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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: chris.txt (Mf, ped, rom)
Authors name: Alasder (alasder@planet-save.com)
Story title : Christine Snedden
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial
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Christine Snedden
by Alasder (alasder@planet-save.com)
***
A highly charged awakening to unusual pedophile
tendencies in a university undergraduate. (Mf, ped, rom)
***
I was eighteen, just starting on my second year at
university, when little Christine Snedden entered my
life. It was a shock to the system, not just a figure
of speech, I mean a real spine-tingling jolt. For this
kid was only eight, and yet she was the most physically
attractive, most sensually exquisite female I had ever
set eyes on.
She had the sculptured face of a Grecian goddess with
eyes so deep and dark you could get lost in them, lips
that curved in a cupid's bow designed for kissing or
sucking, and genuinely blushing cheeks that each had a
tiny dimple. She had a fashion model's body and legs
that tapered from exquisite thighs to incredible delft-
like ankles. And more-than-shoulder-length chestnut
hair that should have been on an adult famous movie
star.
Believe me: I am an expert! From the time I entered
high school until the end of my first year in John
Hopkins I really believed that the sole purpose in life
was to screw as many girls as was humanly possible, and
the prettier the girl the more satisfaction I got from
the screwing of it. Girls existed solely to fit on to
the end of my cock!
At first, in junior high school, I was not too choosy;
if they were available and willing I would have them.
By the end of high school, I had acquired something of
a reputation as a stud, but I had also developed a
taste for female perfection and had set a standard that
put the selection process of a kumari devi to shame.
And the odd thing was: the higher the standard, the
more regularly was I fucking.
For, although I am saying it myself, I was in pretty
good shape for a hunk; I was handsome and I knew it! I
played major league school football, competed in the
state and some national tennis and golf championships,
did some boxing and martial arts and, on the whole,
kept myself fit and trim. I was shaving regularly by
the time I was thirteen and could muster nine inches of
solid steel in an erection; and not once did I get any
complaint from any of the girls - as a courtesy, after
that first year in high school, I waited until she had
an orgasm before I shot my semen into her.
But Christine Snedden was another matter altogether! To
say that this kid was beautiful was like saying
Michelangelo was good at drawing! She was out of this
world, and I knew that if I had to take full possession
of this desirable little property at the earliest
(legal) opportunity I would have to make my move pretty
soon because I knew instinctively that, if I didn't, I
would lose her.
She approached me gingerly, a look of uncertainty on
her face. "Hi!" she said. "I'm Christine! Christine
Snedden. I live over there."
She pointed to a neighboring piece of real estate that
had sold less than a year before for more than two
million dollars. If you require a mortgage to move into
that kind of property you don't qualify for residency
in our neighborhood. There is nothing within a radius
of three miles that sells for less than two million
dollars. We live in a restricted zone with permanent
security guards and CCTV all over the place.
The development is called Glencourse and has
accommodation for about a hundred and fifty families.
Apart from the security office at the entrance there is
nothing but private dwellings; the nearest shopping
facility is five miles away - an out-of-town
hypermarket - and the nearest human settlement of any
size is another five miles beyond that.
"You must be David," she said. "Your dad said I could
use your pool any time." She had a towel draped over
her shoulders. She pulled it away to trail on the
ground. Already, although she was flat-chested, she had
a full figure-eight shape with shallow waistline and
rounded hips. "I love to swim. We don't have a pool!"
She sighed.
I wanted to say, "Well, what do you expect for a mere
two million bucks?" But the words would not form
themselves.
She looked defiant. "But mom says we are going to get
one real soon."
Instead I said, "I'll join you!"
I was wearing extremely abbreviated shorts. As I stood
up, I became aware of my erection; it stuck out like
the proverbial gun. The kid eyed it curiously, but the
uncertain look evaporated from her face to be replaced
by the faintest trace of the ghost of a smile. It
clearly emphasised the love bow of her lips and
illumined her entire face; she was radiant. I half
expected some comment like, "Are you glad to see me or
do you carry a gun in your shorts?" but I suppose she
did not understand the line because she was
unacquainted with it.
