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The Perfect Little Woman.
Written by Lensman.

This story is fictional, all characters and events depicted within are fictional and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

I have one unbreakable rule (to paraphrase Isaac Azimov):
I may not harm a Little Girl, or through inaction allow a Little Girl to come to harm.

Keep these fantasies where they belong; in your head.

Story Codes: (Mg, Cons, Pedo, SciFi)

Story Intro:
Not even the Perfect Little Woman is going to stay perfect forever...

The Perfect Little Woman.

I awoke slowly, stretched languorously and smiled, remembering the night before. It had started with the party of the century... literally. What a party it had been! All of Earth had been celebrating the turn of the twenty-second century. The year 2101! Peace and prosperity to all, and a happy life...

Until Gerald Smith asked his hateful question. "How happy is your life?" he asked, grinning slyly, just a little drunk. "I mean, how is life with your sweet young wife?"

That had been unpleasant. Everyone knew that Smith was a Normalist, but what right did he have to rub people's noses in it? Just because he had married an Uncultured girl...

"I love my wife," I had replied vehemently, "and she's a hell of a lot nicer and more responsive than that bundle of neuroses you call a wife." But of course, you can't get under the thick hide of a Normalist. Normalists love the faults in their girls as much as their virtues... perhaps more.

Gerald grinned even more slyly, and said, "You know Len, I think your wife needs a check-up. Have you noticed her reflexes lately?"

After the party I dismissed his accusations from my thoughts and brought my darling Myra home and carried her up to our bedroom. I carefully stripped her of her party dress and then gently laid her down on our bed. I kissed her gently and lovingly, letting her know how much I loved her. I kissed down her throat to her heaving chest and licked, kissed and sucked all around her erect little nipples, eliciting moans of excitement.

I trailed down past her bellybutton to the junction of her thighs and then licked up along the sensitive crease between her mons and thigh to her hip. I gently spread her legs wide and lay between them before I slowly nibbled and lipped at her inner thigh, keeping clear of her pussy for the moment.

Myra was breathing deeply and moaning with the sensations I was building in her. I gently blew a stream of air over the hood of her clit before I gently placed my thumbs on either side of her plump, bald labia and gently pulled them open. I was rewarded with the heady scent of her arousal and a trickle of pussy juice leaking out. I quickly ducked down and lapped from her hole to her clit in one smooth firm motion, causing her to gasp.

She moaned as I lapped at her clit again and then groaned sensually as I pushed my stiffened tongue deep into her tight vaginal passage, trying to catch more of her delicious nectar. I licked, kissed, sucked and nibbled all over her hot pussy slowly building her pleasure up until I relented and sucked her engorged clit between my lips. I rolled it between them while I flicked my tongue over the tip and gently nipped it through my lips, stimulating her beyond her endurance.

Myra climaxed with a hoarse shout as I continued to squeeze and strum her clit prolonging her orgasm until her body was squirming and spasming uncontrollably on the bed and I could see her stomach rippling as her cunt muscles clenched. I stopped my assault on her clit and shifted my mouth to cover her entire pussy and gently sucked and nursed on it tasting her sweet orgasmic juices as she slowly came down from her heights of pleasure.

Myra groaned in dismay when I stopped sucking on her and lifted myself away from her body, but she then moaned in pleasure as I supported myself over her and poised my straining erect cock head at the streaming entrance of her cunt. I teased her a little as I slid the head up and down her slit and rubbed it over her clit. Myra moaned each time the head of my cock teased over her clit and began thrusting her hips up in the hope of catching me.

After teasing her for a while I held still at her entrance as she hunched her hips and captured the head of my cock in her tight vaginal grasp. As soon as I felt the hot wet grip of her young cunt on the bulbous head of my cock I pushed it through the entrance and slid deep into her in one smooth motion.

She grunted as I hit her cervix, and then moaned, "Oh god, do that again."
I pulled back until just the head remained in her tight, hot sheath and then plunged in again and watched as her labia distended around my shaft and her clit was dragged in and along the top in the process.

"Yesss!" Myra hissed between clenched teeth, "Do it again... Harder!"
I began slowly at first, thrusting in and out in an even rhythm each time nearly pulling all the way out at the top and thrusting in to the hilt. I sped up my thrusts until my balls were wetly slapping at her up-thrust buttocks with each penetration. As I pounded into Myra's sopping cunt I reached between us and rolled her hard little nipples between my fingers and thumbs. As I felt her vaginal muscles rippling along my shaft I squeezed the hard little nubbins and pulled them up and away from her body.

Myra came again... hard. She arched her back almost dislodging me, and screamed a raw throaty yell of pleasure. I was aroused beyond my own tolerance, her spasming cunt pulsed around my cock and proved too much for me. I came with a raw yell of my own and jetted what felt like gallons of cum into her young womb. I twitched as waves of pleasure rolled over me as I continued to squirt until long after my reserves were dry, and then I flopped bonelessly to the bed beside her.

I eased myself out of bed, blinking at the bright morning sunlight that peeked between the curtains, and thought again about what Gerald had said. The curse of it, was that there was a germ of truth in what he had said, lately, Myra had seemed a little... out of sorts.

