("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text













Archive name: tank.txt (M/f-teen, ped, rom)
Authors name: Ximenes (ximenesgreek@yahoo.co.uk)
Story title : Tank, The

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

The Tank (M/f-teen, ped, rom)
by Ximenes (ximenesgreek@yahoo.co.uk)

***

A lonely teacher in the North West Frontier of Pakistan 
discovers that work can be play.

***

READER: if you expect grunting and thrusting within the 
first three paragraphs, this is not for you. Go and 
find another story. This is a made-up story, but based 
on reality. Can you see where reality ends and fantasy 
begins?

***

How to get rid of Nur - that was the problem!

Nur was chaperone to my class of teenage girls, 
sometimes sitting in on lessons to check that nothing 
unacceptable was happening, and always present when I 
took them out of the school buildings. Overweight, 
dour, unimaginative, breathless and infinitely 
suspicious of men in general (and especially of me as a 
Westerner), Nur lived in a world where threats lurked 
behind every statement, every movement, and where 
disaster was forever waiting to pounce if she relaxed 
her guard for a second. 

Her turned-down mouth and frowning scowl would have 
dampened every day were it not that the teenagers saw 
her in the same pathetic light as I did. They gained 
great pleasure from baiting her at every opportunity, 
with gossip of imaginary scandals, which poor Nur 
always took seriously.

 Even better, lessons were constantly punctuated by 
liberties with the strict school dress code - necklines 
lowered, hemlines raised - and with body language when 
the girls draped themselves over my desk to ask 
unnecessary questions. 

Nur reacted to each infringement with frantic finger 
clicking or baleful glares, and part of the girls' game 
was to ignore these for as long as possible until Nur 
heaved herself onto her feet, lurched round the room 
and jabbed the offender with a pudgy finger.

The boys in the class were cowed by Nur and dared not 
get involved. Nur had a secret weapon - she knew 
everyone's parents and was related to influential 
people in the town. A black mark from Nur could blight 
a boy's prospects and was not to be taken lightly. 

The girls, by contrast, knew they didn't have many 
prospects to begin with. They also knew that I took 
their side and was flattered by their attentions. Life 
consisted on a round of small victories against the 
crushing tedium of school routine and the drabness of 
provincial life. As an outsider I was immune to Nur's 
recommendations, and that was one reason why she 
distrusted me.

My situation was somewhat exotic. I had retired early 
as a teacher in England, and accepted a two-year 
Voluntary Service posting to a school in Mardan in the 
North of Pakistan. The school was popular with parents 
and students and managed to strike an uneasy truce 
between narrow religious-dominated indoctrination and a 
European-style liberal education. 

My job was to teach English to the senior classes, and 
Geography. Not all teachers in the school were 
diligent, or really took an interest in their students, 
and because I did both my lessons were popular and I 
tended to get the best students.

My senior class comprised around thirty students, 
including ten girls. Their ages ranged from fourteen to 
about seventeen, with the older ones being boys having 
their second or third try at the English exam. The 
girls were a delightful bunch. Fourteen may be under-
age in Western countries, but in this part of Pakistan 
it was well within "marriageable age", and many of the 
girls they had started school with were already 
married, some with children. 

To be allowed to stay on at school and get 
qualifications was a real privilege and might, just 
might, enable them to escape from the area into a job 
with status and independence. These girls without 
exception came from liberal families, many with 
contacts in Britain and North America, and were being 
groomed as potential brides for the clans' menfolk in 
the West. 

The girls took their education very seriously. But at 
the same time I was their lifeline to a way of thinking 
different altogether from the male-dominated, 
traditional orthodoxy of provincial Pakistan. The 
wealthiest of the girls' families had access to 
satellite TV, where (when parents' backs were turned) 
they watched Western soaps, which would have 
scandalised their elders. Poor Nur would have suffered 
apoplexy on a daily basis.

The girls were intelligent and ambitious. They had a 
vision of what life in the rest of the world was like, 
and they wanted a piece of the action. For them, I was 
the representative of the West, someone who couldn't be 
shocked and to whom nothing was taboo. Someone on whom 
to try out the freedoms they aspired to. Someone who, 
despite being the same age as some of their 
grandparents, was nevertheless on their wavelength and 
ready to go along with them.