We swam and dived seriously for about fifteen minutes
before we started fooling around, splashing water at
each other, playing touch tag and catch-as-catch-can
and that kind of stuff for another hour. It clouded
over and threatened rain, so we left the pool. I
deliberately led the kid towards our house to dry off
and change. I had a stiff that amazed even me. In my
bedroom I wrapped a turkish towel around my middle and
removed my shorts and rubbed myself down with another.
Christine had no inhibition. She stripped off her one
piece and began to wipe herself with what was little
more than a hand towel. I supplied something larger.
The sight of her nakedness, the round buttocks and the
hairless pubis showing a clear-cut cleft of curved pink
cunt was driving me crazy; there was a turmoil inside
my gut that I had never experienced before. My mind
flew to a recent social psychology report which claimed
that the average age for girls in USA to lose their
virginity had plummeted in recent years to thirteen. I
seriously doubted if this kid would be able to keep it
that long. I began to doubt if I had will-power enough
to keep my hands away from her. We compromised.
"Wipe my back please," she said and offered me the
towel.
I did as she asked, but I guess I don't know my own
strength. With the slightest touch she jolted forward.
I put a hand on her chest to support her as I dried her
from shoulders to buttocks. It was incredible, but I
could feel her nipples hardening at my touch. I had to
look. I had never seen anything like it: there was no
meat there, no indication of any swelling that could be
called a tit by any stretch of the wildest imagination,
but the tiny bud stood out prominently, brightly pink
from its golden aureole. I flicked a thumb over it and
it stuck out even more. I returned my concentration to
her backside, perfectly rounded. I wiped between the
plump little cheeks.
"There you are," I said with a lot more assurance than
I felt. "Dried to a hundred per cent perfection." I
went to my wardrobe to retrieve a long t-shirt with the
university insignia on it. "You can wear this," I said.
"There would be no point in drying you if you were to
put that wet suit on again." I laughed, and with the
greatest effort of will, I could not hide the
nervousness. "You can bring it back tomorrow!"
"Are you sending me away?" Those dangerous eyes
searched my face.
"Of course not!" I pulled on a thick bathrobe and tied
it around my waist before I let the towel drop from my
middle. The Mona Lisa smile played around her lips.
She wriggled into the shirt. It reached down beyond her
knees. For safety's sake I guided her from my bedroom.
The heavy atmosphere was getting through to my libido.
And with the least further provocation I knew I would
throw her across the bed and fuck her.
"You can stay as long as you like, Christine. But I am
not the best company and I would hate to bore you."
She gazed up at me. "You won't bore me, I promise!"
She allowed herself to be led into our sprawling
drawing room. It was an automatic gesture: I switched
on the television. There was an early afternoon soap
comedy that had been repeated endlessly.
"Now that does bore me!" she declared with contempt.
I agreed. "It doesn't bear repeating too often, does
it!" I threw the remote control at her as she eased
herself on to our king-sized studio couch. "You pick a
channel!"
She switched off the power. "I mean television," she
said scornfully. "All of it is a turn-off." She threw
the control back at me. "Can't we just talk?"
"Sure!" But I was not at all confident about my ability
to sustain a conversation with an eight-year old Greek
goddess. "Want a coke?" I turned to the kitchen to
fetch myself a beer.
When I returned Christine was laid back in the couch.
The shirt had ridden up her thighs and her knees were
spread and the clear-cut groove of her pussy, pink,
glistening and slightly ajar if not exactly open, was
on view. She thanked me for the coke.
"My mom is the television freak," she said. "We have it
all: terrestrial, cable, digital, satellite."
I intended to ask her about her school. Instead I
asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?" And could have bitten
off my tongue as I was asking. Christ! What an opener
to a conversation with an eight year old female kid.
"Of course I do!" she exclaimed. There was a look of
playful annoyance on her face. "Do you think I am some
sort of geek or something?"
"You are certainly no geek!"
"I have a regular boyfriend."
"At school?"
She looked contemptuous. "It's a girls' school." She
bent her knees to place her feet on the couch. The
shirt fell back. I had a private grandstand view of
that perfect hairless little cunt hole." They shoot
boys who come within a fifty miles of the place." I did
not doubt it!
