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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: hidden.txt (M/g+, ped, voy, inc)
Authors name: GM (gm@mrdouble.com)
Story title : Hidden Benefits
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don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Hidden Benefits
by GM (gm@mrdouble.com)
***
Panties in the Playground with eight-year-old Angie
Raymond and her adult cousin, university student Brad
Wilson. Angie persuades her two little friends to join
her on the Jungle Gym, Brad lays plans to have all
three at the same time... (M/g+, ped, voy, inc)
***
The following story depicts explicit sexual contact
between adult and under aged participants. Those
offended by graphic descriptions of
pedophilic/incestuous relationships should read no
further. This is entirely a work of fantasy, and does
not advocate the abuse of minors in any way, shape or
form. All characters and events represented herein are
completely fictional.
PART ONE: THE WHITE BALANCE
Summer in Chamberlain was hazy and idyllic. The city
had the down-home atmosphere of a Norman Rockwell
print; a sleepy patchwork of tree-lined avenues and
painfully green lawns. The streets droned with cicadas
and the ponds with dragonflies, their streamlined
bodies glittering like emeralds in the morning sun. Its
picket-fence suburbs were perhaps the most American of
the regional townships. On a fine, clear day, you could
almost smell the heady aroma of apple pie drifting down
the sidewalk; a cinnamon wave exhaled from a thousand
kitchen windows.
Kings Domain extended over the eastern ridge of the
city, bordered by Memorial Drive on one side and
Chamberlain Heights on the other. A large, rambling
parkland crisscrossed by jogging paths and pine groves,
it claimed a history dating back to pre-revolutionary
times (hence the anachronistic title). The
Commemorative Fountain at the middle of the Park was a
favored meeting place with the Sole Parents Society,
mainly due to its close proximity to the Adventure
Playground.
Bradley Wilson couldn't be described as a sole parent,
although he'd recently 'inherited' responsibility for
an eight-year-old child. His young cousin Angie Raymond
had adopted him as a defacto father over the past few
months, a role he'd grown into with a certain degree of
rueful satisfaction. A second year Humanities student,
Brad had originally joined Sole Parents hoping to free
up his weekends via the care-giver exchange.
Much to his surprise, he'd discovered a network of
support entirely missing from his immediate family.
He'd made several friends within the Society - mostly
women his own age, quietly sympathetic towards his
unusual situation. His weekends were still as busy as
ever, but the hidden benefits were more than adequate.
And, if nothing else, it had provided numerous
playmates for Angie, the proverbial blessing in
disguise from Brad's viewpoint.
The air was crisp and still as they made their way
through Memorial Gardens. They were cutting through the
Wildlands, a low, rolling pine glade riddled with bike
tracks and mystery walks.
Most Saturday mornings, the Playground was overrun by
hordes of yowling children. Brad could hear their
excited howls echoing along the trail. Sounded like a
full scale riot, even at this distance. The majority
would be little girls from the Heights district; pixie-
faced angels decked out in pastel pinks and yellows.
Brad felt his temperature starting to rise.
Angie scampered along beside him, swinging happily from
his right hand. Her bright red sun-frock clung to her
waifish figure, hemline sweeping about her knees with
each capering step. She'd been looking forward to this
outing all week; most of her friends from playgroup
were going to be there, along with some of the girls
from her school.
It was shaping up to be a wonderful day. They were
going to have a picnic on the grass with the ladies
from Sole Parents, followed by a splash in the Fountain
and a game of hunt 'n' catch in the Fort.
Best of all, Bradley had brought his DIGITAL CAMCORDER
(that was how she actually thought of it; in capitals
and italics), the one with the LCD DISPLAY and the
AUTOZOOM. Brad had bought it down at Radio Shack a
couple of weeks ago so he could tape her playing on the
swings and slides and monkey bars. They often watched
it on Brad's DVD before she went to bed; it was
becoming something of a family tradition.
"Are you going to film me playing in the Fort?" she
chortled, betraying her impatience to get the morning
underway.
"Sure will," Brad replied offhand, glancing off into
the pinewoods.
"What about Lindy? Are you gonna film her too?" Angie
demanded, tugging energetically at his hand.
"Yeah, if she's wearing a dress," he answered offhand.
Angie didn't bother asking the most obvious question;
she already knew the answer.
"What about Jane?" she inquired, bouncing about at the
end of his arm.
