It could be worse!
An Erotic Story
It was a mistake to even object, Kirsten figured out later.
"But Mom! I can't wear this!" Kirsten held up the one-
piece uniform. Each almost skintight dress had been custom-
fitted to each ballplayer; molding itself to the girl's body
almost like it was painted on. Slight padding emphasized the
already budding breasts of the barely pre-teen girl; and the
bottom of the skirt barely fell below the child's hips enough to
cover up the supplied white panties that were in stark contrast
to navy-blue, almost black dress. When she sat down, it was
impossible to sit without at least a slight occasional "panty
shot" being noticeable; and the white panties made it certain
that anybody looking couldn't help but notice the indentation the
girl's sex made in the white material. In fact, the three pairs
of custom-fitted panties that came with each uniform all seem to
have a crease molded right into the material . . . just to
emphasize the girl's slit underneath.
"Why not?" asked her mother reasonably. "It's much better
made than those cheap outfits the vacuum-cleaner house supplied
you girls with last year."
This was true enough. The dress, while short, was made of
far sturdier material; and yet was much softer as well. Unlike
the pants and cheap shirt the girls had worn the year before,
this outfit looked like it would easily last two or even three
seasons . . . only the girl would outgrow it long before then.
"You remember all the complaints we had last year about the
uniform quality . . . well this year the manager found an
organization willing to supply real quality uniforms for you
girls; as long as they got to do the design, and put their logo
on it. I'd think you girls would be grateful."
"Some organization . . . Local Child-Molesters
International," said Kirsten, holding up the outfit. "Look at
this Mom! I can't wear an outfit that says this!" Kirsten held
up the short little dress to her front, so the lettering was
fully visible. What bugged her most was the implied meaning of
wearing a uniform promoting such an outfit; followed closely by
the way the lettering spelled out something she couldn't bring
herself to say out loud. Just like some semi-humorous shirts the
girl had seen other teenagers wear, saying thing like:
I like
B.U.M.
Equipment
This dress was similarly emblazoned with the name of the
organization supplying the uniforms; just like all previous
suppliers had their names on the cheaper uniforms previously
supplied. It was Kirsten's misfortune to have picked Number-two
for her team outfit, before knowing who the sponsor was; thus
just emphasizing the almost obscene message.
"Nonsense," replied her mother. "They don't molest
children. Every one of those girls are highly paid professional
actresses, whose parents have trained them almost since birth.
Nobody there is forcing girls to have sex; the kids all love
it . . . you can see it from their faces."
1
"Yeah . . . like you said, they're all professional
actresses," replied Kirsten, somewhat bitterly. Couldn't her
team have found ANYBODY other than the local "Fraternal Union of
Childporn Kindersluts" to sponsor the girls?
Once again she blushed at the message the dress seemed to
give the world, as the recognition, her number, and the initials
of the sponsor appeared in three lines on both back and front:
I like
2
F.U.C.K.
"Mom, she objected weakly, one last time. Can't you see
what it SAYS?"
Her mother shrugged. "So what?" she asked. "You're 12
years old now . . . I should think that letting the world know
you like sex wouldn't matter. Anyway, we don't have much choice;
as the courts ruled that the suppliers of the uniforms can decide
what the outfits look like . . . as long as the uniforms cover
the genitals properly; which with those white panties, these do."
At her daughter's raised hand and open mouth in objection,
the woman continued, "And you certainly don't need to worry about
the members of F.U.C.K. molesting YOU . . . you're much too old
for them. I hear they don't hire ANY girls to perform in their
erotic films with older men after they reach the age of 9, and
most are a lot younger; preferring virgins when they start
out . . . I hope YOU aren't still a virgin. Are you?"
Wordlessly the little girl shook her head. Kirsten was NOT
going to admit to her mother she had only lost her hated cherry
barely 8 months earlier . . . and then having to resort to her
own brother to do the job. The girl was not THAT bad looking; it
seeming to be her almost pristine attitude that had kept older
men and boys from making passes at her before.
"Besides," her mother said; looking a the sexy figure her
daughter made in the "kinderslut" outfit that almost mimicked the
ones she had seen little 10-year-old porno-stars wear before
losing their clothes in the inevitable orgy you always saw on
film these days, when little girls were cast opposite adult
males. "It could have been worse."
"Yeah, right," said Kirsten bitterly; wondering just how
things could be worse than going out to play ball in an outfit
that wasn't just an invitation to rape, but declared in large
letters to the entire world that the pubescent and nubile young
girl wearing the outfit enjoyed sex tremendously . . . even if it
WAS true; it was as embarrassing as heck! What could be worse
than that?
Kirsten found out at the first game against a team from
across town. To her almost disappointed surprise, not one of the
leering men in the stands more than glanced at her and her cute
teammates in their sexy little "kinderslut" outfits that suddenly
seemed almost demure, as the other girls' team walked out on the
field.
2
Short tops, bare midriff, micro-minis slit down the side,
all in matching black satin barely covered the opponents. The
short little tube-tops were barely large enough to hold the
numerals identifying each player, along with the sponsor
identification and the player's number between them, with a #
symbol that looked more like a dollar sign preceding it. Player
#25 on the other team got Kirsten's attention most The short
little tube top on the long-haired brunette read:
I.M.A.
$.25
W.H.O.R.E
while long fishnet stockings, and black shoes covered the girls'
legs. To complete the outfit, each girl had a conductor's metal
change-machine belted to the front of the short little skirt.
Stiletto heels would have been all that was needed to make any of
the girls look completely at home leaning against a lamppost in
seedier parts of town. However, the outfits were GOOD outfits;
and the shoes were flat with spikes suitable for playing ball.
The mesh stockings were made of rugged material, and so were the
black silk pants and stretch tops that jiggled with every move
the girls made.
Even the change-machine looked like quality workmanship;
comfortable to wear, yet sturdy and well-built enough to supply
change for years before wearing out; not one of the cheap toys
you sometimes see.
Kirsten looked around wondering . . . sure enough she saw a
shy little redhead sitting on the opposite team's bench, wearing
a tube-top that proclaimed that THIS little hooker could be had
for only a penny. Kirsten blushed to think of what the boys at
school would have said if she had been on THAT team, with her
choice of #2 in the line-up. It was bad enough having everybody
in town know that she liked to fuck . . . the number of boys and
yes even teachers who had gotten into her pants in the barely two
weeks since she and the other girls first got the uniforms, just
because they all knew she couldn't turn down sex from any decent
guy who wanted to date her . . . even if the "date" was only a
hot-dog and coke, was getting almost ridiculous. If this kept
up, Kirsten figured she would be nursing her first baby in less
than a year; as her mother had refused to put her on the pill
until she was 16; saying it was HER problem if she couldn't keep
her legs closed until then; at the same time almost inviting
everybody in town to fuck the little girl . . . almost holding
her daughter's legs open . . . by making the child wear the team
outfit not only to practice; but to school and church as well.
Still, to have to give it away to anybody who walked down the
streets, and for only two cents a pop . . . .
Yes, her mother was right after all. It definitely could
have been worse.
3