"You are an extremely attractive little girl." Christ
alone knows where they were coming from. No little girl
likes to be called a little girl; I knew that! Only a
pervert would say such a thing. I was staring at the
slightly swollen, pink, glistening little slit.
She ignored the remark, but the look of annoyance had
lost its pretence. There was scarcely a pause between
her former statement and saying, "He comes with his
folks every Christmas to stay a few days with my mom,
and he visits for a couple of weeks in the summer, and
we often go on holiday together to Florida or
California or Hawaii, and we visit them a couple of
times in the year. His dad is a dental surgeon at the
reception centre for the marines in New Mexico. His mom
and mine were at school and college together."
This is no exaggeration: I could have looked at and
listened to that kid all day. She had a voice and
personality to match her perfect body. I have never
wanted anything so much as I wanted Christine Snedden.
I knew what I would be branded, but fucking this kid
would be worth eight years in solitary.
"He's coming to visit for a few days next week."
My feet landed back on earth. "Who is?" I shifted my
gaze to her face.
"Douglas Amies!"
I was lost. Should I know him? Was he a pop singer,
television star?
She saw my confusion. "My boyfriend! He says we are
going to get engaged on my sixteenth birthday. The
family are coming at the weekend and will probably be
here for most of the week. Can I bring him over to swim
in your pool?"
"Of course you can, Christine," I assured her, but I
think she was aware of the absence of real enthusiasm.
And that damned smile flitted across her lips. "I would
like to meet him!" That was a lie; already I hated the
spotty-faced, smart-assed little bastard. I wanted this
Venus all to myself. And by the time she left that day,
more than anything else, I wanted to french-kiss her
everywhere.
It rained for the next two days. It was during the
early evening of that second day, Saturday, that Julie
Snedden appeared on the doorstep. Two things clicked
into place. I recognized the body immediately although
I had never seen her before in the flesh.
"You're Julie Snedden," I said. "I've seen you on
television!" She was a popular presenter on half a
dozen different programs. I wondered why I hadn't made
the connection before. It also explained where
Christine got her looks. The mother was an older
version of her daughter. The unmistakable enigmatic
smile was there as a confirmation. She introduced
herself. Shaking her hand had the sensation of holding
a piece of high voltage conduit swathed in the softest
velvet.
"I can't stay long," she said when I asked her in.
Already I was making plans to lay this beauty, if not
that very evening then before the summer was over. "I
have guests just arrived."
"The Amies family?"
She laughed. It was like musical water splashing
against resonant marble in the auditorium of a magical
theater.
"Christine told me they were coming," I explained.
"You seem to have made a hit with Christine." She
laughed again; it was the kind that is infectious
because it is sincere. "I can see Douglas having to
make a determined effort to keep a good grip on her."
She offered the parcel she carried. "Anyway, I came to
return your shirt." The garment had been laundered and
neatly pressed. She laid it on a table in the hall. She
refused my offer of a drink. "I really have to get
back. I just called to say that I appreciate letting
Christine use the pool. I hope she doesn't make too
much of a nuisance of herself."
I watched her retreat along the old-fashioned cobbled
path between our houses. Even the way she walked, with
swaying hips, was a duplicate of the kid's gait, only
sexier! The telephone rang. I had to force myself away
from the view to answer it. My cock led the way and a
telephone conversation was the last thing I needed.
The rain lasted another two days. On Tuesday morning,
in brilliant sunshine I sat on the veranda of our house
reading a newspaper and having an occasional bite at a
breakfast prepared by my mom. Dad had left for his
consulting room in the city an hour before.
"Hi! David!" The voice came from ground level about ten
feet away. I lowered the newspaper. The eight-year old
waved a hand. "This is Douglas! I told you about him.
Isn't he handsome!"
My heart missed a couple of beats. I expected a smug
smile of self-appraisal from a spotty faced, spectacled
ten year old. Douglas Amies swept all my preconceptions
overboard. This boy was indeed handsome, but he carried
it well; had I been unprejudiced I would have said he
responded with modesty, for which I hated him even
more.