"She always wears shorts," Brad observed laconically.
"Not this time!" Angie exclaimed in all seriousness, "I
told her she had to wear a skirt today!" Brad almost
laughed despite himself. What else had she ordered
Janey Glover to do?
"OK, then" he agreed magnanimously, as if conferring
some vast favor. Flexing the tendons along his forearm,
Brad hefted the girl off the ground, dangling her from
his wrist with her feet waving in mid-air. He carried
her along the trail for some twenty odd paces, then
dropped her lightly onto her feet.
She skipped along the path singing a hopscotch chant he
recalled from his childhood: "Tom-and-Becky, sitting-
in-a-tree-K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First-comes-love, then-comes-
marriage, then-comes-Tom-with-a-baby-CARRIAGE!"
He smiled at the memories the song invoked: fresh-faced
school girls with yellow ribbons, tartan skirts and
white cotton underpants. They were young, they were
animated, they were hauntingly beautiful. And not one
of them could have held a candle to Angie.
They walked on a little further until they came to a
sunlit clearing with a log bench at one side. Bradley
took a seat, turning the digicam over in his hands and
flipping the cover off the lens. Angie ambled on for
several paces, then looked around when she realized she
was walking alone. Turning back to join him at the
bench, she scrutinized her cousin with a quizzical
expression.
"What're you doing?" she asked.
"I think it's time we took a white balance," he
answered, looking experimentally through the
viewfinder. Angie knew what he was talking about, he'd
been teaching her how to use the camera around the
house. The WHY-BALANCE was the first thing you did
after you switched the power on. Trouble was, they
couldn't set the highlights out here on the bike trail.
Everything was the wrong color.
"We forgot to bring the big white card," she said,
absently kicking her feet through the woodchips.
"Well, we'll just have to use your panties then, won't
we?" Brad replied, snapping open the LCD.
Angie's expression changed. Her little mouth gaped
open, her cheeks flushed with surprise as she
registered his words. Her skin started to tingle, a
storm of butterflies erupted through her belly. Her
fingers dropped protectively to the front of her dress,
as if it was preparing to spring up by itself. She knew
exactly what he wanted her to do, and it made her head
spin with embarrassment.
"Brad!" she cried, looking 'round the pine-glade, "we
can't do THAT!" Her voice dissolved into a stream of
helpless giggles. He couldn't be serious. Not here, not
now.
"Why not?" Brad asked, testing the auto focus, "I've
seen your undies before."
"But that's differENT!" she protested in righteous
indignation, although he was completely right: he had
seen her undies like a zillion times before).
"How?" Brad retorted, arching one eyebrow inquiringly.
"I don't know, it just IS," Angie sputtered in girlish
exasperation, "anyway, you CAN'T set the why-balance
off my panties."
"They're white aren't they?" Brad asked reasonably
enough.
"Well, yeah..." she replied, blushing wildly. He was
teasing her, she could see that now, but she sensed
something hidden beneath the good-natured ribbing. This
was more like the games they played most nights,
upstairs in bed after they'd finished watching TV.
Angie loved Brad's games; they were always cute and
funny and deliciously naughty.
Three nights ago, he'd filled her tummy button with
chocolate sauce (putting a cherry on top for good
measure). The sauce had been unbearably cold, but she'd
enjoyed it immensely - especially after Brad started
licking it out with his tongue. She'd screamed and
kicked and squirmed in his arms, but after he'd
finished, she'd begged him to do it again. And again.
And again.
[he'd done something else to her that night; something
which also involved his tongue and a bottle of
chocolate sauce - but she knew they wouldn't be doing
anything like THAT until they got home this afternoon]
"Well, yeah . they are," she finished, shuffling from
foot to foot in an agony of indecision.
"Well, I guess it's settled then," Bradley said,
lifting the camera to eye-level.
Angie could feel her defenses crumbling; Brad was
waiting expectantly, and part of her secretly wanted to
please him, the way she did at home. She was already
tugging at her hemline, raising the dress to mid-thigh.
Her arms were buzzing with gooseflesh, her heart drum-
rolling with anticipation. This was so incredibly
naughty: despite her tender years, Angie knew that
little girls didn't just lift their skirts in public.
Not on purpose, anyway. But then again...
