lucy of Little-Hope.
chapter 1.
By j.
If only some person would notice; to place a thirteen
year old girl of such beauty, within a place that is so
decrepit, surely represents a break-down of the very laws
of nature.
The sublime picture of nymph-like-perfection that is Lucy
Green glows, despite the barest of illumination. Her
blonde hair, as golden-yellow and shiny as a summer
cornfield, is so attentively arranged, a pair of ribbon-
adorned bunches sparkling bright despite the room’s
foreboding darkness. Just a single flickering 20 watt
bulb hangs above her, from the now-rusty ceiling of a
1967 trailer-home.
The shade-less light swings with a repetitive squeak,
blown back and forth by a cold sharp breeze that breaks
through the cracks of a small shattered plastic-glass
window. High on the wall the only view it affords is of
the gray storm clouds that seem so attracted to the town
where Lucy lives.
The walls that press cruelly against her meager living
space would seem unacceptably harsh for a prisoner in
solitary confinement, walls that compound the ugliness of
the world around her, once adorned with pretty pastel
pink wallpaper but now ripped and desecrated by years of
ignorance, and forgotten by uncaring people.
The unappreciated beauty stands with the poise of a
ballerina, her turn so gentle and graceful it would bring
tears of envy from Anna Pavlova. Legs as long as a Nubian
Princess remain straight as slender hips bend, and she
reaches down into an old tattered plastic carrier that
serves as her school bag to retrieve a text book. Her
nubile body shivers as her tattered, inadequate three-
sizes-too-small sleep shirt rides up her upper thighs,
letting the cold air sting meanly against long coltish
legs and smack at the seductive curves of her sweetly-
creased, panty-squeezed derrière.
As pubescence brings soft curves to her adolescent
breasts, the seams of her over-stretched white night-
shirt are learning how to abandon her, every wash of the
shirt bringing another little tear to the stitching,
another vulnerable little exposure of tender pink skin
that the cold air can tease into goose-bumps. Pretty rose
colored nipples complain at the cold, little hard nubs
pressing against the thin threadbare cotton, while
deserving so much better.
Her pink fingernails have the natural color of a fresh
pink tulip, and are set against fingers so slender and
agile that one might think she was a concert pianist.
These delicate fingers now organize tonight’s homework
until it sits so tidily, organized with the natural
empathy that comes from within. Albeit on the cheapest of
paint splattered, garage-sale-reject desks.
Slowly Lucy sits, placing her pouting bottom cheeks
against an old plastic beer crate that should never
deserve to kiss them, and a kittenish sob escapes from
her lips, the little angel having to blink another tear
away to focus her dewy azure-colored eyes on the homework
problem in front of her.
Because today even the blinking of her eyes, and the
fluttering of her long hazel lashes fail to sharpen the
swirly mess of words and numbers before her, guilt ridden
wracks of emotion making her mind fuzzy, the harsh memory
of Mommy’s words shadowing the bright mind that would
otherwise complement her perfect form.
“I wish you’d never been born you useless… mistake!”
Mommy had said in the height of her anger, and Lucy
understands Mommy’s feelings so much more clearly than
the catholic-school homework problem before her. She
reaches for a paper handkerchief and dabs it against her
so wide, so doll-like baby-blues but her sobbing won’t
stop, a little splash of salty anguish escaping the
tissue, and spanking her lithesome thighs, the sleep top
refusing to give them any defense.
The subject of her failure had been Mommy’s latest
attempted hook-up, “George”, not that it mattered to
remember his name, it didn’t seem like he’d be coming
back. “You’re a single-mom? Try putting that in the
Craig’s list ad next time Cunt!” he’d yelled at her
mother as he stormed out of the caravan door.
Lucy tries so hard to hide into nothingness when mom has
a friend over, which is no mean feat in a 14 foot long,
two bedroom trailer-home. But the child-size “dollar
store” sandal, that Lucy had so *stupidly* forgotten by
the two-seater sofa, had shared Mommy’s ugly secret with
today’s date and closed her doors on yet another
potential boyfriend.
Lucy gives up on homework, knowing her muddled mind in no
state to concentrate, and chooses to sleep and try it
again in the morning. After brushing her ivory white
teeth, those dainty fingers free the red polyester
ribbons and release blonde pony tails so they can cascade
down onto her slender shoulders, ready for their nightly
brush.
From a plastic cup Lucy’s fingers ignore a plastic
hairbrush and opt instead for a finely-toothed steel comb
because Lucy knows she deserves to hurt. Each rough pull
of the metal sends little jolts of pain to punish her
tender scalp, eliciting more pretty teardrops to escape
heartbreakingly beautiful eyes and splash her silly
thighs. But Lucy discovers no girlish act of penitence is
going to ease the guilt that fills her soul. What value
is silky hair on a stupid girl who is just Mommy’s
‘mistake’?