The North of Pakistan is a lonely place for a 
Westerner. The landscape is bleak, with huge mountains 
of bare, brown rock, baked to furnace heat during the 
day and freezing by night. Life is hard for everyone. 
Almost everyone is a devout Moslem, so there is no 
alcohol and social events are restricted and exclusive. 
People tend to stay in their houses in the evenings and 
at weekends. 

The other Volunteer workers in the town - a half dozen 
or so - were all youngsters; none were teachers. If you 
weren't invited to someone's house for the evening, you 
watched TV (dire), played cards or read (boring) or 
took yourself off into the mountains (risky). So you 
can understand how my class were just as essential to 
my sanity as I was to theirs! And how easily we could 
all be tempted.

This story centres around Aliyah and her best friend 
Hanan. Aliyah was simply gorgeous. Very clever, very 
beautiful, lively and popular, she was the "it" girl of 
her year. She was one of those people whose looks and 
personality enable them to make their own rules in 
life, who break petty restrictions and get away with 
it. There was a mutual detestation between her and Nur; 
both encapsulated all that each other despised in terms 
of behaviour and personality. 

What made things a hoot was that Aliyah's father was a 
mullah, a religious leader, in the town, and with a 
reputation for being a hard-liner. I had met him 
several times, and we had always bantered and crossed 
swords over the cultural differences between 
Christianity and Islam. 

He respected me because I was prepared to listen to 
what Islam said before making judgements, and he was 
prepared to concede that the customs and traditions of 
his town needed to change, even though Islam itself was 
immutable. We got on very well together. Aliyah was 
both his source of greatest pride in life, and also a 
thorn in his flesh. 

He revelled in her intelligence - it was he who had 
taught her to think and question everything in life - 
but despaired at her independence and stubbornness. 
Aliyah's mother had clearly been a looker in her youth, 
but was overburdened by work and seemed repressed and 
withdrawn; her two older brothers were away at 
madrassah (religious school) in Rawalpindi. Aliyah 
pretty much did her own thing at home, punctuated by 
tremendous rows between her and her father, after some 
of which I had to mediate a reconciliation.

Aliyah's friend, Hanan, lived close by and the two had 
been best friends since they were tiny. Hanan's father 
was a merchant, I think originally from Lebanon. I 
never did find out what he dealt in, and he seemed to 
be disproportionately wealthy to the amount of business 
I ever saw him transacting. Possibly there were drugs 
or arms involved - after all, Mardan is very close to 
the Khyber Pass and Afghanistan. 

Hanan was a very attractive girl and turned heads when 
she dressed "Western". Long, glossy, black hair, and 
round face with even features, and a luscious figure - 
rounded hips and well-filled breasts. Sensuous and 
deep, she was the foil to Aliyah's volatility. When 
dressed in traditional, all-enveloping clothes she was 
modest, demure, introvert - difficult to recognise as 
the same girl.

But Aliyah, oh Aliyeh! Tall, slim to the point of 
thinness. Even in traditional dress you would notice 
the eyes - challenging, leading on. Indoors, in her 
jeans and crop top she was heart stopping. Jet black, 
shoulder length hair framed an oval face with high 
cheekbones and almond eyes. Her complexion was paler 
than average, and set off her deep brown eyes, straight 
nose and flawless skin. Her bee-sting breasts were 
high-pitched. 

If this makes her sound like an Asian Barbie Doll you 
would be right - except that it was the personality, 
rather than the looks, which took you by storm. There 
was an unmissable energy, a vibrancy about her. She 
walked gracefully, and even when standing still had a 
"presence" about her which commanded attention. But the 
eyes, the looks, the daring, come-on, dangerous 
yearning in those eyes. The kind of girl to fight duels 
for; the kind of girl to start wars. I was hooked from 
the moment I first saw her.

Life in pursuit of Aliyah became frustrating. At her 
house we were not left unsupervised (even to be in the 
same room as a chaperoned unmarried girl was irregular 
and a mark of her independence). At school we were 
restricted to glances, mild innuendos - nothing more.

***

How to get rid of Nur - that was the problem!

