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Archive name: lora.txt (FFm, bg, ped)
Authors name: Alasder (alasder@planet-save.com)
Story title : Lora and Me
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004. Please
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Lora and Me
by Alasder (alasder@planet-save.com)
***
Two orphanage kids adjust to a new life with foster
parents. (FFm, bg, ped)
***
I was nine, nearly ten. Lora had just turned four. The
first time I ever set eyes on her was in the
supervisor's office of the orphanage. I thought she was
the prettiest thing in the whole world, and instantly
fell in love with her and vowed to kill anyone who hurt
her or mistreated her. She had the loveliest, most
angelic face I could have dreamt about, marvellous legs
and a body shape that bewildered but intrigued me.
Up to that moment there were two barriers that had
prevented any meeting between her and me in the
orphanage: boys and girls (except in the nursery) were
kept strictly apart following a report in the 1980s
that almost every decent looking girl in state care
(and some real ugly ones as well) were raped before the
age of thirteen, and kids under the age of six were
kept in another separate nursery unit, but in fact the
facilities there and the routine were no different (and
certainly no less severe) from those in the other two
units.
The supervisor beamed clover honey sunflower oil. "Here
they are," she drooled needlessly - we had been
standing there for nearly an hour. She leered at us and
fluttered an arm in the direction of the other two in
the room. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Schelden!"
I already knew that and I assumed Lora knew it too;
they had visited several times and had examined me as
if I had been a specimen under a microscope and had
asked a hundred and one silly questions to which I
returned the answer I was pretty sure they wanted - I
had rehearsed the answers (about God and gratitude,
good manners and personal hygiene and naughty things
little boys did with their hands) since I first
realized there was a fighting chance of getting out of
the hell-hole.
I know there must have been such a time, but I still
can't remember anything before the orphanage, and like
other kids in a similar position there was literally
nothing I wouldn't do to escape it. "Mr. and Mrs.
Schelden are what we call 'foster parents'," she
explained as if to a pair of rustic retards with
hearing difficulties, "and they have come to take you
home with them!"
I nodded as if I had learned something. Little Lora,
obviously bemused by the proceedings, gaped at the
well-dressed couple, then looked up at me for
reassurance. I took her hand; it was a calculated act
designed to melt the heart of the Scheldens and
convince them that they had made the right choice.
The strange thing was that I wanted to take the kid's
hand; I wanted physical contact with this tiny female
piece of perfection who had been introduced to my life.
I held it tightly and could feel her beautiful life
blood pulsing. Like all the other kids in the
institution, her hand had the kind of coldness that
seemed incapable of ever going away.
The deal was done quickly with little more fuss. The
Scheldens signed some papers and handed over a fat
bundle of twenty or fifty dollar bills, hands were
shaken, and Lora was dumped, rather carelessly I
thought, beside me in the back seat of a huge
limousine, and off we went into our New World. The last
image I have of the dreadful place was of the evil-
faced matron/supervisor pocketing half the dollar
bills.
The first hundred miles or so of our journey was
covered in silence; the rear of the automobile had
darkened glass on the doors and the pair in front
seemed almost in another vehicle - they were so far
away. Quite suddenly, in the middle of nowhere we came
to a halt. Mr. Schelden left the car and relieved
himself at the side of the open highway. He was about
to ease himself back into the driving seat when it
crawled into his consciousness that the kids in the
back might just also need to reply to nature's call.
I noticed the faintest trace of irritation when Lora
seemed reluctant to perform in his presence. "Take your
little sister in a bit," grumbled the man, "off the
road and make sure she..." He did not have the
necessary vocabulary. Mrs. Schelden made gooey eyes at
the 'little sister' bit.
"I think she needs more than a pee, please sir!" I made
the appropriate noises as if I were unhappy about
having to mention the fact. "Do you have any tissue I
could use to wipe her?"
It was a charade. Lora looked puzzled as I led her
about twenty yards from the road, pulled her knickers
to her ankles and told her to pee. She obliged. She
tried to rise, but I kept her in a crouched position
while I had a good look at her apparatus, and what I
saw was, to me at that time, indeed still is, the most
beautiful sight in the entire world.
