Ah, the joys of mutual responsibility. The pleasure of discovering,
shortly after marriage, that your wife now has control over your time
to such an extent that she can promise you'll do favours for your
friends without even having to ask you about it first. The sheer wonder
of realising that quite without having planned it your weekends for the
next twelve years are booked up with a combination of family visits,
meals with (her) friends and home improvement projects. Bliss!
Such that it was I found myself in the small, crowded living room of
Jessica's flat. Jess and my wife went way back, before university and
jobs and all that malarkey, and were as close as two girls could be
without actually dabbling in lesbianism. Which meant, of course, that
my wife bitched and moaned to me about Jess and the poor decisions she
made all the time. Like opting to keep the baby, who turned out to be a
pretty little thing by the name of Rose. Rose was the result of a
drunken one night stand, and had never known her father. Now nearing
twelve, she was as skinny as a rake, and her mother's double but for
the need to pass through puberty. Very pretty, though, as I said, and
with a mischievous twinkle in her eye from her slightly strange
upbringing.
I met Rose when she was three years old. Jess was in her final year of
university, and my wife, Emma, was living with her and Rose. It was a
cramped arrangement, but having a lodger was the only way for Jess to
pay the rent, and it meant free child-care, too, allowing Jess to
finish her course. There were no wild parties or anything, but with
plenty of friends around there was always a procession of new faces in
Rose's life. She grew to love the attention she was receiving, and to
seek it out.
Fast forward eight years and Emma and I had got married and settled
down, and though I'd always sort of been on the periphery of Rose's
life, she knew who I was. It wasn't too strange a situation, then, for
my wife to announce that she'd decided to take Jess down to London for
the day, and for me to babysit Rose. Not that she needed much looking
after, but Jess felt unhappy leaving her on her own. They
promised to be back early in the evening, so that Rose could be taken
to a friend's party, which left me looking after her for one, long
Saturday.
Grace's party was, apparently, the event of the social season for
eleven year old girls. At least, that's the way it seemed as I walked
in behind Emma to find Rose frantically rushing around with an outfit
in each hand, apparently directionless.
"She's worse than me!" Jess said with a smile as she kissed me on the
cheek. "Thanks for doing this, sweetie. I really appreciate it."
I shrugged. "How bad can it be?"
Jess and Emma simply looked at each other and burst out laughing.
What they were laughing at was quite how bad it really could get. I'd
sat down in the living room with the Formula 1 qualifying on, but was
almost instantly interrupted by a thud-thud-thud down the stairs and
the arrival of Rose wearing a light yellow sun dress and carrying a
pair of heels quite inappropriate for a girl of her age, which she bent
to apply to her feet.
"What do you think? Is it OK?"
She was like an excited puppy, hands clasped in front, desperate for my
approval. What I thought and what I said were two quite different
things. To myself, I was thinking 'I can practically see the points of
her puffy little tits through that thing! And oh my God what a
figure!', but out loud I was a little more circumspect.
"You look lovely, Rose. Is that what you're wearing to the party?"
"Maybe. Now I'm not so sure. Wait there!"
I wasn't going to move anyway, so it was easy to comply with her
demand. She thump-thump-thumped her way upstairs, and a few minutes
later came back down wearing something similar to the first dress, but
in strawberry. Again, I assured her it looked great on her, though she
seemed unconvinced and disappeared off once more in search of yet
another alternative.
By the time she had thundered downstairs once more, Jess, who was with
Emma in the kitchen having a cup of tea before they left, came out with
a frown on her face.
"Rose, if you come thumping down those stairs one more time I'm not going to take you to the party!"
Indignantly, with a huff and a scowl directed at her mother, Rose said
"Fine then!" and grabbed me by the hand. I was hauled to my feet and
then pulled strongly up the stairs to be deposited on the end of her
bed among some two million or so stuffed toys. Rose's room was
everything you would expect from a girl her age, and mostly that was
chaos. Clothes and toys were strewn about the floor, and there was a
definite odour to the room that suggested that the window hadn't been
opened in a while. It wasn't unpleasant, but noticeable. The two
outfits I'd already been shown had been flung onto the bed, and the
wardrobe and chest of drawers were open, revealing that several further
options were in my future.
Rose was turning over her room in the search for something - I couldn't
determine what. A shout came from downstairs just as I opened my mouth
to offer her some help; it appeared my wife and Jess were off to
London, and that I was now the sole responsible adult in the house.
Well, adult, at least. Rose gave a cry of triumph as she discovered
whatever it was she'd been hunting for, and then requested I keep my
eyes firmly towards the door as she changed.