It wasn't much different to when Bradley filmed her
hanging upside down from the Jungle Gym. Or when she
came down the High Slide with her frock sailing around
her waist. Or when she showed her friends how to do
cartwheels on the grass. As a matter of fact, Brad had
a small library of AVIs dedicated his little cousin.
Angie getting dressed in the morning. Angie putting on
her babydoll. Angie doing handstands in the backyard.
Angie modeling her new underwear in front of the
mirror; Angie dancing in her new underwear in front of
the mirror.
"A little higher now, Angel," Brad said, dropping to
one knee in front of her. Angie looked down and
discovered that she'd been twisting the frock between
her fingers, unconsciously hoisting the curtain, so to
speak. The hem was less that an inch from the tip of
her panties. Her legs were trim and rather shapely for
her age, the skin as pale as an English carnation.
Angie stared up in round-lipped surprise, struggling to
suppress her high, tinkling laughter. What was she
DOING?!
"Bradley," she sniggled breathlessly, unable to believe
she was actually doing this. The front of Angie's skirt
began to rise, just the barest flittering of red
cotton. A sense of exhilaration filled her veins. She
glanced away in childish denial, her cheeks glowing
maraschino red. This was soooo embarrassing! Why did he
always do this to her?
"Come on, no need to be shy," Brad coaxed, gesturing
with the camera. "we'll watch it tonight after we
finish dinner."
This was too much for Angie. Sputtering with repressed
mirth, she hiked her dress up over her waist, her tiny
feet dancing with excitement. White satin panties
flashed into view, gleaming with an alabaster finish in
the sunlight. Tight elastic trimmings dimpled her
pearly flesh, floral lace insets embellished the hips.
They were her prettiest undies; Brad had bought them
for her last week, and she'd worn them especially for
him, knowing he'd be watching her on the monkey bars
this morning.
Of course, she never dreamed she'd be offering him this
'sneak preview.'
"All right, now - big smile for the camera," Brad
instructed, pressing the zoom, "skirt right up to your
chin, Angel-Girl."
"Noooooooo!" Angie moaned, but the dress climbed up her
bare torso all the same. Waves of sweet humiliation
rolled through her tummy. He only needed her panties
for the why-balance: why did she have to hold her frock
so high? He didn't need to see her whole body, did he?
Giggling uncontrollably, she posed for the digicam with
her sleek, supple figure on exhibition.
Brad tracked the camera up and down, marveling at the
lush expanse of naked midriff spread out before him.
Her nipples were dark and ripe, standing out on her
chest in hard, crimson circles. They were surprisingly
large for a child her age (perhaps announcing the onset
of an early puberty). They provided Brad with literally
hours of pleasure every week, particularly in early the
morning. They'd been sharing a bed for five months now,
almost since she first came into his care.
Seeing them now - huge and red and throbbing with
arousal - Brad began to wish they'd never left home.
Much as he relished these Saturday morning expeditions,
he could think of a few things he'd rather be doing at
the moment (again, things involving his tongue and a
bottle of chocolate sauce - as well as a more prominent
section of his anatomy) Well, a promise was a promise,
and Angie had earned her reward. He didn't want to
disappoint her. Besides which, he needed new footage
for the archive.
Lowering his sights fractionally, Brad zoomed in on the
girl's navel.
Angie had one of those painfully cute belly-buttons
that curved in like a tiny thimble. He'd always found
it one of her most appealing features, and never lost
an opportunity to explore it with a gently probing
finger-tip. Even now, he couldn't resist tracing an
index around its softly pursed rim. Reaching out with
his right hand, he dipped his pointer inside her tummy-
cup. Angie jumped in galvanic reaction.
"Bradley, don't!" she squealed, jiggling her pantied
hips, "that TICKLES!!"
"Really?" he enquired politely, "well, how about this,
then?"
"NOOOO!! STOP IT! DOOOOON'T!!" Angie screamed at the
top of her lungs. This was out and out torture; but for
some reason, she didn't try to run away. The skirt
remained poised at her shoulders, waving from side to
side like a can-can dancer's petticoats. Chuckling
under his breath, Brad continued spidering his fingers
around her tummy, ignoring her shrieks and pleas.
Stamping her little feet, Angie whipped her head from
side to side, golden ringlets swishing around her face.
"BRADLEY! STOP! DON'T TICKLE ME!! NOOOO!"