I wiped her with the tissue and ran my finger over the
delicate groove from her back passage to her
undeveloped clitoris. I could see our new father
shifting in impatience. I decided I would have plenty
of time to explore the wonders of her body. I made her
stand, bent her over and made a great show of wiping
her ass.
"He'll ask you if you are all right," I instructed my
new sister. "Just say 'Yes thank you' and get into the
car." I pulled up her panties.
"Feeling better?" asked Mr. Schelden when we reached
the limousine.
Lora looked up at me, then at the man. "Yes, thank
you!" There was wonder in the little girl's eyes as she
gazed at me again, and I thanked my lucky stars, my
guardian angel, and all else that brought her into my
life.
We resumed our journey in silence.
It was late summer dusk when we arrived 'home'. There
was still light enough to take in the surrounding, and
for the second time I was really and truly impressed
with what life had thrown at me. I felt that I had
landed on my feet, and only hellfire and a hurricane
would shift me from this new paradise. There were vast
sprawling lawns of luscious green grass, and gardens
that appeared to stretch from here to infinity with
real flowers, marble ornaments and splashing fountains.
The plots of land we had at the orphanage were filled
with potatoes, turnips and cabbages and tarmacadam or
concrete. Here there were real fruit trees and trees
that were simply begging to be climbed. There was a
swimming pool. It was too much. I burst into tears, and
it was not all a pretence to impress. Lora took my hand
and the tears became real!
From that point for the next couple of months the
Scheldens treated the pair of us like new toys, or new
pets. We were given cordon bleu treatment in
everything, dressed in the finest, fed until we were
getting to be as fat as thanksgiving dumplings and were
put on a diet on the best medical advice during our
regular visit to the doctor and the dentist.
We each had a computer, we shared a music center and
television, the final word in latest technology, and in
return we gave a convincing show of love and affection,
and I expressed gratitude for both of us in frothy,
oozing sentimentality because that was exactly what the
Scheldens expected, and Lora, I had already decided,
was still not the full hundred cent dollar when it came
to an intellectual contest and had difficulty stringing
one hypocritical lie on to another. She had many other
qualities that more than compensated for her
shortcomings.
Already I was calculating how long it would be before I
could fuck her without too many complications - like
getting her pregnant or facing the wrath of foster
parents or even higher authorities for underage rape.
You learn about things like this at a very early age in
an orphanage.
For that first week in this earthly paradise the
Scheldens fawned and petted and pawed and pampered and
powdered us. But first they had to scrub us nightly,
cleanse us of the dirt and the disgrace of the
orphanage. At least they put us in the bath together
and left us to soak for a while. In the time that we
were alone, I prised Lora's knees apart again and gazed
my full at the prize.
When they returned Clara Schelden first washed Lora,
scoured and wiped and rinsed until the kid was almost
red raw. Then she turned on me. I noticed the man wrap
the little girl in a towel and lift her high in the
air. As she descended he blew a raspberry kiss on her
tiny pink pussy, and I vowed at that same moment to
kill him simply for that.
There were problems with Lora's bedroom: a window had
been broken during renovations and the decorators had
not quite finished and her cot had not arrived. Would I
mind if I shared my bed with her? And would I! It was
one divine revelation after another, and several times
I had to convince myself that all this was for real! I
pretended to fall asleep almost as soon as I was
bedded.
When the Scheldens left I fumbled for Lora's nightdress
and hauled it up over her hips, and caressed and groped
and kissed to my heart's content. I knew the Scheldens
would be looking in later to make sure that we were all
right; after all who could resist such a sweet pair of
foster children? Around midnight, when I was perfectly
sure that we would be undisturbed for the rest of the
night, I threw the bed clothes back, pulled the
nightdress clear up to her armpits and simply consumed
Lora's naked body, exploring every crack and curve with
fingers and hungry eyes.
I was half certain that I would wake from this
beautiful dream at any moment and was determined to
make the most of it while it lasted. Finally I spread
her legs and crouched over her. I kissed and licked,
then presented my cock to the little slit, almost like
a peach that someone had cut down one side with a
knife. I ran my cock up and down. It was the most
delicious sensation I had had in my life up to that
moment. I noticed, quite suddenly, that Lora was awake.
And smiling down at me! The routine became a nightly
ritual I never grew tired of.