A soft rustling came from behind me, punctuated by the occasional huff
as she worked her way into the next outfit. I found my pulse quickened
at the thought of her mostly naked in the same room. It was a
surprising feeling, though not entirely unwelcome. My tastes tended
towards the more innocent end of the spectrum, but although I'd
sometimes been attracted to teenagers Rose was definitely the youngest
girl to ever raise my blood pressure.
She appeared before me with a 'ta-da!' and a quick revolution with arms
outstretched. Oh, how I wished that spin could have been slower! She
was dressed in low-rise jeans so skin-tight that I felt sure they must
have been tailored for her, and a tiny little top which was if anything
tighter than the trousers and which left her arms, shoulders and a
significant expanse of taut belly very much on show. It was obvious
there was no bra involved, the outline of her nascent breasts clear in
the orange fabric. I gaped at her, in shock, awe and a fair degree of
lust.
She noticed my stare, and gave me a broad smile in return, holding her
hands behind her back and twisting from side to side, obviously pleased
with herself. The pose only served to accentuate her meagre assets.
"Is this the one, then?" she asked.
I nodded mutely, not trusting myself to speak because I knew that whatever I said would come out as little more than a croak.
"Good, I like it too."
She twirled round twice more, giving me a wondrous look at her shapely
behind, lifted and accentuated by the jeans she wore. When she stopped,
she was staring cross-eyed down at her chest, brow furrowed.
"They're not too small, are they?" she asked, clearly referring to the immature mounds adorning her chest.
"Oh no," I replied. "Actually, I think they're perfect."
She grinned at me and came closer, moving to stand between my legs. The blood pounded in my ears.
"Are you sure?" she asked with a salacious grin, pushing her chest forward.
God knows I would prefer to have showed more restraint, more control.
But here was a young girl with a fantastic body, one who was clearly
coming on to me, even if she didn't fully appreciate the consequences
of her actions. My hands were controlled by my lust for her, and as my
fingertips brushed across the soft, gentle rise of her right breast I
knew I was lost forever, and was happy to be thus afflicted.
She gasped and pulled away as if my hand had burned her. The smile
remained on her face, but there was something deeper beneath it, a look
in the eye which said that something more fundamental was happening in
her mind. She stood back for what seemed like an eternity, but couldn't
have been more than a second. Then, with a determined, lustful look
coming across her face, she pushed forward into my still-outstretched
hand, mashing the half-orange of her tit into my palm. Desperate to
push closer, she mounted the bed, knees going either side of my legs,
forcing herself harder and harder into my hand, the fingers of which
began to move, groping at the pliable flesh. My other hand came up,
going to the other breast, kneading it like the first, and I fell onto
my back on the bed, regarding her from my supine position as my hands
worked on her immature flesh. All the time she watched me, eyes locked
into my own, her features crowded with confusion and with lust.
I wanted the top gone, wanted to feel her perfect skin against my own.
I raised myself up, arms going to her sides, and pulled her forward to
kiss me. Her inexperience showed, her lips pursed and unyielding at
first, kissing like a child, small, sharp jabs at my lips. I stopped
her with a hand on her face and gently explained how to kiss properly,
like an adult. It made her blush, but when we resumed she adapted
quickly, opening her mouth and sharing her darting, pointed little
tongue with me. As we kissed she writhed on my lap, pressing her chest
into my own. I held her hips, feeling the muscles in her flanks flexing
as she moved, giving us both pleasure from the movement of her crotch
upon the prominent bulge in my lap. Slowly, steadily I let my hands
rise up until they were pushing up on the top, pushing it up her torso
until there could be no doubt I wanted it gone. She raised her arms and
broke the kiss, staring once more into my eyes, her expression
unreadable as I lifted the flimsy garment over her head and flung it
aside.
They were perfection. I regarded the gentle, uniform swell of her skin,
the subtle blush of her swelling areolas, and the firm, tiny nipples,
raised in excitement. I could no more resist them unclothed than
clothed, and my hands automatically resumed ministering to them whilst
awkwardly we continued to kiss. Her hands were busy, too, grabbing at
the back of my t-shirt, hauling it upwards until she could go no
further, and we were forced to break the kiss once more as it was
lifted clear.
I fell backwards, taking her with me and feeling the soft hillocks of
her breasts pressing into me, clear skinned against my hairy
chest. She writhed on top of me as our mouths locked together again. My
hands, now relieved of duty on her breasts, moved down her taut back,
feeling the rise and fall of her spine until they met the waistband of
her jeans. I tried to force a finger between material and skin, but was
thwarted by the sheer tightness of the garment. She jumped up, sitting
astride me and giving a quick wiggle of her hips to acknowledge the
tumescent shaft beneath her backside as she undid the clasp of her
jeans and slid down the zip. As we resumed our embrace, I was rewarded
with access to her firm, round backside.