Lucy reaches for her only toy, Chloe, the fluffy pink
bunny rabbit that had arrived on the doorstep one
Christmas morning with a note that said simply “hope life
gets better…. dad”, and hugs the stuffed animal against
the delicate curves of her emergent breasts. Lucy knows
that she’s no longer a child, but her teddy’s price tag,
still attached after all these years, remind her that
Chloe is not just her only friend, but also a kindred
spirit. Under some far-away gas station logo a careless
scribble reads “Unwanted return, free with car-wash”.
She flicks off the light, and slips those lovely long
legs under the stained blue bed-sheet, lowering a
delicate porcelain white cheek against a hard unforgiving
pillow. “Night-night Chloe” whispers the sad little thing
to her toy. “And sorry for being… useless” she
apologizes, her cute voice breaking as she pulls the
sheets over her shoulders and sobs herself into a night
of guilt fueled dreams.
-----*****-----
REPLY TO: blondebrittany1985
SUBJECT: “Re: Hot 26 yo SWF seeks sugar daddy for LTR”
MESSAGE:
Hello Brittany!
I’m Brian, 52, a successful and fit business guy.
I’m divorced and also looking for long-term-relationship!
Very much like your self-pic and description.
Want Dinner Friday night? I’ll pick you up!
Btw, no problem with you being a single mom, I love kids!
See you at 6.30!
Brittany excitedly re-reads the email message that
“Retard-Joe” in the strip-club back-office had printed in
return for a freebie blow-job. Then folding it and
pressing it into her shiny pink clutch purse, she uses
her delectable blue eyes, almost a perfect match of her
daughter Lucy’s, to check her reflection in the floor-to-
ceiling plastic glass that represents the trailer’s front
door.
The black silk halter top, bought especially today
(Target, not Walmart for special occasions!) clings
gorgeously and somewhat transparently against her 38DD
braless natural breasts, and the yellow latex mini skirt
borrowed from her daily stripper work-wear, is just the
wrong side of ‘hooker’! For a moment she considers
panties, but not wanting to send the wrong message, she
leaves them off, because (Please God!!), this *had* to be
the guy for her and she *had* to look 110% SEXY!
When the 1996 number-one-runner-up of “Miss Little Hope
Radiator and Tire” admires her reflection in the glass
door, she can still see a kinda-tight kinda-hotbody that
in marginally skinner form had once bought her a place in
the school cheer squad. On demand blowjobs for athletic
faculty and the jocks probably helped too, but there was
no taking it away from her, she was the first cheer-team
baby-mama in “Little Hope High”! So that was at least one
win that Lucy hadn’t ruined!
Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. The good thing was that her head was
always in the books that serve as both education and
escape for an active mind that is confined by
circumstance. At the age of ten, a teacher had visited
their previous mobile-home, suggesting that her daughter
might apply for “St Georges Girl’s School”. At first
Brittany was quite opposed to the idea “but I want her to
be a cheerleader!” she’d replied. But Lucy positively
begged (not least because she was quite afraid of boys),
and the additional news that a scholarship would include
a clothing and lunch allowance made her relent.
And in retrospect it was a good decision that kept the
little rat out of her hair. Every night Lucy would work
as hard as a young girl can, maintaining a series of “A”
grades that would make a different mother proud. But even
locked in her room the girl was sometimes a liability, as
the episode with George had so clearly proven.
Yes, despite such successes in her youth, Brittany felt
hobbled by the thirteen-year-old next door, and could see
her future going nowhere but downhill. She knew her
twenty six years would soon become twenty seven, while
her man-baiting - and pole-dancing - competitors seemed
to get younger and younger; hot though she was, even
Brittany couldn’t compete with a bambi-eyed sixteen year
old with fake ID and the money to buy a two-grand boob
job, and a “whore princess” tramp stamp.
But somehow she’d survived so far, by being street-smart
and, well, a little naughtier than the other girls. Not
every day, or her work-mates would get mean like
strippers can, and take her out of the game with a few
slashes to the cheek with a box cutter. But on occasional
quiet nights she could let her real-self come out;
playing little games with the customers that gave them
some extra fun and bought her some extra cash.
Like the late shift this last Tuesday night when she’d
borrowed Lucy’s precious little catholic-girls-school
skirt and worn it over her thong, putting her blonde hair
up in a pony, and impressing the customers with her best
recollection of teeny- cheer-moves from her regular pole.
The older guys especially liked the change, and the other
dancers wouldn’t begrudge it so long as it was a one time
stunt.
What they didn’t know, was that as she seduced each
customer into the “VIP room”, Brittany would wait for
Retard-Joe to look away, and then carefully take out the
client’s cock for a surreptitious hand job. She’d have a
cock craftily wrapped in her little girls’ lace-edged
blue gingham skirt before he looked back, and use her
long slim fingers to yank it through the fabric while the
client gave her tits a good mauling. With her quick hand,
the guys got a happy ending before the song was up, and
at least most of them gave her a few extra bucks in tip!