"Hello, Mr. Goldman." Douglas Amies was getting to me,
even in his polite greeting. "I'm glad to meet you!" He
said it as though he really meant it. "Christine hasn't
stopped talking about you since we arrived."
The boy was a natural for a film or television star! He
had a smart, alert, clean face with eyes that matched
Christine's. His hair was golden fleece and his
physique could have matched the fabulous Jason himself.
God! I hated him! He stood a full head and shoulders
above Christine and I placed his age around twelve or
thirteen. In my heart of hearts I had to concede it:
they were perfectly matched. Then a salvo was fired
inside me: perhaps the match was too perfect to have
the one vital ingredient required in a real sexual
relationship - endurance! Then another internal
explosion: for the first time in my life I was aware of
being sexually attracted to another male!
"Hi!" I said almost automatically. "Nice to see you,
Douglas."
They were both dressed for the pool and the boy carried
a beach bag and a couple of towels.
"Enjoy your swim," I said as congenially as I could. "I
might join you in the pool a bit later." I waved a
nonchalant hand. "I have some work to do first."
I finished my breakfast coffee, then retreated to my
bedroom, which overlooks the swimming pool. I watched
the pair through binoculars for almost an hour,
concentrating on the girl before switching my attention
to Douglas. Then it sliced through my brain: the more I
studied his movements and his maneuvers the greater
grew the conviction - the boy was gay!
As a preparation for my second year at university, one
of the texts I had been reading was 'The Psychodynamics
of Homosexuality' by Trench, Murphy and Malachi. These
three pundits had detailed no fewer than eighteen
simple everyday actions that homosexually oriented
males performed in a distinct way that marked them off
from heterosexual or bisexual males. The indicators
pertinent to a twelve or thirteen year old boy danced
up and down and yelled 'here we are' in Douglas Amies
as clearly as a carrot nose on a snowman. I realized
shockingly that I had a hard-on. I returned my
attention quickly to the girl.
I gave up. I threw myself on my bed and started to jack
off into the towel I had kept by my bed since drying
Christine. My thoughts jazzed from the boy to the girl
to her mother. It was something of an instant relief
when they settled on the eight year old as I finally
spurted into the towel. Then the internal tornado
struck again. "Jesus Christ!" I said aloud. I sat up; a
rising sickness churned in my lowest gut. "I am pedo!"
The revelation was utterly nauseating. I tried to think
of other kids I had come across, male and female.
Nothing! Absolutely nothing!
I thought about the girls I had fucked as a youngster
in junior high. Again, nothing - as matter of fact, I
started to wonder why the hell I had bothered with
them. I moved into senior high and thought about the
younger set there. The response was only marginally
more positive and my thoughts seemed stuck in the
sensation of my coming to a climax. It was bewildering.
Then I thought about eight year old Christine Snedden
standing naked right here in my bedroom, and the effect
was immediate - a hard-on that would have more than
satisfied any of my former conquests. And I shot off
again - just thinking of the kid standing right there
over against my bed.
Christine and Douglas came over on another couple of
occasions, and ironically, I was genuinely busy and
could not join in the fun at the pool. Then Julie and
Christine were off for the rest of the summer to
Acapulco, New Mexico and Florida. And before I was
aware of what was happening to me, I was back at
university and little Christine, as far as I knew, was
back in her isolated private school for insulated
pretty girls.
I was in for a couple of rude shocks. First shock came
from my tutor in the form of a final warning: I had
fallen back in my studies in my first year with results
that were way below par, and if I did not show a
positively inclined improvement and produced some
decent grades, like straight alphas, I should not be
too surprised to find myself out on my elbows or my
ass. The second shock may have been related to the
first, but I am convinced there were other underlying
causes. I had lost my appetite for extra-mural sex. I
dated a couple of freshers in the first couple of weeks
back in harness, but could not quite make it!
Literally, the flesh was up, but the spirit was no
longer there. On each occasion, the immaculate visions
of little Christine Snedden, her mother, and the Adonis
Douglas Amies kept intruding.
