound mail slot before I lost the nerve, and kept it as a last precious memento.
I was on my way back to my room, when I heard my name being mentioned. "Mike Jenkins?" said Anne, "Yes, I know him. He lives in number 13."
"Oh God!" I thought. This was the first time I had ever noticed the unlucky aspect of my apartment number. "How appropriate, unlucky 13!"
I was about to try and sneak back to my apartment, where I was always half-packed ready to go, in case someone DID recognize me like this, when the apartment manager noticed me.
"In fact," she said, "there he is now. O Mike!"
"Damn!" Now I couldn't just sneak away in the night. I'd have to face-up to the fear and disgust of yet another angry parent. As if I was really any danger to kids! Oh well, they just didn't know.
To my surprise, there was no sign of disgust, loathing, or even fear, on the young woman's face whom I turned to greet.
"Oh Mr. Jenkins, I'm SO glad to finally meet you," she said with what seemed like a genuine smile. Her manner was even more encouraging. Instead of pulling away in disgust, like you might expect if she knew my past, the young woman offered me a warm friendly handshake.
It's amazing how much friendliness can be put into a handshake. By the time we had finished, I felt as close to the woman as if I had gone to bed with some lesser mortal. Cathy (her name) seemed to be just as delighted to see me, as I was to admire her delightfully curved body. I was almost biting my tongue, to keep from growling. It's amazing what lack of a proper sex-life will do to you.
I was jerked back to reality, as Anne continued her introductions. ". . . are her children, Cindy, Diane, and Ginny."
"Oh shit!" I thought, "she's married."
"Where's your husband?" I asked, looking around for the lucky man who had captured such a lovely creature.
"Oh, I don't have one," she giggled.
"I'm sorry," I apologized, embarrassed at the faux paux.
"I'm not," she giggled again, "not if it means that I get to meet you, after all this time." Cathy looked around at her three children. This time, I looked closer. Three miniature pedophile-delights grinned back at me.
Cindy was the oldest, at about 12, and looked like a wet- dream. Her lightly rounded hips, and budding breasts hinted at the woman who would soon be filling out curves in all the right places. Not that her curves were unappealing now! In fact, the little girl was the sexiest thing in the whole apartment complex, with the possible exception of her mother, Cathy.
Ginny was the smallest, just barely out of the tomboy stage, at 8 years old I wondered just how tight her little slit was, then berated myself for mentally fucking the little girl, when we hadn't even properly been introduced yet.
"Hi, Mr. per. . Jenkins," said Cindy, then gave me a sunny smile, that warmed me down to my toes. Surely she hadn't been about to say, "Mr. pervert."
"Cindy!" warned her mother, obviously annoyed about something.
"OK Momma, I was just kidding," replied Cindy, then turned to me again. "You're nice," she said, then beamed a smile at me, that made me decide she couldn't possibly have meant what I thought she did. Then, the little 12-year-old added, with a grin, "Why don't you come over to our place some night, where you could meat me properly."
I gaped at the little girl in astonishment, and some embarrassment. Cindy couldn't possibly mean what I thought she meant.
Cathy just shook her head. "Kids," she said, "they start so young these days." Then she looked at me, with a twinkle in her eye. "As you should know, Eh, Mr. Jenkins?" Then left, with a wiggle in her walk that drew stares from all around the pool. Even fully dressed, the woman had a sensuality that made even the young girls in bikinis look pale and uninspired.
I was too busy trying to get over my shock, to respond. "The woman DID know," I thought, "and she doesn't seem to even CARE! And her with 3 lovely pre-teenaged daughters! Oh my God!"
I was still staring, gap-jawed, when Anne caught me. Misunderstanding my interest, she started telling me about my new neighbor. In a few minutes, I learned that Cathy Anderson was not married, was VERY well off, (She had rented the big apartment that used to be the manager's, right next to mine, the moment it became vacant. And it was NOT cheap.) She only had the three children.
And yes, Cathy HAD been inquiring about me. All Anne had found out, was that Cathy had mentioned she had seen me on some TV show, and had been wanting to meet me ever since.
I blushed right down to my hair-roots. She WANTED to meet me? And her, with three starting-to-be pubescent little girls? No way!
"It must have been someone else," I told Anne, hoping it was so. "After all, there are LOTS of TV shows. Perhaps, she's thinking of someone else. I never was a TV star." No lie, but hopefully misleading enough.
"Maybe you're right," sighed Anne, "but she seemed so sure though. Besides, how many Mike Jenkins' are there?"
"Not many," I agreed, and we left it there.
That was the Last I saw of Cathy, except for glimpses, for the next week. Only once, when she was signing for a delivery, did I see her looking my way, when she gave me another of those soul-warming grins.