"Myra!" I called downstairs, "Is the coffee ready?"
There was a slight pause, then her voice floated brightly upstairs. "In a minute!"
I dressed slowly, still blinking sleepily, and thanked God that the next three days were holidays. I'd need all of them just to get over last night's party.

When I got downstairs Myra was bustling around, pouring coffee, making breakfast, pulling my chair out for me. She looked like my dream ten-year-old. Her hair shone a light golden brown and was held in a flowing mass by the miracle of modern beauty products. She was wearing a diaphanous baby-doll nightie that highlighted her slender beauty more that hid it, and my heart filled with love for her, and my cock inflated in my slacks.

I sat down, and she kissed me on my cheek as she placed a plate of pancakes before me. "How's my beautiful little wife this morning?" I asked grinning at her.
"Wonderful, Len," she replied after a little pause. "I made pancakes for you this morning. You like pancakes."

I bit into one, and found it was cooked to perfection, as always, and sipped at my coffee. "How are you feeling this morning?" I asked her.
Myra buttered a piece of toast and then said, "Wonderful, Len. You know... it was a great party last night, I loved every moment of it." She then buttered another piece of toast for me.

I smiled at her indulgently and then frowned slightly. I put down my forkful of pancake and scratched my cheek. "You know," I said cautiously, "I had a little run-in with Gerald Smith last night. He was talking about Uncultured girls."
Myra buttered a fourth piece of toast for me without answering, adding it to the growing pile. She started to reach for a fifth, but I touched her hand lightly. She bent forward and quickly kissed me on the nose. "Uncultured girls!" she scoffed. "Those poor neurotic creatures! Aren't you happier with me, dear? I may be Modern... but no Uncultured girl could love you the way I do... and I adore you!"

What she had said was unfortunately all too true. Modern Man had never, in all his recorded history, been able to live happily with unreconstructed girls. The egotistical, spoiled creatures demanded a lifetime of care and attention. It was notorious that Gerald Smith's wife made him dry the dishes. And the fool put up with it! Uncultured girls were forever asking for money with which to buy clothes and trinkets, demanding breakfast in bed, talking for hours on the telephone, and God knows what else. Some idiots like Smith insisted on their excellence, even their superiority.

Myra wasn't eating, I knew that she had eaten earlier, so that she could give her full attention to me. It was little things like that that made all the difference. "He said that your reaction time had slowed down." I said cautiously.
"He did?" Myra asked, after a pause. "Those Normalists think they know everything."

It was the right answer, but it had taken a second too long. I decided to ask Myra a few more questions, and watched her reaction time by the second hand on the kitchen clock.
"Did the mail come yet?" I asked her quickly, "Did anyone call? Will I be late for work?" After three seconds she opened her mouth, then closed it again. Something was terribly wrong.
"I love you," she said simply and suddenly looked saddened.

I felt my heart pound inside my ribs. I loved her! Madly, passionately! But that damn Smith had been right. She needed a check-up, and soon. Myra seemed to sense my thoughts. She rallied noticeably, and said, "All I want is your happiness, dear. I think I'm sick... Will you have me cured? Will you take me back after I'm cured... and not let them change me... I wouldn't want to be changed!"

Her bright head sank on her arms and she cried noiselessly, so as not to disturb me. "It'll just be a check up, Myra," I said, trying to hold back my own tears. But I knew, as well as she did, that she was really sick. It was so unfair, Uncultured girls, with their coarse mental fibre, were almost immune to such ailments. But delicate Modern girls, with their finely balanced sensibilities, were all too prone. So monstrously unfair! Because Modern girls contained all the finest, dearest qualities of femininity... except stamina.

Myra rallied again, she raised herself to her feet with an effort and stood swaying slightly. She was very beautiful; her sickness had put a high colour in her cheeks, and the morning sun highlighted her hair. "My darling Len," she said smiling weakly, "Won't you let me stay a little longer? I may recover by myself." But her eyes were fast becoming unfocused. "Darling..." She caught herself quickly, holding on to the edge of the table. "When you have a new wife... try to remember how much I loved you." She then sat down, her face blank.

"I'll get the car," I murmured, and hurried away. Any longer and I would have broken down too. Walking to the garage I felt numb, tired and broken. Myra gone! And modern science, for all its great achievements, would be unable to help.

I reached the garage and said to the car, "All right, back out." Smoothly it backed out and stopped beside me.
"Anything wrong, boss?" it asked with concern, "You look worried. Got a hangover from last night's party?"
"No..." I said quietly, "it's Myra. She's sick."
The car was silent for a moment, then it said softly, "I'm very sorry boss, I wish there was something I could do."

"Thank you," I said, glad to have a friend. "I'm afraid there's nothing anyone can do." The car backed to the door and I helped Myra inside. Gently the ear started and pulled away. Thankfully it maintained a discrete silence all the way back to the factory-hospital.

"...So you see Doctor..." I pleaded with the impassive man in the white smock, as he examined my Myra. "Please, you have to cure her... you just have to."

"Don't worry Mr Mann," he replied expressionlessly. "We'll soon have her back on her feet..."

Author's Note:
If you enjoyed this story, and or have a comment or suggestion to make, please email me at lensman@mail.com
All emails are welcome and will be responded to if I am able.