It was Hanan who had the idea. It was the end of an 
afternoon and students were drifting home. Various boys 
and girls had come to me to agree practical assignments 
for their geography exam. Nur had retreated to the 
staff room. Hanan was the last to approach; Aliyah was 
waiting for her outside the door. The conversation did 
not start as I had expected.

"OK Hanan, what ideas have you had for your project?"

"Sir, I've got to talk to you about something 
important."
"Oh, OK, what's up?"

"Sir, do you really like Aliyeh?"

"Yes, of course. She's beautiful. Everyone likes her"

"No, do you really like her. Sir, It's important"

"Yes Hanan, Aliyah's wonderful, and so are you, too. 
Why do you keep asking me?"

"Aliyah says do you want to be alone with her?"

"Yes, of course, Hanan, but you know that's not 
possible. She has to be chaperoned all the time. We'd 
always have Nur with us, and you as well. In any case, 
does Aliyah like me and would she want to be alone with 
an old man like me?".

"Yes. She likes you. She wants to be alone with you".

"This is silly talk, Hanan. We'd never get rid of Nur."

"No, I've had an idea."

Hanan's plan was simple. The girls would choose as 
their project to study sediment deposition in a stream 
leading into a "tank", or reservoir, on her father's 
land. The stream was out of town, in the hills around 
it. Well out of view of people, but risky from 
smugglers using its valley to escape police roadblocks. 
But it was worth trying. Aliyah was more than willing.

That weekend I reconnoitered the stream sites with 
Hanan and her brother. The stream was ideal - deep 
pools and fast rapids, meanders and straights - perfect 
for fieldwork. Near the tank a small plantation of 
trees gave shade and cover, as did a jumbled outcrop of 
rocks. Perfect for an assignation, but first some 
planning needed to be done.

Security was all important. Hanan's dad lent me an AK47 
and I spent an evening learning how to load, fire and 
un-jam it. I've never had to learn how to use a weapon 
in order to carry out fieldwork before! If unwelcome 
visitors interrupted us in the course of our studies, 
we would be able to defend ourselves.

Next, Nur had to be persuaded to chaperone the girls. 
No easy matter this - she knew it was a steep climb to 
the tank and stream and was unwilling. But the promise 
of payment and a picnic at the tank did the trick.

On the day we set out early to avoid walking in the 
worst of the day's heat. The girls wore traditional 
dress over the top of jeans and tee shirts, taking off 
the heavy outer garments as soon as we were clear of 
the town and out of sight of inquisitive eyes. My 
rucksack contained measuring gear for the project - and 
a packet of condoms discreetly tucked in a zipped 
pocket. 

Nur was struggling up the grade, wheezing slightly and 
too breathless to make much fuss over the girls' 
"Western" dress. By the time we reached the tank and 
its shady grove of trees, Nur was exhausted. While 
Hanan unpacked the picnic, Aliyah and I splashed up and 
down the stream collecting water sample to still out 
their sediment, and measuring the stream's width, depth 
and flow rate at various points. In the distance we 
could hear Hanan's radio blaring. If the radio was on, 
all was well. No music would mean that Nur was up and 
about looking for us.

Behind a big projecting rock Aliyah and I kissed. Just 
a small peck at first, to test each other's reactions. 
Then a longer, deeper kiss. Finally a long, intimate, 
shuddering kiss and our first embrace. I can still 
remember the smell of her perfume on that day, and of 
her warm skin. I can recall the intensity in her eyes 
as I put my arm round her, and the way her body 
trembled as I pulled her to me, the way she lifted her 
arm to let me cradle those firm, small breasts. We 
stood locked in an embrace, hungry for each other, 
exploring each other.

And the music stopped. Nur had rested and was coming to 
see what we were up to. Quickly we parted and made a 
show of measuring and recording data as Nur heaved 
round the boulders. 

I released Aliyah to finish writing up her notes, and 
took Hanan to do her share of measuring and wading in 
the stream.

"Hanan, I need more time with Aliyah."

"I know. Wait till after we've eaten. Nur will sleep. 
Trust me."

"Hanan, you're a star!"

I reached out and kissed Hanan, a slow, sensuous 
meeting of mouths and tongues. 