Well, if Cathy knew about my sordid past, it didn't seem to bother her. In the meantime, I wasn't getting any strange phone- calls, or hate mail either. I breathed a little easier. Perhaps it WAS somebody else she was thinking of. After all, there were a LOT of TV stars. I couldn't remember ONE named Mike Jenkins though.
After about two weeks, they had settled in. I became used to seeing the three little girls come out from next door, and head for the pool. Just like all kids, they loved to get wet.
After the first three days, when they suddenly seemed to realize that bathing suits weren't needed, all three little girls stopped wearing theirs, and never wore one again.
In about a month, I had almost forgotten their mother's comments, and spent most of my afternoons ogling the three kids through the binoculars, to the detriment of all the other young girls who were there.
One day, I was watching Ginny, running my way, as she got closer and closer to my window. I was so absorbed in looking at the little girl's tiny little cunny, that I felt as if I could almost reach out and touch, that I didn't realize where she was heading, until my bell rang.
"Can-I-use-your-bathroom-Cindy's-using-ours-thanks," said the little girl in one breath, squeezing past me, and on into the toilet.
I never had a chance to object. I was about to tell the little girl that her mother might be worried, if she went into strange men's rooms, without even telling her mother where she was.
My words died on my lips, as I heard a satisfied, "Ah," then a splashing sound as the child relieved herself. I stared in wonder, at the little girl "going potty" in my apartment. I could actually see the stream of liquid, as it left the little girl's body, before vanishing down into the bowl.
Seeing my interest, Ginny smiled at me, then calmly spread her legs, to give me a better view. I couldn't have moved, if you had tied a team of horses to me. I watched the pee flow out of the little girl's cunny in a steady stream, until she finished, and started to wipe herself.
"Do you want to wipe me?" she asked, hesitating. I wondered just who had been wiping the little girl's cunny previously. I shook my head, afraid of what I might do, once I started.
"That's OK," said the little girl, reassuringly. "Maybe you'd better not, if you're afraid." She flushed the toilet, and headed towards the front door.
"Uh, Ginny," I said, "it's usually not a good idea, to go to the toilet, in just any man's apartment. Especially, without your mother knowing about it." I almost sweated blood, wondering what Cathy would do, if she DID know about this.
"That's OK, Mr. Jenkins," responded the little girl. "Momma says we can trust you, since you love little girls too much to hurt them."
My mouth was gaping wide, as she continued, "She told us all about how you loved your own little girls so much, that you were willing to give them up, rather than let them be hurt by other people thinking nasty things about them and you being together. So Momma says we can all do whatever we want with you, but we aren't supposed to let anyone else know, or they might try to make you look bad, just like they did with your little girls."
I stared at the little girl, unable to say a word. Obviously the little girl's mother DID know about me, and, and, and, approved?!?! I still couldn't believe it. And that remark about the girl and her sisters doing whatever they wanted to with me. Surely their mother hadn't meant that to be what it sounded like.
Since I didn't say anything else, (I just stood there, with my jaw flapping in the breeze, like the village idiot.) Ginny headed back out to the pool. On the way, she took in my binoculars on their tripod. Up to now, this had been a secret, that only Sam knew about. Ginny figured it out instantly.
"Oh," she said, "you like to look at the women in the pool, don't you Mr. Jenkins?"
I was barely able to nod.
"How about girls?" she asked, peering through the eyepiece, at her big sister, "do you like to look at them too?"
I shivered at how close the little girl was getting to home, but ventured another nod.
"Oh Goody," she said, then looked me straight in the eye.
"How about me?" she asked, "Do like to look at girls like me too?"
My expression gave me away. I nodded anyway.
Ginny almost exploded with glee! The next thing I knew, there was a little 8-year-old girl in my arms, kissing me. Before I could stop myself, my overexcited prick was pumping thick sticky gobs of sperm, all over the little girl's flat little tummy; from where, it dribbled down between her legs. Ginny watched amazed, at squirt after squirt of thick sticky liquid splattered all over her breasts, her tummy, and down her legs.
I couldn't believe how much cum I wasted that day. Well, it wasn't a COMPLETE waste. Squirting it all over a pretty little girl, was definitely preferable to squirting into an unfeeling towel.
"Wow," said Ginny, "I guess you DO like to look at me! Thanks, Mr. Jenkins. I guess Momma was right about you."
"I guess she is," I barely managed to breathe. Somehow I managed to escort the little girl to the door, before I found myself laying her on the bed, and filling her tight little tummy with so much thick sticky cum, she would have been having babies for the next 20 years. I don't know where I got the strength, but I did. Ginny didn't look too disappointed though.
When I finally caught my breath enough to look outside, I remembered just what I had done. Ohmigod! I had just sent the little girl out of my apartment, naked, alone, with great big gobs of thick white greasy cum covering her front, from her cute little nipples, down to where It dribbled into the lips of her tiny little cunny. I was dead!