Fortunately Brittany had the good sense to make her
night’s fifteen or so scores ejaculate against the
skirt’s white taffeta lining or Lucy would think it had
been used as a table cloth at the ice-cream-soda
fountain! It worked a treat, until the last regular had
said, “thanks Brittany, but you sure as fuck ain’t
jailbait no more!” embarrassing her, and putting a close
on that particular game.
Her frown curved into a rather naughty smile as she
imagines Lucy’s tender “little miss perfect” thighs
rubbing every day against all that dried poisonous semen,
“Oh if only Lucy knew”, the bookish little nerd next door
quite oblivious to boys, having somehow fallen from quite
a different tree than her hot-to-trot mama.
But so it was, with the help of such inspired moments,
that Brittany made house-fee, paid the rent, and bought
the groceries. Tuesday’s game had even left thirty bucks
for today’s rare trip to Target! But if she was ever
going to get herself out of *this* dive, she’d have to
find a man fast. Time was never on a girl’s side.
And with that thought, she glances at the plastic watch
that squeezes her slim wrist. “6.30pm… please make him
turn up?” she prays to the Craig’s List Gods, just
remembering to drop a condom into her clutch purse,
though knowing she’ll be happy enough to go bareback if
this guy is for real.
From the plastic carton that represents her wardrobe, she
finds her sluttiest 6” red plastic strappy heels, slips
her pretty feet into them, and stands, looking through
the plastic window just in time to see a black 2005
Mercedes Benz 318 looking rather out of place as it turns
into the disheveled maze of homes known as “Little Hope
Campgrounds”.
“LUCY!” Brittany yells through the thin wall to her
daughter’s bedroom, where her daughter has been laying
low, having been mostly ignored by her still-pissed Mommy
for the two weeks since the “George” incident.
“I think this is my date! Get yourself in the closet
where you can’t fuck things up!”
The sexy-rich car purrs up, but drives past her caravan
making her heart sink. But then it reverses and stops in
front of her door, a man stepping out who (for once!)
looks just like his Craig’s list photo!
Brittany’s face is now *all* smiles!
“Belly in boobs out” she tells herself as she pulls the
door open, fresh mascara painted eyes fluttering at the
tall stranger as he confidently strolls towards her.
“He.. He.. Hello!” she stutters, lines of introduction
forgotten as she swallows up his mature and only barely
overweight body, his silver tipped and only slightly
receding hair, and of course *that* car!
“Brittany! Damn, you look even better than your pic!
Great to meet you!” smiles her visitor, his voice booming
and so *classy*, his big strong hands reaching forwards
to grasp her bare shoulders with confidence. He steps
inside the shockingly third-class trailer home, looking
around the tiny combo kitchen with raised eyebrows, but
his brown handsome eyes sparkle as they return to gaze at
Brittany’s unnaturally large, over exposed, and quite
real breasts.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a hell hole like
this? But, no problem, let’s go and have dinner!” he
laughs. And he slips a manly arm inside of hers, leading
her towards his car like they were ready to walk her down
the wedding aisle! But as he steps outside the open door
he pauses with a thought.
“Wait!.. Let me say thanks to your little girl, since
she’s nice enough to let her mom go on a date with me! Go
fetch her baby!”
Memories of the trials of the last thirteen days (well,
of thirteen years really!) are fading fast and Brittany
smiles back albeit with a rather confused look. “You want
to see Lucy? Oh, she’s not important, she’s happy in her
room, probably reading her dumb books!”
But Brian’s eyes are full of authority as he says
“Actually I insist, just a quick hello then we’ll make it
in time for our dinner reservation”, sounding so in-
charge and smart at once, that Brittany feels her heart
jump because he’s just so fucking FINE!
“Oh, Sure! Of.. of course! Sorry!” she stammers. “LUCY!
Come say hi to my date baby!” she calls then giggles
flirtatiously, as she feels her new friend’s hand
squeezing her panty-less ass.
-----*****------
Lucy is getting undressed in her bedroom when Mommy’s
shout comes through the wall, the little moppet planning
a peaceful night alone with her book, a pleasure mostly
denied since she made her terrible mistake.
Because she was finally ready to forgive herself, her
Friday night had begun with the treat of a small square
of bubble-gum that she’d been saving for a special
moment. And with the fantasy of a little home-alone
pajama party in her mind, she shrugs the white school
blouse off her picturesque torso, and steps those
delectable legs out of her blue-gingham school-uniform
skirt. She’s ready to spend a relaxed evening reading in
her bed, maybe with the supper treat of a cupful of
microwave popcorn!
But as she reaches under the pillow, she discovers her
night-shirt is missing! “Oh… Silly me! It’s Wash Day!”
she remembers. And as she prepares to pull on her
uniform, and retrieve their laundry from the dryers by
the shower block, Mommy’s second call-out orders
otherwise, requiring the almost-naked darling to race
past her mother to the other end of the caravan, where
she can squeeze into the secrecy of the tiny storage
closet.