The torture went on for close to a minute (and would
have gone on considerably longer if not for the
imminent risk of discovery). By the time they finished,
Angie was trembling from crown to heel, pink-faced,
short of breath and somewhat short of temper. He hadn't
needed to do a why-balance at all! He'd just wanted to
see her panties. And tickle her belly button while her
skirt was up.
"You're mean!" she said crossly, dropping her frock
back to a more dignified position. Her hair was a mass
of wild blond curls and her left shoulder strap had
slipped half-way down her arm. She slid it back over
her shoulder, pushing out her lower lip in a classic
teenie-pout. "You always tickle me too much, Bradley!"
"Hardly tickled you at all," Brad remarked, closing the
LDC with an echoing click.
"Yes, you did! And it wasn't funny."
"You look so pretty when you're sulking."
"I'm not sulking!"
"Come over here and give me a kiss."
"No!" she refused decisively, but her eyes were
twinkling with sweet blue mischief. She hadn't really
been angry with him: like all little girls, she adored
a good tickling in the arms of big, strong man;
especially when she had no choice in the matter. She
just wanted him to make it up to her was all. And yes,
she wanted to give him a kiss - along with a cuddle and
a great big hug - but she wanted him to make her do it.
The same way he did when they snuggled up in bed
together.
Fortunately, Brad could read her mind as easily as he
could read her expression.
"All right, that's it!" Brad said, rearing up off the
ground with his arms outstretched, "I think it's time
for a SPANKING." Angie screamed and ran down the path,
woodchips scattering in every direction. She knew he
wasn't really going to spank her, but the only thing
better than being chased was being caught. Her toes
scarcely touched earth as she bolted out of the
clearing, but fast as she was, Bradley was on her in an
instant.
He swept her up with an ear-splitting roar, tossing her
high overhead in a twisting spiral of arms and legs.
The world turned upside down for an amazingly long
moment, then she was plummeting into his hands, her
dress filliping in the updraft. Gathering her
voraciously against his chest, Bradley angled her head
up so that her face was only an inch from his. She
struggled in his grip like the heroine in a Victorian
Romance - but she didn't struggle very hard.
"What's it going to be Angel-Girl?" Brad rasped in his
best Jimmy Cagney, "a kiss on the lips, or a smack on
the fanny?"
For an answer, Angie wrapped her arms around his neck
and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. It was
little more than a chaste, virginal press of the lips,
but it was warm and sensuous; as pure as the love of a
child. The kissed, they smooched, they spooned and they
necked until Angie remembered why they'd come down here
in the first place and asked to be put down. Brad
placed her carefully on her feet (not without some
regret; his rock hard member was threatening to burst
its denim constraints). Still, he had quite a lot to
look forward to.
"So - Janey's going to be wearing a skirt today?" he
asked, taking her hand as they set off down the trail.
"Yeah," Angie replied, beaming up at him, "that long
blue Scottish one you like so much."
Bradley's eyebrows went up towards his hairline. Little
Janey Glover in blue tartan? His blood-pressure started
to spike, nostalgia poured through his mind in a flood
of half-forgotten words (Tom-and-Becky-sitting-a-tree-
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!). Remembering those long vanished
playmates with their plaits and their skipping ropes
and their dainty white underwear, he was glad they'd
decided to come out this morning. Quite suddenly, he
couldn't think of a better way to spend a weekend.
As he'd noted earlier, the hidden benefits were more
than adequate.
PART TWO: LINDY & JANE
Rounding a long, sloping bend, they emerged on the far
side of the Fountain and were immediately engulfed in a
drove of stampeding children. They surged past in a
rush of knees and elbows, almost dragging Angie off in
the deluge.
Brad steered a course through the human tide,
navigating towards the picnic benches beneath the
weeping willows. Four or five regulars from Sole
Parents were reclining in the shade, sipping fruit
juice and trading the week's gossip. Two of them waved
in Brad's direction, beckoning him forward.
Four of the usual suspects were present; Mary Glover
and Deborah Lambert from the Westside, Carol Thompson
from Newtown Playgroup. Cathy Everett sat to one side,
keeping watch on the kids. The Rituals of Greeting were
observed, the obligatory wisecracks made.
The whole process lasted around a minute, then Brad was
planted comfortably in the center of the group, basking
in their good-natured acceptance. He'd grown quite
popular over the past few months, being one of the
Society's few resident males.