I stared out the window, looking for the lynch-mob. There was nobody out there, except Ginny, and her two sisters. Now that I remembered it, there hadn't been anybody else out there earlier, when Ginny had come inside. I vaguely remembered Ginny checking the window, before she left. It seems the little girl had about 100 times the brains that I did. I still worried about her cum-covered front though.
With good reason too. As I watched, I saw Ginny talking to her older sister, then pointing at her front, then at my window. She turned and waved at me. Cindy looked my way, mouthed something that looked like, "Pervert," then hurriedly escorted her little sister into the water, where she ran her hand up and down the child's front; obviously washing off every trace of my sperm.
For about another hour, the three kids cavorted in the water, seeming to ignore me. Whatever happened, the little girl didn't seem to be bothered by our little session.
When they finished playing in the pool, all three little girls headed towards my door. For a second, I was scared that the would knock, and want to come inside. I was relieved, when they all stopped and lay down to rest on the three lounges closest to my window.
Before she reclined with her two little sisters, Cindy looked straight at my window, almost looking me straight in the eye, even though I knew she couldn't see inside. The little girl once again mouthed the word, "Pervert," at my direction, before joining the two younger girls at rest. Just before she relaxed, I caught a twinkle in her eye, and small smirk, before she puckered her lips in a cute little kiss that she threw my way, before laying back with a big grin on her face. Cindy may have thought I was a pervert, but she didn't seem to mind the idea.
It was only after I figured this out, that I realized what the three little vixens were doing. They were deliberately showing off their bodies to me. They had picked the three lounges closest to my window, and had each lain down with her legs towards the window, so that I was almost looking directly into three pre-teenaged cracks. Through the binoculars, they were almost too close to focus, but It was almost as though I could lick them with my tongue, they were so close.
Cindy lifted her head, looked around to see if anyone was close by, then gave a wink towards the window. Slowly, almost casually, the little girl spread her legs, lifting her knees, until her tiny little cunny was open and inviting. It was so obscene, yet so innocent. When a door opened a few apartments down, the little girl rolled over casually, as if she had no idea she was displaying her charms to the panting pedophile behind the window.
That night, I was all packed. I already had made arrangements to stay at a nearby hotel, if necessary. I kept waiting for the knock on the door. I waited, and waited. I knew it was coming. I ate a TV dinner, watched TV, and waited some more. It was after 7 o'clock, that I saw the next-door apartment open and Cathy head my way. Well, it had been a nice place to stay. At least, she wasn't bringing a gun.
Actually, she wasn't bringing anything. Cathy was as naked as her little girls had been; but she walked with the grace of a queen. When she knocked, I gave her a moment, then opened the door. I was prepared to tell the woman how sorry I was for any damage I might have caused her, or her children; then I was going to call the mover, and leave. Cathy never gave me the chance.
"I'm so sorry about Ginny," she said.
I gaped at her. SHE was sorry, about GINNY?
"I, I, I. . ." I started.
Cathy rushed on. "She should know better, teasing you like that."
"Huh?" My intelligence reached a new low.
"Showing off her body in front of you, then kissing you like that. It's not fair to a man who doesn't get much sex. Ginny told me how you came all over her, you got so excited. So I came over to apologize for her."
"You," I said, "Came. Over. To. Apologize. For. Ginny?"
"Unhuh," she replied, "I hoped I could make it up to you, for Ginny leaving like that, then the girls teasing you with their bodies afterward."
"Girls," I said, "teasing." I was just one big hunk of brilliance. NOT!
"Yes, it's not fair to show a man heaven, then take it away."
"That's what happened to Moses, you know." My brilliance was rising again. That remark was almost smart.
"It wasn't fair to him either," she replied. "I know I'm not as sexy to a pedophile, as my little girls, but do you think I could substitute for them, just a little? They don't know you well enough yet to go any further than they already have."
I stared at her. The most beautiful woman in the building offers herself to me as a temporary substitute for her own daughters? And she's worried I might not think she's sexy enough? I was almost ready to repeat my actions of the afternoon all over the woman this time, instead of her daughter.
"Unh," I choked.
Cathy looked down, and grinned. "I guess you DO think I'm sexy enough," she told me.
Two minutes later, there were no words being spoken by either of us; as we both were too busy talking with our bodies.
Cathy was just as hungry for sex as I was. In fact, she was probably hungrier. I was so afraid that I was going to leave the beautiful woman hanging, when I began spasming her sexy little belly full of sperm only two minutes after I entered her. I needn't have worried. The moment she felt me squirting inside her, Cathy let out a screech, and clamped down on my prick so hard, I thought she was going to cut it off. There was no faking orgasm for this woman! For almost two minutes, we both jerked and shook. Each time I squirted another big dollop of sperm inside her, Cathy would squeeze me again, bringing yet another blob of semen from somewhere within me.
This continued, until I finally had no more to give.