As she squeezes into the tiny, dusty, completely dark
cupboard, her ear presses against the thin wall, Lucy
listening as the car pulls up. As she hears the
stranger’s deep cultured voice, Lucy hopes with *all* her
heart that this is a man who can love her mommy. She
shivers as she listens, her goose-bumped skin adorned
only by a too-small pair of counterfeit-disney “three for
a dollar” childish panties and a sweet pair of white
cotton ankle socks on her pretty feet. On the tips of her
apple-shaped breasts, those troublesome sweet-pink
nipples are quite exposed and stiffening from being
cruelly squashed against the cold closet door.
Despite her discomfort, “this man sounds *nice*” she
thinks, smiling to herself. But then Mommy’s voice says
“come say hi”, stunning the almost naked girl as she
struggles uselessly to think of a polite escape.
“I can’t mama, I’m not ready!” she finally replies with
consternation but the man’s big-city voice laughs through
the closet door. “Ha! You’re in the cupboard? Just let me
say hello then we’ll leave you in peace!”
She feels down down to the cupboard floor, hoping to find
a forgotten sheet or a dishcloth or anything that could
cover her but of course - dummy - they were in the
laundry building too! Oh, *what* was she going to do?
There’s no window, no escape, the opening leading quite
directly into the only brightly lit room of their tiny
home!
“Lucy, please, come out and say hello NOW, we’ve got a
*reservation*!” calls Mommy, her voice sounding a little
annoyed but a little proud all at once.
So it is a very under-dressed and very embarrassed Lucy
who slowly opens the door, half falling out of the
closet’s darkness, ankle socked feet tripping against one
another, long long legs bumping awkwardly together at the
knees, a long tender arm hiding even more tender breasts,
while the palm of her other lovely hand tries to hide the
silly picture of “Dumbo” that adorns her too-tightly-
fitted under-aged panties. She manages a quiet “Hi” as
she looks up shamefully at Mommy and her new boyfriend in
the brightly lit room.
“I… I was getting changed?” she whispers, sounding more
like a naughty toddler than the bright thirteen year old
we know her to be, head tilted down but those striking
blue eyes looking up guiltily, pale cheeks flushing with
the prettiest of hot pink blushes.
“Mmmmm” murmurs Brian, his eyes looking up and down the
vision of girlish loveliness before him, as thoughts of
raping his rapidly hardening cock into the trailer-trash
schoolgirl right here right now start to consume his
mind. Mom was hot enough as a “milf next door”, but this
little thing was worth a million dollars. Though she’d be
severely discounted if he got his way!
But being a patient man, not wanting to frighten off the
little minx or her dumb slut of a mother too early, he
keeps animal urges at bay, and gives the little Lolita a
warm smile.
“Damn baby, you’ll catch a cold walking round like that!”
he laughs, leaning around Brittany and offering to shake
hands with the daughter like she was a proper little
lady.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Lucy!”
Lucy moves her balance awkwardly from one ankle-socked
foot to the other and with an eagerness to be good for
mommy even stronger than her substantial desire to vanish
into the ground, she lifts her fingers up from hiding her
panties, and returns the important visitor’s handshake.
The cheap synthetic panties (‘age 8-10’ and ‘made in
china’) are thus revealed, and seem pleasingly
dysfunctional to Brian’s highly-interested eyes.
Stretched as they are, the material traces every contour
of her pudenda, the tip of Dumbo’s printed trunk sweetly
pressing between the softly puffed mounds of her labia.
And they’re quite translucent panties too, even Dumbo’s
smiling face almost see-through, and offering a sweet
picture of gentle pink hills, brushed with but a
smattering of short blonde pubic hairs. And a gentle
valley between that would lead the way into the
hopefully-unexplored charms of Lucy’s delicious young
body.
Wanting to keep his attention, twenty six year old mommy
rubs her tight ass against her new man as he reaches
around her, feeling his warm breath on her bare shoulder,
Brittany’s nipples hardening like those of her fast
developing baby-girl. As if to show that “momma is never
forgotten”, while his right hand is offered to daughter,
his left circles Brittany’s 24” waist, the crotch of his
pants pressing firmly against her barely dressed ass.
And this is the barely dressed, and highly sensitized ass
of a well-trained lap-dancing slut, so feeling a twitch
of movement from their groin-to-butt connection, she
grinds back seductively, not willing to let her
daughter’s tardiness spoil her moment!
She notices for the first time that Lucy’s partially
hidden breasts are kind of growing, probably ready for a
training bra (not that she would rush to buy one!). And
her silly daughter does look kind of “cute”, a rather
captivating pixie-like sweetness to her face and wide-
eyes, disproportionately long limbs like a spring-time
foal, and such radiant, pretty skin. She looks rather
like one of those “waif-models” the jealous dancers would
meanly deride while reading their fashion magazines.
“Too bad she’s too dumb to get dressed when we have
company!” thinks Brittany. “Oh don’t think we’re trash,
don’t run away?” she tries to will telepathically to
Brian, ironically grinding her ass against his pleasingly
responsive groin while he makes her daughter’s
acquaintance.