As we kissed I let my fingers roam all over her arse, though still
outside her soft cotton panties. When I finally delved below the
elasticated waistband Rose gasped, pulling away from the kiss and
laying her head on my shoulder as her hips began to work overtime,
grinding into the lump in my pants. As she became more worked up I
levered her pants and jeans down until her whole backside was exposed,
and then the tops of her thighs. Impatiently, urgently, she raised her
hips and reached down to rid herself of the remains of her clothing,
and suddenly my hands were roaming all over a quite naked girl.
I wanted to be naked with her, too. I pulled her up until she sat
astride my stomach and, still kissing her, got out of my jeans and
boxers as quickly as I could. When I'd done so, she raised her hips and
moved down until her sex was right on top of my painfully hard
erection. The grinding resumed, her hot, moist cleft riding up and down
the length of me, bringing me ever closer to the edge. Her face and
chest were now flushed with excitement, and as she knelt up for better
position I saw with delight that the reddening of her skin extended
down in a narrow trail to where her plump, entirely bald lips straddled
the suddenly very adult-looking shaft beneath. I gloried in the sight
of her little engorged clit being crushed this way and that as she
pumped her hips back and forth.
She was getting thoroughly worked up, nearing her peak, and despite the
rough treatment of my manhood, so was I. It couldn't end that way,
though. I was determined to get inside her before we finished, and I
began with gentle pressure to pull her up towards my stomach. When she
reached the end of my shaft I could feel more than ever the intense
heat generated at the entrance to her core. The sensitive skin of my
foreskin dipped into the slick warmth between her lips, and I gave an
involuntary lurch.
She stopped moving and lifted her upper body free of mine, leaning over
me. She looked me straight in the eye as her hips began to move,
rolling around, grinding back and forth, searching, hunting. It was
proof, proof that she wanted it, that she wanted me inside her, to be
her first. I reached down behind her backside and lifted my shaft up
from my stomach, and she responded by arching her back, lining herself
up with it. Ever so gently she pushed backwards, making tiny little
adjustments until the very tip of my manhood came to rest in a tiny
depression in her sex. With a start I realised this was the entrance to
her, this tiny little hole was what I had to squeeze myself into. For
the first time in my life I was grateful for my slimmer than average
endowment.
She leant back hard against it, bending my shaft painfully until ever
so slowly it began to part the muscle, to stretch the entrance and
force its way inside. Her eyes were clamped shut, jaw locked, a scowl
on her features as she concentrated, forced herself to continue despite
the pain. It gripped me oh so tightly, forcing my foreskin back,
letting the precum which had flooded out of me lubricate its passage. I
slipped further and further into her until the entrance to her slipped
over the head of my penis and seated itself on my shaft. Only then did
she stop, collapsing on me and burying her head in the crook of my neck.
Clearly it was up to me to continue, and I gently rocked my hips back
and forth, making tiny, achingly slow movements. Each thrust and
withdrawal was easier than the last, and I could feel her getting
looser and wetter with each movement. Before long I was stroking in and
out easily, and felt her revive on top of me as pain turned to
pleasure. She was still limp, though, and I decided that unless we
shifted a bit I wasn't going to finish any time soon.
Somehow on the narrow bed I managed to turn her over and shift her up
until her head was on her pillows. Her eyes were closed, head turned to
one side, breath coming in short gasps. I looked down at the sex from
which I had so recently disengaged. It was puffy and red, though there
was no sign of blood. Her vagina lay gaping open to my eyes, the
interior a dark red which stoked my lust. Leaning over her I entered
quickly, making her gasp and begin to curl up in pain. Short, careful
thrusts calmed her, and then as I began to drive ever inwards on the
forward stroke she seemed to revive further, bringing her legs up until
her heels rested on the backs of my thighs.
I came quickly this way, driving deep into her and holding myself
there, pumping my seed against the lump of her cervix deep within. As I
pulled out my semen flooded out, dribbling from her gaping hole down
across her pucker to pool on the sheet. I moved up and hugged her to
me, suddenly penitent, afraid that she would object after the act,
worried that I had traumatised her in the worst possible way. As her
eyelids fluttered open relief surged within, because she smiled up at
me and snaked her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a
passionate, loving kiss.
As we lay basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking, she spoke up in a suddenly tiny-sounding voice.
"You know, I was only going in that top because I was going to let Johnnie Mitchell touch my boobies."
"Well," I replied, "do you still want to let him do it?"
She shook her head. "Not now I've had a real man touch them."
With a smile she lay her head down on my shoulder. As I ran my hand
across the soft skin of her lower back I felt a familiar twitching down
below. I glanced across at the clock - we still had time...