Afterwards, Cathy and I lay on the bed, resting.
"Ooh, I'm going to miss you, when you go back to your apartment," I finally managed to groan.
"Who says I'm going back?" asked Cathy.
"But your daughters," I protested, albeit weakly.
"My daughters are old enough to take care of themselves for one night," she told me. "I've been waiting to get you in bed, for 3 years, now kiss me!"
My thoughts about how it was just about 3 years, since the Opal show debacle, were cut short by the feeling of a warm sexy body, and two succulent lips driving all rational thought away. Well, if she wasn't bothered by the fact that I was a pedophile, why should I worry for her? I surrendered to passions I hadn't felt since my last time with Mary; the only previous woman who knew what I was and had accepted it.
After that, Cathy and I spent a LOT of time together. We didn't date. In fact, she seemed to be still dating someone else. I didn't care. I was finally getting sex on a regular basis.
Cathy kept me so satisfied in fact, that I didn't mind the sex-show that her daughters started to conspire to subject me to. It seemed like every day now, at least one of the girls would "Have to use the potty," and use mine, instead of their own. Besides this they all made a point of drying off from the pool, right outside my window, with their legs towards me, and cute little cunnies displayed for my close-up examination through the binoculars.
All of the girls found occasions to kiss me, like Ginny had earlier. Getting regular sex from their mother, kept me from repeating the messy example I had set the first time with Ginny. I wasn't sure if the girls were happy about this, or disappointed. I was happy. I still had nightmares about Ginny going out the door, plastered from chest to foot with my thick sticky sperm. even though Cathy reassured me that the little girl had checked to be sure no one was outside, before going to show off to her older sisters that day.
It was about two weeks later, that Cathy decided that the girls knew me well enough, and trusted me enough, to complete the plans she had been working on for years, ever since her father died, leaving her with three little girls to raise alone.
"Can you baby-sit the girls tomorrow night?" she asked me.
I was astonished. Up to now, Cathy hadn't seemed to be too worried, when she stayed the night with me. When I asked her, she explained, "When I stay over here, they all know I'm just next door. I know it too, so if anything went wrong, I know they can reach me easily. Tomorrow, my boss and I will be gone all night long, and I won't be next door, to take care of anything. I was wondering if you would stay over at our house, and sleep with the girls."
I looked Cathy straight in the eye, and said, "If that's what you want." She didn't mean what I thought she did, did she?
Cathy stared back at me with a level gaze, and replied, "That's what I want."
The next day, Cathy invited me over for dinner, then told the three children that I would be sleeping over, while she and her boss went out.
"But Mom! He's a pervert," wailed Cindy.
"He's not a pervert. He's a pedophile! Not that there's anything wrong with being a pervert. Now you go over there, and apologize to Mr. Jenkins!" The little girl's mother was adamant.
"OK Momma," sighed Cindy.
"Don't sigh. Do it right, like I showed you."
I couldn't believe the conversation I had just heard. Cindy's mother knew that I was a pedophile, a little-girl lover, and she not only didn't seem to mind, she wanted her daughter to apologize for calling me a pervert? Wow!
I watched the cute little 12-year-old girl approach me. Nicely budding tits, barely formed hips, and a bare little cunny that showed just the trace of down that would one day blossom into the thatch that would proclaim her a woman. My prick was hard, and pointing at her, but she didn't seem to notice.
"I'm sorry I called you a pervert," she said.
I wasn't. Not if it got her to come that close. My mouth was almost drooling, and my cock was.
"Cindy!" called her mother, "you know better than that."
Cindy grinned. "OK Momma," she said, then turned back to me. I just kept enjoying the view. What a view, for a confirmed pedophile!
"I'm sorry I made being a pervert sound like something nasty," she apologized. "I really know better. Besides, you're a pedophile, not a pervert anyway."
I couldn't believe it. Most people would be throwing me out of the house, if they knew I was a pedophile. Cathy was having her daughter apologize for calling me a pervert, when she knew I liked little girls?
"It's OK," I reassured her, "most people don't know the difference anyway." Which was true.
"But I do, so I shouldn't have been so uptight," she replied.
I wondered if she really did. "Oh?" I asked, "What is the difference?" I know, I'm crazy. But I really wanted to know.
"A pervert, is someone who gets sexually exited by weird things. Like playing with shit, or fucking animals," she replied. "As Momma said, there's nothing wrong with being a pervert. As long as nobody gets hurt, what you do for sex is your business. Anyway, you're a pedophile, not a pervert. A pedophile is a man who likes to have sex with little girls." She grinned at me, and added, "Like me."
Oh boy did she have THAT right. I would give my right arm to have sex with a cute little pre-teen like her. Of course, the way her mother didn't seem to mind me standing naked next to her little girl, who was also naked and talking about the fact that I liked to fuck little girls meant that I might actually have a chance someday.