And always one to try and make lemonade out of lemons
(and her daughter was most certainly her lemon!),
Brittany wonders if her new man might think underdressed
Lucy was a little cute too, after all he *did* say he
liked kids?
“Lucy! Stop being shy, this is my nice handsome new
friend! Put your hands down and give him a nice kiss or
you’ll embarrass me honey!” she tells her daughter with a
“don’t fuck it up” glare. “A nice pretty kiss, and then”…
she softly kisses the back of Brian’s neck… “we can go to
our *reservation*!”
Now, poor Lucy has never kissed anything other than her
stuffed bunny rabbit, even mommy seemed unable to offer
more than a hug on birthdays. But the earnest young girl
has sworn she would never again let Mommy down, so with
all the will power her young mind can muster she slowly
lets her arm drop to her belly button, letting Mr. Brian
see those delicious breasts, tiny nipples hardening with
her humiliation, until they look like little baby pencil
erasers.
Her long eyelashes bat at him, like those on a little
girls’ baby-doll, Lucy pouting demurely, waiting politely
while his eyes admire her body.
He looks at her in the eyes, but then gazes downwards,
appraising her like a cattle-man at an auction, examining
those soft just-past-tween breasts, smiling at the sight
of her painfully erect nipples, then eyes rolling down to
admire the slope of her belly and the soft protrusions of
her hips. She watches his tongue lick around his narrow
lips as his eyes feast on the tender curves and the
crease of her precious parts, wrapped too tightly in
those silly panties, the flash of a mean animal look
passing through his face before it returns to hold the
friendly smile.
Her smart but so utterly innocent brain knows that this
is a ‘moment that matters’ as the school athletic coach
used to say before a Junior High volleyball game. “Maybe
this is a man that that can change mommy’s life for the
better?” she thinks, always one to put others before
herself.
Knowing she has to momentarily overcome the inhibitions
that consume her very soul, Lucy *commands* herself to be
sweet for this strange man, the inspiration jumping to
her that she might pretend (just for a minute?) that he
is her real daddy?
So it is with eyes that twinkle with childish affection
that she raises herself up on tippy toes in her little
cotton socks, girlish fingers lifting to tickle and hug
around the late-middle-aged man’s thick muscular neck,
the desperate-to-be-good little nymphet pressing her
naked belly against the stranger’s crotch and her naked
breasts against his belly, rubbing her cheek up against
his chest as her mouth tilts up and offer soft pink lips
to a make-believe daddy.
The only kisses that Lucy has ever seen are the kisses
mommy will give to boyfriends, naughty kisses that
precede a nightmarish hour of pounding, moaning and
groaning a thin wall away. And so with no other reference
to follow, her naïve lips part, the prettiest of wet-pink
tongues teasing around them as she smiles up at the man,
hoping the smell of her earlier bubble-gum treat won’t
spoil it for him. He laughs mockingly at the little
princess, but lowers his leering mouth to hers, so that
with a soft sigh the most innocent of thirteen year old
girls can sacrificially offer her first kiss to a fifty
two year old stranger, old enough to be her grandfather.
Lucy feels a firm hand against the back of her pigtailed
hair as he thrusts his huge tongue deep into her
diminutive mouth, while his other hand’s thick fingers
painfully squeeze the behind of her little panties,
grinding her body against his, his sour tasting saliva
filling her mouth and polluting her bubble-gum-sweetness.
But she must be good, and for the few seconds it must
last, she manages to keep a growing revulsion at bay. Not
wanting mommy to see in case she’s doing something
‘wrong’, she waits for his tongue to retreat, then slowly
pulls her head back, making sure to keep her doll-like
eyes wide, and her saliva stained lips in a smile, before
saying “And it’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Brian”.
Then quickly, with a floppy-wristed bye-bye wave, she
turns her crimson face away, the cutest of butts swinging
softly from side to side as she escapes into the darkness
of the bedroom corridor, her mind desperately hoping that
her shameful inexperienced kiss has made Mommy and her
friend satisfied, a hand on her belly urging herself not
to cough and gag and spoil everything.
“What a little *whore*!” was what Lucy’s Mommy was
really thinking, but it was with a smile, knowing her
girl well enough to realize the eagerness was born from
innocence. And he was smiling too, her new man Brian
looking as happy as a pig in shit for all this female
attention, which was *just* the way she needed him to be.
Brian turns and holds the caravan door open (like a real
gentleman), then as she steps out, takes her arm and so
attentively guides her to his car.
After all, he figures, the chance of snaring a little
prize like Lucy has to be worth a couple of dream-date
hours for her dumb mama!
-----*****------
Dinner had been quite delicious, a starter of Shrimp
Cocktail, and a main of Fillet steak, which Brian had
politely taught Brittany was pronounced without the “t”.
(“So would I be called Brinnany in France” she’d asked,
much to his amusement).
