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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: sari2.txt (m-teen/f-preteen, bd)
Authors name: Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)
Story title : Sari and the Green-Eyed Goddess
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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The Sari Saga: Sari and the Green-Eyed Goddess
by Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)
***
A further examination of the sexual awareness in a
teenaged boy with the help of his little girlfriend.
***
For the last three years, my prestigious private day
school, became a boarding school from Monday morning at
half past eight until half past four on Friday afternoon.
Between these two extremities, we breathed, ate and
slept, sat and listened, walked and talked Latin, French
and German and English literature, mathematics, geography
and physics, chemistry and biology. The point apparently
being that the student's preparation work, done at home
in the first three years, could be more strictly
supervised by teachers in school in the evenings.
There was no escape from it; we were dogged by teachers
and haunted by rules, tables, formulae and declensions.
It was a grueling regimen, but worth it in the long run,
and, after all, the school had its own reputation to
protect. Those pathetic specimens who were unfit for the
task and the examinations that lay ahead were weeded out
in the first year of boarding, and returned to day school
to endure the taunts and jibes of fellow students and the
snide remarks of masters, or consigned to a lesser
educational establishment, which was supposed to be the
greatest humiliation of all.
The consequence was that I did not see Sari except at the
weekends. She accepted the situation after she had been
given a comprehensive explanation of why it was
absolutely necessary, the clinching argument being that I
was determined to get the necessary qualification for a
highly paid job that would ensure a decent education for
our own children!
She laughed happily at the shallowness of the reasoning,
but was determined to make the most of what time we had
together. She was usually waiting for me when I reached
home at half past six on Friday evenings, and gave me a
clinging kiss when I left again at seven on Monday
morning. Between these two parameters, either she slept
in our house or I slept in the Kinnis place.
I was flattered by her attentions - in a rather silly,
self-satisfied, conceited way. But Sari had a penchant
for coming up with the trenchant comment and for pricking
egocentric bubbles.
We often discussed sex in a cold academic fashion, its
fascination for both of us, its dangers and its
inescapable ramifications and commitments. We had become
that close in our relationship, and it was truly sincere
despite the fact that she was only nine and I was a
grown-up sixteen. And it was purely theoretical without
any practical experimentation, I can assure you.
I had made some trite remark about my being her Prince
Charming, the handsome young sex hero of her dreams.
She smiled wryly. "I love you, Lor, and I really believe
I always will," she said, staring at me with her dark
penetrating eyes, "because you are you, not because you
are a prince or in any way charming." She gave a little
snigger. "And you are most certainly not handsome!"
And then, again it happened like a firecracker being set
off inside me. A couple of days before Christmas Eve,
wearing the sugar plum fairy fancy dress costume she
intended sporting at the village community party, she
bounced over to our place early in the evening. She waved
a silver star-topped wand under my nose to make sure she
had my attention - as if it were necessary! The outfit
truly took my breath away.
"Shouldn't you wear something underneath?" I asked
naively. Absolutely nothing was left to the imagination
by the glistening white, skin-hugging, semi-transparent
material. "Panties or something?" Not that I was
objecting, despite the prudish tone of voice. And I had
to admit it to myself: anything under the costume would
have spoiled the whole effect. "I can see the slit of
your Lady Cynthia!" I exclaimed with pretended horror.
Lady Cynthia was our pet word for the female pudenda; the
male organs in that region we called, believe it or not,
Sir Roger de Coverley.
Her entire blossoming figure was there for general
scrutiny, the tiny, perfectly shaped swellings on her
chest, the clearly defined sweep of her hips and her
slender waist and those fantastic legs. I was reminded of
the black cat ensemble she had worn when she was six and,
oddly enough, of her cocoon when she was bound and tied
up on her bed. 'For her own protection!' her parents had
explained. I felt a now familiar stirring deep down
inside me, but there was a freshness and a disturbing
newness about the intensity of it.
"Lor!" She simply threw back at me the wicked little
smile that would make a grown man ready to kill for her,
and crooned sensually, "I want everyone to know how lucky
you are!"
She skipped away, weaving her hips from side to side,
dancing from foot to foot, when my dad called; he was
giving her a ride to the village. Cheri Kinnis had lost
her license on a perfectly justified (and, it has to be
said, long overdue) charge of drunk driving, and her
husband was oil prospecting in Cambodia or Thailand.