It turned out to be sooner than even my wildest hopes.
"Cindy!" said her mother loudly, "You can do better than that. Now you go over there and apologize to Mr. Jenkins properly!"
"Yes Momma," said the pretty little girl. As I was trying to figure out what her mother meant by "properly," she stood up on her toes, and kissed me.
I was so astonished; I fell over backwards. Luckily, the couch was right behind me. I found myself sitting down, a pretty little sub-teen sitting naked on my lap, with my big cock almost touching her inviting little slit, while the little girl tried to kiss me again.
This time, I didn't duck away. If the little girl wanted to kiss me, I wasn't going to disappoint her. Not me! I wrapped my arms around the child, and was pleasantly surprised when she not only didn't resist, she snuggled closer.
I couldn't resist it. I opened my mouth, and licked her lips. Wonderful! No lipstick, just cute little girl. I was pleasantly surprised, when she opened HER mouth, and licked back. In less than a minute, we were kissing like a French movie. Her lively little tongue was dueling with mine, as her pert little bumps rubbed against my hairy chest, and my pre-cum dribbling prick rubbed against her smooth little belly. I felt as if I had died, and gone to heaven.
"Cindy!" admonished Cathy.
I almost jumped out of my skin. The little girl's mother was watching her daughter, and she looked highly annoyed. Oh shit! I knew it had been too good to be true. I had probably blown any chance I ever had, of getting alone with the little girl. Let alone, doing what I wanted. Now that Cathy knew her little girl didn't seem to mind my advances; she'd never leave me alone with her daughter. I mean, even if she didn't mind that I was a pedophile, she wouldn't want me practicing on her own daughter. It turned out, that I misunderstood who she was annoyed with, and why.
Cindy jumped in my arms, then pulled her mouth from mine long enough to reply meekly, "Yes Momma?"
"You know better than that!" said the older woman. "Now do it right!" She looked sternly at her offspring.
I was about to say that Cindy's apology was good enough for me, when the little girl stopped me with a finger on my lips. "Momma's right," she told me, "I do know better. Here."
I was about to ask "Here, what?" when it became obvious. The little 12-year-old girl raised herself on my lap, until my prick slid down to where her tiny crack split the roundness between her legs. To my amazement, the child then reached down, and grabbing my cock, she rubbed it "here," until the lubrication I had been leaking caused the head to vanish inside her.
"Aaahh!" she said, squirming a little.
I couldn't say a word. I was too busy gritting my teeth, to keep from squirting baby-juice all over the inside of the little girl's tight little cunny, before I was more than an inch deep inside her. She was so tight, I knew the little girl had never had someone as big as I was inside her. I couldn't believe how good it felt.
"Cindy," admonished her mother, again.
"Yes Momma," replied her daughter.
They didn't say anything more, but it became obvious what Cathy wanted. Cindy began moving her hips in circles; working first the head of my penis farther inside herself; then sinking down farther and farther; milking the shaft of my cock with her tight little vagina, until I felt the tip of my cock bump up against the little girl's cervix.
I looked down, and was amazed. Somehow, the little girl had managed to get almost 6 inches of my 9-inch cock inside her tight little cunny. I could feel ripples of muscular contractions milking on my prick, as the head of my penis pushed up against the bump of her cervix. She had somehow managed to get over two- thirds of my overgrown cock into her tight little slit.
I fought back the need to fill the child's vagina with my sperm. I might never be able to enjoy a little girl like this again. Certainly not for the first time. I wanted to enjoy being mated to the child as long as I could, before filling her hungry little womb with my seed. I hoped the girl was on the pill, as I knew I wouldn't be able to pull out in time. Just the feel of her sliding off me, would be enough to make me squirt.
"All the way Cindy."
I wondered what her mother meant. I was already bottomed out in her daughter.
Cindy knew. Biting her lip, I felt her press down. Somehow, another whole inch managed to slide inside the little girl. The head of my cock was now pushing HARD, into the neck of the little girl's uterus, and I actually felt the tip spreading the entrance to her tiny little womb, and drip warm sticky pre-cum inside. Wow! I knew the little girl had all she could take.
"ALL the way." Her mother sounded annoyed.
I was about to come to Cindy's defense. I thought her mother didn't realize just how big my cock was. However Cindy never gave me the chance. Raising herself about a half-inch, so that the pre-cum I was dripping out of my cock lubricated her a little more, the little girl sat down on me HARD. She lifted her feet off the floor, and let the weight of her body drive my cock up inside her.
There was a moment's hesitation, and for a second I thought that I would tear the little girl inside. Then, I felt a tight ring slip over the head of my penis, as the last half inch of cock vanished into her warm little body, and her bare cunny lips butted up against the furry base of my cock. I knew that the head of my cock was actually inside the little girl's womb. I had heard of such things, but hadn't believed it really happened.