She’d secretly wanted to eat the whole eight ounces, but
was careful to leave half on her plate, not wanting him
to think she would ever become overweight!
And now, as the wait-staff are starting to circle, eager
to present the check and go find their own parties,
Brittany is sipping at the dregs of her fourth Long
Island Iced Tea.
Brittany has been all giggles as she shares stories from
her litany of Craig’s List encounter disasters with her
new man-friend. “Ooh, and then there was this guy who
wanted to fuck me with a dildo. I mean what’s the point
of that!” she laughs. “Mmm, but I wouldn’t mind if he’d
been handsome, you know, handsome like you?”
And she leans over the table and kisses Brian’s neck then
whispers “Umm, I’d love to party with you? But some guys
find it difficult at my place, you know, with Lucy being
there?”
Brian nods, “Kids make life complicated huh?” he says
wisely. “I don’t know how you made it this far Brittany,
you’ve had a tough life.” He reaches forward and squeezes
the hand of his date. “I’m lucky, got lots of space, one
of those new homes up by the park?”
Brittany’s eyes light up like she’s been given a chance
to win the state lottery!
“Oh my, you’re in Teardrop Meadows? Oh Brian, that’s
wonderful! With a double garage, and a hot tub? Twenty
seven hundred square foot with nine foot ceilings in the
entrance hall?” She recites the details sounding more
like an over-zealous real estate agent than a stripper,
facts recorded in her memory from searching the local
free paper for dreams of a better life. “Aw, are you sure
you’re not married?”
Brian nods with a smile. “Quite sure, and it was her that
chose to divorce me in case you wondered. But I take the
kids some days and they’re home right now. So what say we
have a quick party upstairs then I can get back to them?
I’ll go get a room and a bottle of wine, if that works
for you?”
The pretty blonde agrees eagerly, letting her tongue
coquettishly lick her upper lips giving Brian a déjà vu
moment, until he realizes the expression is quite
identical to that of little Lucy. Brian gives her a
strange smile then walks away to speak with the hotel’s
concierge, returning with a room key in one hand, and a
cold bottle of house Chardonnay in the other.
And but a few minutes later, they are together in privacy
behind the solid locked door of room 411, Brittany
standing legs apart, ready to give the strip-tease-of-a-
lifetime, while Brian sits on the edge of the “King
Double” bed feigning at least moderate interest as he
sips at a glass of white wine.
He isn’t making much of a move on her, but no problem,
this is Brittney territory and she knows how to play the
game! She dims the lights, channel-flips the plasma TV to
a music video show, and after running through her set-
list of opening poses, starts grinding her ass against
the crotch of her brand-new number-one crush.
Her thumbs ease up her halter top to release those
*fabulous* DD’s, fingers teasing her nipples to hard
knobs then tickling them down her belly until they can
push down her micro-mini and show him what a panty-less
slut she is.
She rotates towards him, lowering hands onto his thighs,
ass swinging to the rhythm of Usher’s latest hit, lips
kissing him wetly, as her long blonde hair teases against
his face and neck. She finds his hands, lifting them so
he can verify the authenticity of her breasts, and then
moving her own fingers up to the belt line of his smart
casual pants where she can pop the little button that
begins his liberation.
With a giggle, she drops to a kneel, face pressing
against his crotch, grabbing the silver fly between her
perfect white front teeth, wanton slutty eyes never
leaving his as her teeth drag the zipper down. “you’re so
handsome baby” she whispers as she bounces back up,
finding his hands and moving them to touch her freshly
shaved pussy, so he can feel her equally genuine wetness.
She starts tugging his pants down, then bends forward,
legs straight, arms behind her back like an obedient
slave girl, the balance of a ballerina (or pole dancer)
letting her mouth plant puppy dog kisses up his bare
thigh, until her tongue can lap wetly against the crotch
of his boxer shorts.
His cock stirs gently under the gray boxers, and
Brittany’s expert fingers reach inside the fly opening,
fingers that cup his balls, squeezing them gently as her
mouth discovers his 8” long, almost wrist thick, semi
hard cock. “oh fuck, its huge! Yum!” thinks the 25 year
old stripper as she swallows it to her tonsils, then
pulls boxers down off his legs and puts her thumbs under
his knees, lifting his legs up and back so her mouth can
move to slobber against his balls, before lifting them
with her nose and freeing the path for her wet tongue to
dart between his ass cheeks and probe itself deep into
his anus.
Red sparkly fingernails tickle their way up and down his
shaft, while her other hands cups his sack, a thumb
pressed on his perineum, and then her cock-hand is
jerking up and down his length like an over-achieving
milkmaid. And all the time her tongue fucks in and out
his ass, not caring about the taste, because her pleasure
is his satisfaction.
But… she knows he’s not quite hard enough, not quite
eager enough. No matter, because Brittany is a Little-
Hope-High Cheer-Squad-Almunus! There’s nothing this girl
can’t do to please a man! Still squeezing his cock she
straightens her legs, pressing her breasts against his
chest, and kissing his face until her lips are kissing
his ear.