Sari's dad was always away in foreign parts these days,
and I couldn't help but get the feeling that his trips
abroad on such work assignments would soon be a permanent
feature of the Kinnis household. I felt sorry for Cheri
and Sari; I also felt grateful that my own parents were
the way they were - sometimes eccentric, often fusty and
old-fashioned, but reliable to the core.
I watched dad's automobile glide away from view, and
became aware of a sickening twinge of the little green-
eyed god (or goddess) in the pit of my stomach. I wished
I had not been so impetuous in dismissing any suggestion
that I go to the village party. I hate parties, but the
mental image of other males eyeing up Sari and having the
kind of thoughts that had slipped into my mind really
bugged me.
It was later that same evening when the Winnings arrived:
they always spend their Christmases with us. And to be
frank, I don't like any of them, neither parent nor
progeny: Samuel, the son, who was twenty-six that year
and Patricia who was six years younger. Their parents had
been at college with mine, but where the Winnings started
their family almost as soon as they graduated, my parents
waited until they were in their late thirties. Hence the
difference in ages between Sam and Pat and me.
After the party, Sari slept the night at our place. Dad
and her had stopped off at the Kinnis place to pick up
some clothes, but Sari was still the sugar plum fairy
when she arrived. I should have anticipated trouble. Sam
and Pat made no attempt to hide or disguise their
lasciviousness as they devoured the child with their
eyes. Pat Winnings for all the world looked like a
vampire who had beamed in on its prey. Her eyes glistened
with sheer lust and unbridled sexual hunger. Little blobs
of saliva gathered in the corner of her mouth as she
licked her lips. And that her brother was as sexually
aroused was equally evident. I noticed that Joe Winnings
glared dangerously at his offsprings.
At seven o'clock on the following morning Sari crept into
my bed, shook me awake and declared, "I won first prize
for my costume, last night."
"The judges were men, I take it!"
"I don't know," said the child happily. "It was the
teacher, Mrs. Palgrave, who presented the prizes. She
said it was one of the most authentic costumes she had
ever seen."
I grumbled moodily: "It was certainly authentic! There
was nothing artificial on view there!"
Sari laughed and cuddled into me.
"You are a little demon out of hell," I told her, and
kissed her playfully on the lips, "sent to try my
patience, and I love you."
After a late lunch, about two o'clock in the afternoon,
with more than adequate to drink, the old folks decided
to take a siesta before the really serious drinking
started with the evening meal. Sari's mother, who had
joined us, rather than face the hundred-metre trek
between houses gracefully passed out in one of the
massive armchairs in our library.
I had faithfully promised, crossed my heart and hoped to
die, spit on my grave if I tell a lie, to take Sari
walking in the woodland adjacent to our property where we
had already spotted some red deer. I went to her room,
but she was not there.
As I passed by, I heard muffled grunts coming from the
bedroom occupied by Samuel Winnings. I shrugged. It was
none of my business; everybody who knew them guessed that
Sam and Pat were into something a bit more intimate than
sibling love. Pat had been expelled from her ridiculously
expensive girls' school because of acts of gross
indecency, too outrageous to be printed in the local
newspapers, with her two roommates. And Samuel's wife
divorced him on the grounds of his adultery with her
mother. Sam boasted that he belonged to an exclusive club
whose motto was "Male or female of any species, of any
age, in any place at any time!"
I looked for Sari around the garden. I wondered if she
had gone to Burke's Wood without me, and instantly
dismissed the thought as unlikely; it was so untypical of
her. Equally unlikely was that she had gone home without
telling me. I went to the games' room, the library, and
finally the toilets. It was at that precise moment, that
the idea punched a hole in my head: the subdued moans
from Sam's room - could they possibly be..
I raced upstairs, heels aflame, head even hotter! I burst
into the room. And completely blew loose.
Sari, wearing only the briefest pair of panties I could
have imagined, was spread-eagled on Sam's bed. I tried
later to figure why, having stripped her of everything
else, they left on her knickers. Her wrists and ankles
were secured to the bars at either end of the bed, the
wrists with handcuffs, one ankle with an old school tie
(Pat's), the other with a leather belt that was digging
into the child's struggling flesh.
She was gagged with a scarf, much the worse of wear, with
the crest of a third rate university. The thought impaled
itself on my wrath: this was the girl I was destined to
marry; this was the girl who was going to give birth to
my children. The facts that she was nine and I was seven
years her senior seemed to be totally irrelevant at that
time. I loved this kid!