I began to wonder about my sexual orientation. I
checked myself out against the homosexual scale already
mentioned and gave myself a low score on that. I
measured myself against the tests provided by the
Skellington-Wetherby profile for pedophiles and
registered a rock-bottom zero, nought, zonk, nothing -
none of their pictures aroused me, and the 'dirty'
pictures left me cold and slightly nauseated. I had to
conclude that Christine Snedden in my life was unique!
I sought refuge in my studies, and by the end of the
first term of my second year, I had surprised everyone,
especially myself and my tutor, by rising to the top in
six of my seven subjects.
I made it home for Christmas, but it was little more
than a fleeting visit: I had the chance to do put in
some clinical psychology practice in a state
psychiatric hospital in California, a chance too good
to be missed, and an ego-booster, for it is only
offered to those students who are likely to make it to
the top as the cream of the profession, and it counted
as brownie points in the faculty at John Hopkins. I
made it home for a couple of days around the Easter
break to play tennis in the state open tournament and
got as far as the semi-final only to be beaten by the
man who lifted the trophy. Consequently, it was summer
before I could relax at home and sit in luxury on our
veranda or swim in privacy in our pool.
It was d‚j… vu. On my fourth day home Christine Snedden
turned up in her single piece swimming costume.
"Hi!" she called out. "Remember me?" She let the towel
drop. "We haven't got our pool yet. Your dad said I
could use yours for as long as I wanted. Would you like
to come with me?"
I almost fell off the cane chair at the innuendo. I was
wearing shorts. I found no difficulty in formulating my
thoughts. I was still besotted with this perfect little
angel. "I'd like nothing better, Christine!"
The feeling of it all happening before kept on
happening. Even the play in the pool was a repetition
of the previous year. She handled the bulge in my
shorts several times and I held her up by the crotch
before throwing her back in the water. After a couple
of hours, I led her to my bedroom. She stripped off her
one-piece. I took the towel from her and dried her
front from her flat chest to her crotch.
I suggested she lie front down on my bed. She agreed.
There was no way I could resist this. I wiped her back
dry, then concentrated on the divine backside. I dabbed
the towel between her cheeks and could feel her lift in
response. I rubbed further round between her legs and
again could feel a positive reaction.
"I'll just check that you are dry," I suggested and ran
a hand over the soft skin of her back, over her
buttocks and into the cleft of her pudenda. The
sensation was one of pure delight the like of which I
had never before experienced - and I must have felt up
hundreds of girls. I deployed a finger, firstly into
her back passage then along her slit until I found the
opening to the tight little cunt hole. It was already
moist and incredibly soft. I played for a couple of
minutes before venturing in.
"I could easily go to sleep," she murmured, "with you
doing that."
"You do that, sweetheart!" I found no difficulty
slipping a middle finger in as far as the second
knuckle. I felt her hymen. I let the fingertip press
against the membrane for a few seconds. Her vaginal
muscles were twitching and contracting, almost
imperceptibly at first, then with more determination
until her hips were lifting clear of the bed and
falling with an erotic regularity. "Just tell me when
you have had enough," I said.
"I want this to go on for ever," she mumbled. "It's
lovely!"
Very softly I slipped my finger in and out in a regular
rhythm. She became more and more moist until her juices
began to run on to the palm of my hand. The smell
coming from her was pure sex. Her buttocks rose and
fell, at first slightly, then with a determination that
amounted to desperation. Quite suddenly, she burst into
a rampant twisting and turning writhing, breathing
loudly and rapidly, and moaning as if she were in pain.
I have seen hundreds of chicks in orgasm, but nothing
to equal this. Christine Snedden was flying high with
the angels. Her wetness poured down on my bed. Her body
was vibrating, quite literally, like a plucked violin
string. And then it stopped. After a pause of several
minutes she pulled away from my fingers and turned on
to her back. She stared at me. There was wonder in her
eyes, and a kind of mock accusation, and that accursed
glint of Mona Lisa.
I stroked her face. I asked her if she was all right.
She nodded a reassurance and swung from the bed. She
asked if she could have another of my university
sweatshirts. To keep! We retreated to our sprawling
living room, listened to some music, talked a while -
well, she talked, I was happy listening to her. Then
she said she had to go. At the door she craned her neck
and bent her face upwards for a kiss. And assured me
that she would be back. For more!
End
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 27