After a while we broke off to eat, sitting next to Nur 
and opposite these two wonderful young women. It was 
heavenly. The burble of running water and rustle of 
tree branches in the grove punctuated by birdsong from 
the branches above. The warmth of mid day bathing our 
bodies and drying off wet clothes. The scent of pine 
trees overlaying the reedy, watery smell of the tank. 
By the time we had eaten we were all drowsy. Hanan 
signalled to Aliyah to make a move.

"Nur, we need to do some more measurements upstream. We 
will be out in the full sun. Why don't you stay here in 
the shade and read, and we'll come back to you when 
we've finished?"

So nicely put; who could resist. Not Nur - grateful to 
be out of the heat and not climbing further up the 
hillside, she made herself comfortable on the sandy 
grass and took out a novel from her bag. Well done, 
girls - they'd clearly thought things through!

Hanan would do a lot more work close to where Nur 
rested. With the rifle in one hand and transistor in 
the other, she found a shady place right on the river 
bank and began to occupy herself with things 
scientific. Aliyah and I strolled off upstream to find 
somewhere private. I couldn't believe my luck - I would 
have at least an hour with this girl and no fear of 
interruption so long as we stayed within earshot of the 
radio. 

In a few yards we found the perfect place - a sandy 
hollow, surrounded by large rocks and partially shaded 
by them. In the distance we could hear Hanan splashing 
in the stream and generally sounding busy.

***

We had got rid of Nur!

We flung ourselves down in the sand and began kissing 
as if there were no tomorrow. We kissed until we had to 
break, panting, for breath. I kissed her decisive, 
straight nose. I kissed her delicately drawn eyebrows. 
I kissed the tiny dimples in her cheeks. I kissed the 
warm fragrance of her neck, the delicate hollow above 
her collarbone. I kissed the scented lobes of her ears, 
the gentle swell of her breasts above her t-shirt. And 
back to that sensuous, hungry, eager mouth.

My hands moved up under t-shirt to encompass her 
breasts. At the instant I cupped them she kissed with a 
greater intensity then before. I fumbled behind her 
back to undo her bra. Clumsy, I failed. Aliyah squirmed 
round, reached behind her and undid the fastening. 

I went to lift the fabric up and over her head. Aliyah 
clamped her arms to her and looked terrified around the 
hollow. Aware of her fear I reassured her. We could 
still hear the radio. I stood up and checked over the 
boulders around the hollow. Nobody was about - we had 
the place to ourselves.

I turned back to Aliyah. She had taken off t-shirt and 
bra, hidden the bra under a rock and wrapped the shirt 
loosely round her shoulders. Hastily I took of my shirt 
and lay down with her. Gently we explored each other's 
bodies. Her breast were small but firm. The nipples 
were tiny, with pronounced dark aureolas. One breast 
had a beauty spot on its underside. 

As I lay down beside her Aliyah turned towards me and 
we began the banquet of each other's bodies. I kissed 
and licked all down her neck and chest, making circles 
around her breasts until the nipples rose firm and 
tall. My tongue explored the silky skin over her thin 
ribs and the incredible softness of her breasts. I 
feasted on the beautiful, unblemished honey brown skin 
of this young girl. Aliyah held me to her, twisting to 
give me access, and trembling with excitement and 
desire. I felt fifteen myself - heart pounding, all 
senses alive. 

I moved one hand down to the front of Aliyah's jeans 
and tested the zip. Would she allow me access to all of 
her? No resistance. I undid the zip fully and fumbled 
to undo the waist button. Gently I began trying to ease 
her jeans down her hips. They were too tight to move. I 
kissed Aliyah deeply.

"Shall we?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Not here."

"OK, it doesn't matter. I love you as you are now..."

We held each other close. This girl who had been so 
passionate was now distant. I felt robbed of the main 
prize, and guilty for pushing her too far. As I covered 
her face with little pecking kisses I tasted salt - 
Aliyah was crying. Time for me to be the responsible 
adult again, not the young lover.. 

Just as quickly, her mood changed again. She had made a 
decision. 

"Take your clothes off first."

Her face was lit up in a wonderful smile.

"Do you want to...?"

"Yes!" 