“You can do anything you know Brian? Anything you like?
You want to fuck me in the ass, is that what you want?” A
little twitch suggests he doesn’t hate the idea, but it’s
still not the full-on hard-on she’s hoping for.
“Mmm, and before you do, you wanna tie me up? Spank me?
Punish me for being your whore?”. Another twitch, he’s
getting firmer, and she can’t resist moving her knees
astride his thighs, guiding his semi hard cock between
her labia, stretching her pussy lips wide, until his
cock-head can ease inside her body. Her practiced vagina
squeezes at his meat making him smile at her, but still
in that polite friendly way, he’s not yet the sex beast
she so hopes he can become!
Then her tipsy mind clears for a moment, the curtains of
pretty houses and hotel dinners parting with a remembered
glimpse of Brian’s hand on Lucy’s ass, his tongue in her
daughter’s mouth.
“Oh please don’t tie me up and rape me mister? I’m only
thirteen?” she coos in her best little girl voice,
followed by a squeal of delight as the cock inside her
suddenly pistons out into a rod of iron, Brian’s hot
button well and truly pressed.
Brian’s eyes change, a fire behind them, his hands
gripping at her waist to afford the leverage to fuck
harder into her, as she lifts a hand with mock shyness to
her face, them slips her thumb into her mouth! “Aww
pwease no daddy, pwease don’t fuck my tiny widdle pussy
with your big hard cock” she baby talks, slurring around
her thumb, her eyes the picture of naughtiness as drool
dribbles from her lips to splash down from her chin onto
her voluptuous bouncing breasts.
Brian stands, lifting her with him, Brittany now firmly
impaled on his massive manhood, and slams her down onto
the mattress, his cock punching against her cervix, the
act so violent, so unexpected and so immensely hot that
she starts to cum. “Oh Fuck that’s great!!!” she gasps,
then remembers the self-assumed role she has chosen,
instead moaning “NOOO! Pwease, I’m Lucy, I’m just a dumb
baby!”
“Gonna fuck you anyway, you stupid little cunt!” roars
Brian, lifting a hand and bitch-slapping his Craig’s List
conquest harshly across the cheek, bringing a giggle of
submissive delight from her thumb-sucking lips.
“Uh.. uh.. and pweddy pwease don’t rape my widdle ass!”
she giggles between gasps in her most girlish voice,
pulling off a performance that could have won her a
ribbon at the Little Hope Theatre Festival if only the
judges would appreciate her kind of drama!
“Fuck, you nasty little whore!” laughs Brian and though
his facial expression is mean now, his estimations of
Mama Green are rising by the moment. He grabs her ankles,
pushing them back and apart until she’s spread like a
thanksgiving turkey, pulling his cock out of her wet
pussy and lining up his rock hard nine inches with her
asshole, before slamming into it like he was an Olympic
fuck athlete going for gold!
His fingers find her enlarged clit, and he pinches it
roughly, the sensation, coupled with the whole evening’s
adventure taking Brittany over the edge, her body
exploding in orgasm, her vagina having a spastic fit, her
hands falling submissively to the side, fingers clenching
and spreading as she’s overcome with the combined
sensations of sexual pleasure and finding someone so
*special* !
“Nooo Daddy, please don’t fuck me, please don’t cum
inside your little Brittany… I mean Lucy!” she giggles
between climaxes, almost fucking up, such was the
pleasure running through her loins.
But her flawed act seems to have satisfied its audience,
because Brian is suddenly groaning too, his eyes closing
for some unknown (but perhaps not hard to guess) orgasmic
fantasy, his balls emptying salty stingy cum deep into
Brittany’s bowels, flooding her with his version of a
“highly commended” drama award. And once his jerks
subside, his eyes open with a friendly smile, his all-
professional voice back for now.
“Hey, why don’t you and Lucy come have dinner at my house
tomorrow?” he asks. “Dress nice, and we’ll introduce the
kids”, and she just giggles rather deliriously, sucking
the tip of her thumb once again between her bright white
teeth. “mmm, we’d love to… thankies dada” she coos,
marveling at her luck as she relaxes against the “double
king” bed, blissfully entwined with a Man she Plans to
Keep!
-----*****------
Lucy’s plans for a relaxed evening had rather been dashed
by her humiliating experience with Mr. Brian. His lustful
eyes, probing tongue, and groping hands have left her
with the feeling that she is a nasty, dirty girl, and she
feels an overpowering urge to clean herself.
So as soon as she sees the lights of the BMW turn out of
the campground, she pulls on her ill-fitting white school
blouse, and her unknowingly molested school skirt, and
then wraps a transparent plastic mac over her shoulders
because the dark skies are starting to drizzle.
In some ways she feels grateful for the onset of rain and
the pending arrival of nightfall because they lessen the
chances of company which in her current state she just
couldn’t bear!
Walking slowly up the gravel hill, she is soon
approaching the old services block, which stands on a
small hill, forebodingly alone, a few hundred feet from
the strip of mobile homes.