"Good Girl," Said Cathy, obviously proud of her little girl. The older woman turned to me.
"Now fuck my little girl," she said. "Cindy hasn't had a good fuck in over three weeks, since my boss last came over to visit. He's a nice guy, but he can't get her pregnant, since he's had a vasectomy."
"Oh God!" I thought, "That mean's she's not on the pill."
"I'd better pull out," I managed to groan. I wasn't sure I could do it, without splattering the little girl's womb full of baby-juice, but I knew I would have to try. Yes, I'm a pedophile. That means I love little girls; not want to hurt them. I already loved Cindy, for what she had done for me. I couldn't bear the thought of hurting her, by making her bear an unwanted child. Gritting my teeth, I tried to withdraw. Cindy's sucking little cervix clamped down behind the glans of my penis, and wouldn't let go.
I was about to try even harder, when I was stopped. "It's OK," said Cathy, "you can cum in her."
You have no idea how happy I was to hear her say that. I stopped holding back, and felt a pulse of cum spit out of my prick, right into the little girl's waiting young womb. I groaned with the pleasure of release.
"She's not on the pill," continued the girl's mother, as she watched me inject two more healthy dollops of sperm into her daughter, "and her period was a little over two weeks ago. So you might be getting my little girl pregnant right now, if you're lucky."
Cindy was moaning and squeezing madly on my spasming cock, as I filled her tiny little womb with my baby-making cum. Knowing that I might be getting her pregnant, just seemed to excite her more.
"Unh," she moaned, "fuck me. Make a baby in my tummy. Please Mr. Jenkins. Please! Augh!"
What could I do? I let the little girl have it. Pushing my swollen cock as far up inside the little girl as it would go, I did my best to plant as much of my potent sperm as far up inside her womb as I could. It had always been a fantasy, to get a little pre-teen girl pregnant, with her own mother's permission, and now I was actually doing it. Spasm after spasm shook me, as I did my best to impregnate the little 12-year-old.
I was so involved in fucking Cindy, that I had forgotten all about her two younger sisters. At first, they had remained silent, when their mother had been chastising their older sister. Now, seeing Cindy and me in the throes of a mighty orgasm, they had lost their shyness, and were looking on interestedly.
"What's Mr. Jenkins doing to Cindy?" asked Diane. The 10-year-old didn't seem to be shocked, only interested. Her little 8-year-old sister didn't say anything. She just stared at the two of us, as I coupled madly with her older sister.
"Mr. Jenkins is making a baby in your sister," replied their mother. "If you two are both real good, he might make a baby in each of you as well. Right now, he's almost finished making a baby in your big sister, so let them finish."
"OK Momma." There was silence; until Cindy and I both stopped jerking and gasping.
When Cindy pulled off me, a large gob of cum started to ooze out of her swollen little slit. When her mother saw this, she had Cindy lie back on the couch, "So that Mr. Jenkins' sperm will soak in." I still couldn't believe that the woman actually WANTED me to get her little girl pregnant. Still, if that's what she wanted, who was I to deny her? I wondered what the two smaller girls thought. I soon found out.
"Is Mr. Jenkins really going to make babies in us too?" asked Ginny. "Yeah Momma, is he? How come Cindy gets to have a baby, and we don't?" her older sister chimed in.
"You'll have to wait a while," replied their mother. "Mr. Jenkins is a little tired, after fucking your sister. Maybe you can ask him to fuck you after dinner."
"Oh my God!" I thought, "Don't tell me she wants me to get Cindy's 10-year old little sister pregnant too! Not to mention the little second-grader."
Well, you know? It turned out that she did. And I did.
"See that white-stuff, that Mr. Jenkins squirted in your sister?" Cathy pointed to where a white blob was oozing slowly up out of Cindy's puffy little slit. Just the thought that the little girl was already carrying my seed in her womb, was almost enough to get me hard again.
"That's the stuff that makes babies in little girls," she instructed the children. "Why don't you each take a little on your finger, and put it up inside you? That way, you'll all be able to feel Mr. Jenkins' sperm making a baby inside you, while we eat supper."
My jaw dropped, as I watched first Diane, then Ginny follow their mother's instructions. Obediently, the 10-year-old reached over, and scooped up a big blob of cum from her big sister's oozing crack with her finger. Then, the little girl held her bare little cunny-lips apart with her left hand, while she carefully pushed her semen-covered finger as far up inside herself, as she could.
Watching closely, Ginny duplicated her elder sister's actions. I was almost ready to waste a gallon of baby-juice all over the carpet.
Cathy noticed my condition, and smiled. "AFTER dinner," she admonished me.
Somehow, I managed to restrain myself. After all, I didn't want to waste my sperm on the carpet, or even on my hand. Not when there were two pre-pubescent little girls just waiting for me to squirt it in them.