However, it was Angie who was the definitive center of
attention. Kisses were lavished on her freckly cheeks;
teasing fingers skittered over her neck and shoulders.
Angela squealed with pleasure, lapping up the
attention, then ran over to hide behind her cousin,
blushing to the roots of her hair.
Brad nodded along in casual satisfaction. None of it
was empty flattery, his cousin was an unusually
beautiful little girl. He'd noticed that young, single
mothers were particularly susceptible to her huge,
liquid eyes and baby-soft features. Any one of them
would have been happy to pack her up and take her home
for the weekend.
"You want a drink of Fanta, honey?" Deborah Lambert
offered, trying to coax her out from Bradley's shadow.
Angie wasn't budging (she knew full well that Debbie
only wanted to snatch her up and gobble her tummy), but
her smile melted every heart within visual range. Brad
checked the settings on his camcorder while the drink
was poured, glancing discretely out towards the
Playground.
The Indian Fort was swarming with sun-dappled figures,
clambering over the rope bridge and body surfing down
the high-slide. A small party of boys congregated at
the bottom of the monkey bars, yelling taunts out to
the girls and making half-hearted attempts to chase
them around the teeter-totters. Business as usual, in
other words. Brad raised the digicam and clicked on the
power.
"There you go, sweet-heart," Debbie said, handing over
a cup of garishly bright orange sludge. Angie stepped
tentatively forward, reaching out for the saccharine
horror.
"What do you say?" Brad prompted without looking up.
"Thank you," she trilled in her fluting soprano, then
retreated before those girl-snatching hands could
descend on her. This was, in fact, a much beloved game,
one she'd played countless times before. Deborah
Lambert was a world class tummy-gobbler; half the fun
was evading her clutches until the end of the picnic.
Angie stepped back behind her protector, placing a hand
on his shoulder while she solemnly emptied her cup.
Brad finished his preparations and slid the LCD into
position, tracking slowly across the playing field.
Just at that moment, Angie heard her name being called
in sprite, keening tones. Everyone turned towards the
Playground, grinning at the source of the disturbance.
Two little girls were approaching at breakneck speed,
their voices overlapping with exhilaration. Abandoning
her cousin without a second's hesitation, Angie ran out
to meet them, her hair whipping out in albino
streamers.
Lindy Thompson and Janey Glover came racing over from
the swings, faces glowing like a pair of storm
lanterns. Knees pumping and ponytails flying, they
threw themselves onto their small, blond friend in a
veritable gale of affection. Faces were kissed, bottoms
were patted, and gigantic hugs exchanged all round.
Words tumbled over each other in a geyser of liquid
childspeak: Hi Angie we been playing over on th' swings
and on th' slides and on th' bigspinnything
andAlisonMillerwasdoingcartwheels andTommyNorbert
felloffth' highslideandTracyDwightsaidthis
andJeannieSaltersaidthat-
And so on.
Brad caught them on the display, tinkering with the
contrast to capture their delicate skin tones. Both
were wearing skirts and dresses, just as he'd been
hoping. He couldn't stand seeing shorts on young girls,
especially ones their age. Chamberlain's Municipal
School Board had a lot to answer for, with its ass-
backwards feminist policies and ugly unisex dress
codes. Well, no matter; it was the middle of summer,
school was out, and they could dress any way they
pleased.
He panned slowly down their lithe figures, taking in
the lush curves, the trim, supple limbs. Both girls
were extremely pretty - not quite as beautiful as
Angie, in some respects - but sweet, saucy and
endearingly cute all the same. Lindy was wearing a
canary-yellow sun frock, the kind with a high, nipped
bodice and a key-hole neckline. Jane's ensemble
included a loose white top and a blue plaid skirt
clipped at the waist with a big silver safety pin. Brad
inhaled in a long, silent breath, feeling a subtle
warmth spreading through his bloodstream.
All three were standing in a conspiratorial huddle,
exchanging whispers and naughty girlish snickers. Their
bottoms poked out at luscious, tempting angles; Brad
zoomed in to record each one in turn. Lindy's dress was
so brief that it barely covered her underpants, Angie's
so sheer that her pert, ripe cheeks were visible
through the fabric. Jane's skirt was neither brief nor
sheer, but the blue tartan was indescribably sexy
nevertheless (Tom-and-Becky-sitting-a-tree, K-I-S-S-I-
N-G!). Brad's manhood started to pulse in time to his
galloping heartbeat.