The word was barely audible but the look with it made 
its intention clear. I hastily pulled off my chinos and 
underpants. In the distance the radio erupted into a 
frenzy of high pitched wailing. All was well. When I 
turned back to Aliyah she had gone. 

"Over here, but not yet. Don't look until I'm ready."

Aliyah had moved across to a narrow slot in deep shade 
between two massive rocks. I heard the jeans come down 
and the faintest whisper as her knickers followed.

"Come."

I came. There, standing before me, was a goddess. Her 
body was perfect. Long tanned thighs rose to 
startlingly pale loins and prominent hip bones. Her 
bush was trimmed into a vertical stripe, tapering 
towards her navel. Inside the stripe was a glimpse of 
pink labia and a glint of moisture. A flat, firm 
stomach took the eye to her jutting breasts, lifted as 
she held out her arms to draw me to her. And that face: 
the smile of even teeth dazzled, and her eyes sparkled 
with intensity and passion. 

Oh, the warmth, the feeling of satisfaction in contact 
with that glorious body.

"Come inside me."

"Are you sure?" Virginity was essential for a girl to 
find a husband; Aliyah was even more a rebel than I 
thought if she was willing to lose hers to me.

"Yes. You're not the first." Wow, that I wasn't 
expecting.

"What about?" Idiot. My condoms were back my trousers. 
In my haste I hadn't thought to bring them across to 
where she stood.

"It doesn't matter. Trust me."

I took her into me arms.

"Love me standing up. I'll never let a man lie on top 
of me." Well, that's Aliyah for you.

I lifted her and she spread her thighs around my waist. 
Aliyah hung from my neck with one hand, and while we 
kissed, probing with our tongues, she guided my member 
to her entrance. Gently, slowly, I pushed up and she 
lowered herself onto me. My penis entered her moist, 
soft, warm box. 

As I completed my journey into her and our pubic hair 
met, Aliyah's eyes rolled upwards, almost into her 
eyelids. We both gasped at the sheer overpowering 
wonder of the feelings coursing through us. For a few 
seconds we rested, awed by the beauty of the 
experience. 

Gently, I began a rocking rhythm up and down inside 
Aliyah. Her muscles flexed to mine and her body 
trembled with emotion. Soon she took over. I hung on to 
her bottom for dear life as she rose and fell, rocking 
and clasping me in a growing cadence of love. She threw 
her head back and exposed those pointed breasts to me. 
I kissed and sucked for all I was worth as she ground 
into me, her black hair fanning and bobbing behind her.

She came quickly, even before I did, silently, in a 
series of total thrusts which took me into her matrix. 
I pumped eight, nine, ten times. Exhausted, we 
separated quickly. No words were said, just the 
tenderest kiss we had ever given, and an embrace which 
went beyond any words.

Quickly we dressed and went to find Hanan. We didn't 
need to tell her anything - the look on our faces said 
it all. She had left the radio and rifle and was 
upstream quite to close to where we had made love.

We splashed about in the stream to take a few more 
measurements and wash hands and faces for good measure. 
A gunshot sounded like an explosion. We rushed to the 
picnic place to find Nur waving the AK47 in complete 
panic. She'd been deep asleep, woken up and found 
herself on her own.

Assuming we'd gone home and left her, she'd discovered 
the rifle and fired the shot to draw attention from 
anyone around. Her antics made it easier for Aliyah and 
I to revert to more "normal" roles, and we drifted back 
down to Mardan through the lengthening shadows of the 
late afternoon.

I never had another chance with Aliyah. Supervision was 
too tight, and for a long time my life was a torment 
where every phone call, every knock on the door could 
be the police, the school authorities or Aliyah's 
family seeking deadly revenge. But the looks, the body 
language, the joking continued till the day I left for 
England. 

I "had" my perfect student; she "had" her teacher, her 
Westerner. She had made her ultimate gesture of 
defiance at the system into which she was determined 
not to conform. 

I'm just left with my memories of the most perfect 
lovemaking I will ever know.

On Aliyah, my Aliyah, where are you now? Did you escape 
to the West as you wanted? Or did they break your 
spirit and crush you into a dull, provincial mother and 
matron? Alas, I lost contact with her.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 25