Cathy turned to the younger children. "See," she said, "at least now, you'll both be able to eat supper, knowing Mr. Jenkins' sperm is inside you. You might actually be making a baby, while we eat."
I groaned, at the delicious thought.
The woman smiled at me, and continued to her eager offspring, "After supper, you can all fuck Mr. Jenkins as much as you want. I'm going out tonight with Mr. Perkins ('That's my boss,' she whispered in an aside to me.) and I'm leaving Mr. Jenkins here to take care of you.
Oh God! I knew I must be dreaming. Only a pedophile's wet- dream of heaven would have a woman leaving her three little girls with him, while she told them that they could, "fuck him as much as they wanted." This just couldn't be real. I didn't DARE pinch myself, for fear I'd wake up.
I can't remember what we ate that night. It could have been hog-slop, for all that I paid attention. Of course, I know that Cathy is way too good a cook, to just throw junk on the table. Still, I was so distracted by the sight of the three little girls squirming on their chairs, knowing that all three of them were leaking dribbles of my sperm on the hardwood seats, that I don't know if I was served Prime-Rib, or hash.
After dinner, Cathy gave instructions. Both to me, and to her children. "We won't be back, until about 10 o'clock tomorrow morning. So I want you all to promise me that you'll all obey Mr. Jenkins, and do whatever he says."
"Oh Shit!" What a line to give a pedophile. If I thought that was something, her next lines just blew me away.
"I usually sleep with the girls," she told me. "We all sleep in the same bed."
Somehow, I wasn't surprised to hear this.
"The girls will be lonely without me," she continued with a straight face. "Could you sleep with them tonight, so they won't miss me too much?"
Does a bear shit in the woods? Both I knew, and she knew that all four of us would be far too busy on that bed, for her little girls to get lonely. I grinned at her, and said, "I would be happy to sleep with your little girls."
"I thought you would," she replied with a grin, as big as mine. "Just take it easy with Diane and Ginny. At least for the first time, would you? They've never done it with a man before. I don't mind if you get them pregnant, just don't hurt them."
"Oh God!" She "didn't mind," if I got them pregnant. Just "don't hurt them." Oh Jesus! You couldn't have forced me with a gun, to hurt the little girls. I already loved them all too much for that. The thought of even accidentally hurting a little girl who might soon be carrying my baby in her cute little tummy was almost enough to make me lose my hard-on. Almost.
Cathy must have sensed my thoughts. I knew she wasn't really afraid I'd hurt her kids, or she wouldn't be leaving me alone with them. I don't know why she trusted me so much. That interview on the TV-show must have really impressed her. My rambling thoughts and sagging hard-on were rescued by Cathy's final instructions to her family.
"Now girls," she started.
"Since Mr. Jenkins is going to be sleeping with you for a while, I don't want you to be so formal. Why don't you all call him 'Daddy,' so he'll feel at home? Go on Cindy, you first."
"OK Momma," said Cindy, then she turned to me. "Daddy, are you really going to make a baby I me? I mean I've been trying for almost a year, with Mr. Perkins, but nothing seems to happen."
I almost collapsed on the floor from mental overload.
Cindy's little sister put the cap on it.
"Daddy, could you fuck me now? Please? I can't wait until tonight. Cindy always gets to fuck, and we never do. Please Daddy?"
Cathy grinned at my gaping jaw. "Why don't you start in, while I get dressed for my date. Cindy, why don't you take care of Mr. Perkins, if he arrives before I'm ready. You know what to do."
"OK Momma," replied Cindy.
I barely heard the exchange. I was too busy trying to fit my cum-dribbling cock into the tightest little-girl hole in the world. If she hadn't been so obviously eager, I would have worried about hurting Diane but she seemed to want me to put my cock inside her tight little crack, almost as much as I wanted it there.
I was so busy working first the head of my prick inside the girl, then the shaft, that I never heard the front-door open to admit someone, or Cindy leading him over to where I was laying myself open to the biggest charge of statutory-rape the state had ever seen, by fucking a little 10-year-old girl right out in the living room, where her mother's boyfriend couldn't miss the fact that I was screwing the child.
I almost jumped out of my skin, when Cindy led her mother's boss over to the couch, and sat down beside me, so that she could see where my cock had vanished up inside her little sister. I was about to collapse in embarrassment and fright, at being caught "with my pants down," when Cindy leaned over and swallowed the man's cock. My relief was like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over me. Obviously, this "Mr. Perkins," or whomever he was, couldn't call the police on me, for doing the same thing that he was. I remembered what the little girl's mother had said about her boss having a vasectomy. Well, in the baby sweepstakes, he wasn't any competition. Actually, it turned out that he wasn't ANY kind of competition. He was just a friend, and has remained so, even years later. I returned my attention to the little girl who was about to make me cum inside her, and ignored Cindy's slurping. I wasn't even aware when the man came in the little girl's mouth, and then went out with her mother, leaving Cindy licking her chops.