She steers herself towards the middle door, once painted
pink, but a pink that has peeled away from repeated
beatings by the elements, leaving just rotten chipboard
beneath. As it closes behind her she reaches up to slide
the privacy bolt closed, but it comes free in hand,
pulling from the door with a spray of sawdust. So much is
broken in the campgrounds she reflects, and after her
shameful display of this evening, perhaps she should add
herself to the list.
There is no light, of course, so Lucy knows she has just
thirty minutes before it will be too dark to retrieve the
laundry. So, without compromising her usual consummate
care, she quickly strips her lithe body of its clothing,
attentively hanging each clothing item onto a small
plastic hanger that she long-ago placed on a rusty nail
high on the wall. Stepping under the short length of
green garden hose that has been pushed through one of the
gray weather-beaten blocks, she turns the faucet, then
grits her teeth as the freezing cold spray of water beats
against her misbehaved body.
As her tender skin stings with the bitterly punishing
torrent she lathers herself with perfumed dish-washing
liquid, foaming it through her hair, around her long
swan-like neck, over the soft bones of her shoulders,
her legs and arms then down to cleanse the butter soft
skin of her newly developing breasts. Her fingers reach
behind to clean the concave arch of her beautiful back,
then down, tentatively pressing a lotion coated finger
between the cheeks of her bottom.
We know her fingers are slim, but even a pinky finger as
lithe as Lucy’s, will struggle to penetrate the tightness
of such a slender girl’s private places. The pain of
tormenting cold water is exasperated by the growing wind
that pierces unevenly laid slabs, beating a girl for just
wanting to be clean, and making her crave the relative
warmth of her bed. But her body is a testament to the
beauty of nature, and she knows it is her duty to respect
it.
So she somewhat reluctantly forces the tiniest fingers of
each hand inside the front and back of her precious body,
worming them in to clean her secret treasures, her mouth
in an “o” of discomfort and her feet on tippy toes. Maybe
in keeping with the tightness of her girl-parts, Lucy is
hyper-sensitive there too, a yelp of pain tripping from
her lips as she accidentally brushes her little finger
against the gossamer thin curtain of her hymen. As the
finger quickly retracts, her hand slides against a little
pink nub that usually remains hidden, and she feels a
curious tingle dancing between her hips.
Being a girl of exploring mind, she gently moves her feet
wider, her knees folded ever so slightly inwards, toes
also pointing softly in, and very cautiously spreads the
soft lips of her cunny, to peek at her pinkness and the
little shiny button that softly protrudes from it.
Of course, Lucy has studied some anatomy at school,
though the nun-teachers keep a very tight ship, and are
not going to risk the potential anarchy of young girls
learning too much about their private parts! So the
clitoris was quite deliberately exorcised from their
teachings and is an abject mystery to most students
particularly the more bookish ones like Lucy.
Delicately her fingers brush her sticky wet clitoris a
second time, perhaps “pushing her luck” given the
incredible sensitivity of her pretty place, though can
she really be blamed for such ignorance?
And this time the flurry of tickles that start within her
pelvis explode up to her abdomen, then spark more
sensations up and down her thighs, until her whole body
is shaking, like she has awakened a kaleidoscope of
butterflies inside herself! Poor Lucy squeals like a cute
girl-kitten that’s on-heat for the very first time.
Her mind is suddenly flooding with a slide show of
horrible images; Mommy dressed in that yellow PVC skirt
and see through top, pushing Lucy forwards to make kisses
with a long line of men, all of them drooling on her face
and pinching her little bottom. And of course Lucy is
quite naked.
Her back falls softly against the rough concrete slabs,
as the shower spits down on her, the first earthquake
starting to calm but little 7.0 after-shocks ricocheting
through her body until she’s lost almost all control and
looks down to notice she has peed herself onto the
shower’s brick floor.
For minutes she just gasps, until finally she can compose
herself, not really sure about what just happened, but
knowing she was bad, and that it must never, ever happen
again. So, with a blush on her face, she waits for the
cold water to bring her back to earth, and finally allows
herself to turn off the faucet, drying her body with a
small rough hand towel.
She moves to the metal sink, and brushes her teeth over
and over until the sun is almost down, her mind racing
with conflicting thoughts of ugly kisses and naughty
feelings and wetting herself . Perhaps her mouth would
never feel fresh again, so strong was the ugly memory of
the man’s foul spitty tongue trying to push itself into
her tender throat. Though as a girl who touches herself
and pees herself – perhaps the sanctity with which she
reveres her body is undeserved?
So it is with the torment of such confusing thoughts, and
an ever towering sense of guilt, that she must re-dress
herself, gather her laundry, and slowly make her way back
to the little rusty caravan that she calls home.
-----*****-----
April 2011.
Feedback on the story, my characters, and my writing style is very welcome.
I would enjoy ideas for Chapter 2 sub-plots.
julietstorywriter@gmail.com
Please do not repost without my permission.