He couldn't wait to see what they were wearing
underneath.
Well, he'd be finding out soon enough. The conspirators
had almost finished their scheming; whatever they had
planned, they were almost ready to begin. He could tell
by the furtive glances they kept casting over their
shoulders. Fingers pointed, feet shuffled and eyes
twinkled as a decision was reached.
What was it going to be this time? The Indian Fort? The
Fireman's Pole? The Spider's Nest?! Under normal
circumstances, Brad would have laid odds on the Swings.
Little girls have a scientifically documented
preference for swings, he'd read about it in the
Harvard Journal of Medicine. Of course, Bradley knew
better on this occasion. He knew his cousin.
"OK, let's go play!!" Angie declared, practically
bursting from her skin. Lindy and Jane squealed their
approval, dancing back and forth in barely suppressed
enthusiasm. Linking hands from left to right, the three
girls spun towards the playground and tore off toward
the Jungle-Gym.
PART THREE: THE JUNGLE GYM
"Last one up has to kiss Tommy Norbert!" Lindy yelled.
Screaming with laughter, they streaked across the turf,
hemlines whipping about their thighs. Angie's heart was
racing in her chest; a warm, mellow glow pervaded her
features. Releasing her grip on Janey's hand, she
sprinted forward as fast as midnight lightening, eager
to reach the bars first. Her frock molded around her
girlish form, the front kicking up over her waist. She
made no attempt to hold it down: shy though she was,
she was completely swept away in the excitement of the
moment.
The Climbing Grid was a complex iron scaffold at the
center of the Fort. A tall, looming structure fully ten
yards long, it was teeming with children, mostly girls
from Angie's neighborhood. Close on a score swung
precariously through the trellis, chortling with
pleasure. The older ones wore oversized t-shirts and
those awful spandex bike shorts that had grown so
popular this summer.
Only a few had deigned to dress au femme that morning,
but they seemed to be attracting more than their fair
share of interest. A smattering of boys bolted to and
fro underneath, grabbing at their heels and daring them
to cross the gauntlet.
Reaching the Grid slightly ahead of her friends, Angie
hauled herself up two bars at a time: two-four-six-
eight-SLAP. The Jungle Gym seemed implausibly steep, a
vast, rambling tower overlooking most of the Domain.
Once at the top, the three girls perched together,
gazing out towards the weeping willows. Somewhere in
the middle distance, Brad stood at the edge of the
playing field, filming them as discretely as possible.
The girls swapped shy, giggly smiles, their eyes
positively gleaming with anticipation. Who was going to
go first? Who was going to lead the way? What they had
in mind was so indisputably naughty they couldn't
decide one way or the other. Jane and Lindy finally
ganged up on their pretty blond accomplice: the whole
thing had been Angie's idea, so she had to go first.
Nibbling on her lower lip, Angela dropped through the
bars and made for the center of the Grid. A chill
breeze seemed to flitter up her dress despite the heat
of the day. In a few seconds she'd be hanging upside
down with her flimsy white panties on full display!
Every boy in the world was going to see what she was
wearing! Worse still, she knew most of them; half the
kids in her grade seemed to be scrambling 'round
beneath her feet.
Looking back over her shoulder, she noticed her cousin
kneeling on the grass about thirty feet away, his face
masked by the camcorder. The zoom was tilted upward and
the little red light was blinking. Evidently he'd moved
in closer for a better shot. Angie giggled, knowing
what he must have been seeing. This was all so unfair!
None of it had been her idea, it had all been his! Why
did she have to go first? She pendulumed back and forth
beneath the bars, grinning impishly as the dress rode
up to the tops of her thighs.
Brad almost fumbled the camera as Angie splayed her
legs. The view was utterly heart-stopping from this
angle; her silky white gusset was stretched taut
between her open thighs. He fine-tuned the resolution,
bringing the gauzy satin into sharp focus. The hem
skipped a little higher. For one breathtaking moment he
could see the tight elastic trim encircling her waist,
then the frock dropped back down into place. It was
just the barest glimpse, but Brad felt the fever
blazing through his system like a brushfire.
This was going to be good.