There's NOTHING like squirting your sperm in the belly of a 10-year-old little girl, who's already having periods, but who's not on the pill, and actually WANTS you to get her pregnant. Well nothing, unless it's doing the same thing to her little sister. Actually getting an 8-year-old little girl pregnant, while her mother encouraged you. Wow.
I won't give you a blow-by blow description of what went on that night. You wouldn't believe me anyway. No man could get it up that many times. Well, normally you'd be right. It's just that the first time was so stimulating, that every time I was ready to call it quits, one or the other of the little girls would do something, or make some comment about making a baby in her, that would start the ball rolling all over again. I must have fucked each one, at least three times, before Cathy returned the next morning.
Cathy was so proud of her little girls, as they all showed her their cum-dripping little cracks, and each one bragged about how much sperm I had squirted inside her. She helped me clean up the mess on the bed. Then after lunch, we started in all over again. Only THIS time, I fucked the mother, as well as all three daughters.
Sadly, I was never able to repeat the performance I gave that first night. The best I was ever able to do after that, was one extremely horny day, when I fucked each of the little girls twice, and their mother once. By the time I finished THAT day, I was almost dead of exhaustion. I never did figure out, where I got the energy the first time.
To answer your question, yes I did. I actually got all three little girls pregnant. Yes, even little Ginny. Don't ask me how. You wouldn't believe how cute the kids looked, when their tummies started to swell.
I must have spent about 6 months worrying about the kids getting hurt, being so small and all. Cathy wasn't. She had them all take Lamaze classes, and they all had normal births. Yes, even little Ginny. I know, I don't believe it myself, but the doctor let her try, and she only had about 4 hours of labor, before delivering a beautiful baby boy. Her sister's both had girls, so Ginny got a little smug.
When her three daughters all had babies within a month of each other, there was a big scandal. Still, it died down, when none of the three kids would tell who had knocked them up, except that it was "Some older kid," that they didn't want to get into trouble. Everyone sympathized with me, when I married Cathy. They all felt sorry for me, having to help raise all those little kids. Of course, I didn't mind.
There was another scandal the next year, when all three kids got pregnant again. Cathy and I tell everyone we don't know what to do. I mean, what CAN we do, if the girls won't tell us who they are having sex with? (It's no lie. The girls never tell us, since we already know, of course.)
I know, you're wondering why I didn't end up in jail again, when people found out that Mike Jenkins' kids had babies. It's quite simple. Mike Jenkins no longer existed. I took Cathy's last name, when I married her.
Cathy turned out to be a LOT richer than even I had thought. It turned out, that she didn't really rent her apartment, she owned the whole complex, and had set it up with me in mind. She also turned out to be the entire "Marshall foundation." Even her "boss" Mr. Perkins, was just a friend, who she exchanged favors with. (NO, her daughters were NOT the "favors" she swapped! The girls LIKED Mr. Jenkins; Cathy liked him; and she didn't stand in their way.) There was more, that I didn't find out, until about three years later, when the last one of the kids came home from the hospital, and we were all celebrating.
Cathy invited everyone in the whole "Open Arms" complex to Michelle's "birthday" party. About a week after the fact, but who's counting. During the preparations, Cathy kept trying to tell me something about one of the new tenants, who would be joining us, but I was too busy helping the caterers and musicians set up to find out who they were. I figured that I would meet whomever it was at the party anyway. Everyone was coming.
The party started at 10:00 on a fine Saturday morning. I was just admiring the banners proclaiming "Welcome Michelle, Susan, and Marie, to the world!" Everything was ready.
As I was gloating about how lucky I was, to get everything ready on time, to have such a wonderful wife, not to mention such adorable sex-mad children, I found out that what I had thought was heaven, was only an appetizer for the real thing. Two soft hands reached around me, and covered my eyes.
"Guess who?" said an oh-so-dear voice, in a manner that I could never forget, no matter how many years passed.
Tears were streaming down my face, as I turned around. It couldn't be, but it was. There, standing where my back had been turned to, were Mary, Terry, Denise, and Lisa, along with three little boys who looked so excited, they could hardly hold still. Standing a little to one side, were Ginny, Diane, and Cindy, holding a baby in each arm. A little to the rear overlooking this family reunion stood Cathy, grinning from ear to ear.
It turns out, that our new next-door neighbors, is some family called Jenkins. I love my family, and somehow, I'm going to show Cathy just how much I appreciate what she's done for me.
When I told her this, Cathy just grinned, and told me I already had, but if I really wanted to do something for her, there was one small thing. With this, she looked pointedly in the other room, where both sets of girls were playing.
Oh boy! Well, It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it. Still, don't you think that SIX babies, all at the same time, might be pushing things just a little bit?
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