Patricia was already naked and sitting on the end of the
bed. She was running her long, witchlike fingers up and
down Sari's legs. It struck me as a gesture of envy, for
the older girl's legs were no match for Sari's. The child
struggled from side to side to get away from the
exploring fingers, but she was so severely stretched that
her bonds allowed free movement only around her middle.
The resultant lifting and twisting of her hips and
buttocks only made her movements more erotic and sensual,
which incited Pat to be more adventurous and more
extensive in her caressing.
Sam was undressing when I burst into the room; he was
already naked upwards from his boxer shorts. He had his
trousers around his ankles and was pulling one leg free,
a position that definitely placed him at a disadvantage.
Now, to let you understand: the one and only non-academic
activity tolerated at my prestigious school is a form of
self-defense called Li-tchai; a combination of the Korean
martial art tae-kwon-do and the better known kung-fu only
twice as lethal as either of these - as much to the
practitioner as to the person at the receiving end of any
of the manoeuvres.
The Li-tchai classes were conducted by a Japanese
psychotic, who had a hang-up about his country's
involvement in the Second World War, and a marginally
less stable Indonesian who hated everything that moved or
did not move fast enough. What complicated the issue, but
made the classes much more entertaining was that neither
instructor could agree on anything including the time of
day!
At the expense of becoming black and blue in various
quarters in the process, I had achieved a black and
purple belt, which is the highest novice grade, and had
been admitted to the master's grade. This I now put to
good use, despite the strict oaths piously mouthed in the
classes at school.
In passing, I wrenched Pat from the bed by her hair and
broke her nose. Sam, trousers still around his ankles,
unwisely decided that attack was the most effective
defense. He hobbled in my direction, fists clenched, arms
swinging wildly, but impeded by the trousers at his feet.
I threw him over my shoulder, breaking his wrist on the
way. He landed with a truly blood-curling crunch on his
back and screamed in agony that I had fractured his
spine.
Pat, blood pouring from her shattered nose, was
screeching rape and murder as loudly as her impediment
would permit. I had a mental image of my teachers - the
kamikaze Japanese and the mad Indonesian for once in
their complicated existence nodding their unqualified
approval. Sari had lifted her head to watch the
proceedings; her eyes were as wide as I have ever seen
them.
The noise was horrendous. I was not in the least
surprised when my folks appeared at the open doorway. Mum
stared in disbelief at the child on the bed. Dad eyed the
bodies on the floor. Both demanded, "What on earth is
going on?"
Then Joe Winnings pushed past my parents. He stood
astride his son, pointed indignant fingers, and yelled,
"I've had it with you two..."
After receiving medical attention, the offending pair
were allowed to stay the night in widely separated rooms.
Early in the morning on the day before Christmas, a
private taxi drove them away into shamed obscurity. I
never saw either of them again. Nor did I ever regret the
fact!
As I watched them go, dad pulled me aside and said,
"You'll really have to learn to control that temper of
yours!" There was glistening humour in his eyes as he
added, when Sari slipped into view, "And those hands!"
Sari appeared at the side of my bed that night, and
demanded, in a voice that was not to be ignored, "Lor!
Are you awake?" She shook me. It was kind of emphasis to
her words. And when she was satisfied that she had my
attention: "I just wanted to say that perhaps you are my
Prince Charming after all!" She laughed. The sound
reminded me of the gurgling, tinkling water in the marble
fountain in the school quadrangle. She climbed into bed
beside me. She snuggled up closely. After a long pause
she giggled. "And perhaps you are just a little bit
handsome!"
"Thanks" I grunted in acknowledgement. With Sari at my
side, I was in that happy limbo of contentment that comes
immediately before sleep.
There was a long, long pause. "Lor!" she stage whispered
in the darkness.
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow." was followed by another long silence.
"Yes?" I was ready for the question, what did you get me
for my Christmas? and was hastily trying to think of a
really smart answer. But I was really tired and there was
an edge of irritation in my voice when, the long silence
continued, I repeated, "Yes?"
"Will you tie me up like the Winnings did?"
The full import of her words struck me after a full
minute. I sat up and stared into the blackness. "Sari!" I
voiced my shock. "Do you realise what you are saying?"
There was silence, so I repeated the question with a
greater sense of urgency.
"Shhh!" she responded indignantly. "Lor, I'm trying to
sleep!"
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form.
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