Angie swung nimbly across the Grid with the boys
nipping playfully at her ankles (Tommy Norbert almost
made off with her left shoe), dodging through the crowd
with practiced ease. Pausing half way across, she threw
Brad a secret, teasing glance, then kicked her feet up
over her head. Hooking her knees over the bar, she
slung herself upside down - and the show began.
Thick blond tresses swept towards the ground as Angie's
dress billowed inside out. Her panties went on public
display; sheer white full briefs with dainty lace
traceries on the front and sides. The gossamer fabric
shimmered like platinum in the mid-morning sun. Angie
wriggled her hips. The frock slipped another four
inches down her midriff, baring her torso far as the
belly-button. Half a dozen boys gawped up at the
spectacle, their expressions dazed and startled.
Brad was similarly frozen to the spot. Breath catching
in his throat, he zoomed in for an extreme close-up,
relishing the creamy smoothness of her thighs. Her
flesh was unbelievably soft, particularly around the
tummy and bottom (the latter of which was going to be
spanked bright pink the moment he got her home and
naked). The plump mound of her labia was bulging
through her panties. He could just make out the shape
of her cleft beneath the filmy satin.
He panned back to a mid-shot, scanning for her full
figure (if only those damned bars weren't blocking the
view) and discovered that her dress had inverted all
the way down to her throat. Having no real waistline,
it clung to her shoulders by nothing more than a hope
and a prayer, threatening to fall off her body at the
merest touch. Her tiny nipples poked out from her ivory
chest, their tips sharpened to straining red pins. Brad
exhaled silently, recalling how he'd tweezed them
between his teeth earlier that morning.
Returning the lens to her underwear, he noticed some
movement off to the right and moved the camera to
investigate. Brad's pulse-rate almost flatlined with
surprise: it was the other two! Lindy and Jane were
clambering over to join her! He'd forgotten all about
them the second Angie's frock went south. Brad
repositioned himself, shifting back a few paces to
catch all three in frame. This was too good an
opportunity to miss. Most of his footage consisted
exclusively of his cousin: now, two of the prettiest
girls in Chamberlain were about to bare their panties!
Clicking over into steadycam, he balanced himself for
the shot.
Lindy went over first.
Tilting her head back, Linda drew her knees up to her
chin and slipped her feet through the rungs (offering
Brad a generous view of her prim cotton gusset in the
process). Easily the oldest of the three (eleven last
spring), she had reached that slim, coltish stage where
her legs looked impossibly long and limber. Their
length was further emphasized by the stripy black stay-
ups she habitually wore. Bradley felt his jeans tighten
around the cup.
She really was one sassy little miss. If she'd been his
daughter . Well, best not to go there right now.
Voicing a high, giggly squeal, Lindy doubled her legs
over the bar and dropped herself into position. Her
short yellow sundress inverted over her head, unveiling
her flimsy cotton panties in the wink of an eye. They
were high-cut bikini briefs with a rather spicy floral
pattern. Brad's eyes widened with surprise; they looked
entirely too mature for such a petite young thing.
Lindy had recently developed a preference for cheeky,
feminine underwear, and appeared to be taking great
pleasure in showing them off. Pawing lightly at her
dress, she toggled her bottie-cheeks from side to side,
bubbling over with excitement. The inside lining of her
frock slid down another six inches, peeling away to her
rib-cage -
And then it was Janey's turn to uncover her panties.
Nine year old Jane Glover was a slim, lean-legged child
with an alabaster complexion and red-gold hair.
Normally rather demure, the thought of hanging upside
down from the Jungle Gym made her head spin with
embarrassment. As Brad had noted earlier, she usually
wore shorts to the Playground, careful to safeguard her
dignity from wandering eyes. Yet here she was, dangling
from the grid in her long blue skirt with half the boys
in Chamberlain looking on! The temptation had simply
proven too much for her. Well, too late to back out now
- her friends would never let her get away with it.
Folding sinuously from the waist, Janey swept her legs
up in a graceful arc, pointing her toes at the sky. Her
kilt fell away at the back, exposing her panty-clad
bottom in a flutter of indigo pleats. Locking her knees
into place, she released her hands and hung topsy-turvy
from the bars. Tinkling, girlish laughter floated
through the Playground: the front of Jane's skirt was
caught between her thighs; only HALF her panties were
on display! Face burning beet-red, Janey reached down
and started pulling the kilt up at the sides.
Such shamelessly modest behavior couldn't go
unchallenged. Lindy's hand darted out, snatching at the
tartan wrap. Jane slapped it away with a shriek, then
turned to fend off Angie's sneak attack. A brief
struggle ensued. The hapless redhead never stood a
chance, needless to say. Two sets of fingers snagged
the plaid material, and the skirt was finally (and
irrevocably) dislodged. All three screamed in delight
as Jane's silken panties were revealed in all their
glory.
Brad leaned forward and zoomed in for another
penetrating close-up. Candy-bright nylon suddenly
filled the LCD. Janey's full-brief undies clung to her
skin like the world's mildest sunburn, glittering with
iridescent highlights. A dainty pink frill encircled
the waistband, intricate lace traceries adorned the
hips. The gusset looked as though it had been
airbrushed onto her pert little vulva.
Brad shifted uncomfortably, feeling his erection
spiking upwards (he'd have to be careful to adjust his
clothing when he stood up later. Deborah Lambert had
eyes like a frigging hawk, and he couldn't afford to
trigger any maternal alarms).
He tracked the digicam 'round in a wide circle,
targeting her shapely thighs, her snowy white tummy.
She had one of those impudent little belly buttons that
poked out like a ripe raspberry. Brad moistened his
lips with the edge of his tongue, trying to imagine how
it would taste. He'd have to figure out some way to get
her over for an evening; maybe a slumber party or a
video night. Then he could have all three under the
same roof. Wouldn't be too difficult to arrange,
considering his sterling reputation around Sole
Parents.
Brad paused, lowering the camera slightly as he turned
the idea over in his mind. Because suddenly, the idea
didn't seem so far fetched. Everyone in the group
trusted him, knew he was prepared to share in the
child-minding roster. Carol Thompson had even broached
on the subject a few times, asking if he'd like to
register for the babysitter's exchange. In addition,
most of the women would probably sell their souls for a
night out on the town, free from the domestic
grindstone.
Yes, Brad thought, a video night would be just the
thing. If he could get Angie to invite them over next
Friday .
They'd watch Mulan or The Lion King or some equally
vacuous Disney offering, then he'd take them upstairs,
where the evening's entertainment would REALLY begin.
He'd undress them one at a time, stripping them down to
their briefs and then to their bare flesh, kissing and
stroking and fondling as each layer came off. He'd herd
them into the bed, naked and helpless as new-born
babes, and climb in after them with his massive weapon
primed and ready.
And then he'd FUCK them.
Each in turn, he'd drive his cast-iron member into
their warm, moist pussies, making them wail in pain and
ecstasy. Angie first, panting and moaning and gasping
his name; then Janey, her indigo-blue eyes brimming
with tears; and finally Linda - weeping and sobbing as
he opened her legs and shoved his harpoon up inside
her. And once he'd finished with her . he'd start
again. He'd have them the whole night long, groping and
raping and feeling and fucking until the room grew
light and they collapsed in barely satisfied
exhaustion.
All in good time, Brad reminded himself. He still had
to get through this morning with its Indian Forts and
picnics and endless games of tag. He stood up and
stepped back a couple of yards, trying for a wide-angle
shot to capture the whole scene: the wrestling
battalions over by the merry-go-round, the mad scuffles
in the Lookout Tower. Mary Glover would want to see the
playback (she always did), so he'd need to show her
some footage that didn't resemble a pedophile's wet-
dream.
Especially if I want to fuck her daughter next week, he
thought, savoring the obscenity for no apparent reason.
He panned across the entire playing field, focusing on
nothing in particular, willing his erection to subside
before he returned to the picnic tables. This would
prove to be a slow and rather difficult process; his
constantly eyes circled back to his young cousin, still
oscillating under the Grid with everything on show.
Once again, she was the cynosure, the center of
attention. Seemed like every gaze in the park was
directed at her. Lindy and Jane looked utterly
mesmerized by her presence. Who could blame them?
Angie's charms were little short of captivating. It had
taken her only a matter of seconds to persuade them to
bare their panties on the Jungle Gym - even Janey, who
hardly ever wore skirts to the Playground. Brad
suspected they'd do just about anything she asked them.
A dark - and rather rapacious - smile crossed his
features.
This was going to be easier than he thought.
TO BE CONTINUED
EMAIL ME FOR NEXT INSTALLMENT:
THE VIDEO NIGHT.
gm@mrdouble.com
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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