It was a year and a half after we arrived that the
first slight defects began to appear through the layers
of veneer. Rolf Scheldens, who was several years
younger than his wife, was away from home for
increasingly longer periods. It started with him
'working' overnight at the office in the city, which
graduated to the odd weekend 'due to pressure of
business' then to the 'business conference' that took
up most of the week.
It was as if a cloud had enveloped the house. Clara
became progressively more and more morose. I heard her
muttering to herself: 'The bastard is screwing his
secretary!' She also became less tolerant, especially
with Lora, and then, as if to compensate, was
embarrassingly more loving, especially with me. I was
eleven, Lora five, but Clara still insisted on
supervising our bath time - always Lora first.
Once my sister was safely tucked away in bed, Clara
switched her attentions to me. Lora was always put into
bed in her own room, but invariably woke up in the
night and joined me in mine. Clara thought it 'sweet'
and Rolf considered it 'a huge joke'. Certainly they
made no attempt to reprimand or correct, which was fine
by me. I liked having a bed mate who was not an older
boy hell bent on getting a cock up my backside or into
my mouth as in the orphanage.
There was one particular occasion, when Rolf had been
away for nearly the full week, I was getting out of the
bath, still covered in soapy lather, and Clara
insisted, more sharply and abruptly that I am sure she
intended, that I get back in while she rinsed me off.
She used the shower head to supply the water but her
hands removed the soap. She caressed my chest and
shoulders then concentrated the spray on my genitals.
"My goodness, Robbie," she crooned, "but you are
certainly growing!" She glanced at my inert dangler,
and added, "In all the right places!" She ran her hands
over my belly and down. She grasped my cock and was
delighted at the reaction. She examined the meat to see
'if my balls had dropped'. "And clean enough to eat!"
She made pretend gobbling noises, then took my cock
into her mouth and chewed and sucked. I felt myself
enlarging and hardening and my whole body started to
tremble. I could feel the straining in my balls as my
system attempted a first ever ejaculation.
I think she sensed or felt the surging strain. My cock
was in her mouth and her hand was wrapped around my
balls. She pulled away and said, "We shall save that
for later, young man!" more to herself than to me. I
suspected that she was having second thoughts about the
wisdom of trying to suck off an eleven year old foster
son. She wrapped me in a towel as large as the blanket
on my bed; I was getting too heavy to carry, but she
laid an arm across my shoulder and guided me to my
bedroom. When I made to put on pajamas she stopped me.
"It is too hot for these things tonight."
She lay on the bed alongside me and caressed my face
and chest, then kissed me full on the lips. She prised
my mouth open and plunged her tongue to the back of my
throat while rubbing herself to a feeble, jerking
orgasm. After about ten minutes she swung off my bed.
Lora, thumb in mouth, stood silently at our adjoining
door watching. Clara ignored her and left the room.
Lora climbed into bed and cuddled up close to me.
"What was she doing?" she asked quietly.
"Looking to die!" I exclaimed, and it was not
altogether a joke. "If the filthy old bitch touches me
like that again, I'll kill her!"
"Rolf touches me too," said the kid in a solemn voice.
"Then I'll kill him too!"
And we both giggled. And got on with our nightly
palaver.
When I had worked in the vegetable gardens of the
orphanage, the boys were warned about a native snail-
like gastropod usually found around the base of some of
the walls in the hours of daylight. The old man who
supervised our labors explained its deadly poisonous
potential - it excreted a creamy froth that could cause
almost instant, but extremely painful death if it were
to be ingested - and even went to great lengths to
detail in morbidly descriptive terms how it worked.
In darkness, the creature left its hiding-place and
made a meal of green vegetables, particularly cabbage
and lettuce, both of which took up nearly half of the
orphanage garden, and left a clearly visible white scum
behind as proof of its gluttonous activity. Any food
contaminated by its excretion had to be discarded (as
in most normal households) or thoroughly washed (in the
orphanage where nothing was thrown away).
For most of the boys, I am sure, it was simply another
piece of useless information; in my case it registered.
The old man taught us how to handle the stuff (not with
bare hands, for the poison was more than a trifle
persistent) and how to dispose of the offensive little
bastard without damaging ourselves permanently.
Fortunately, it is comparatively rare, restricted to a
narrow corridor of the Mid-West United States and has a
limited active life during the growing year in the
garden. In season, however, the excretion is one of the
deadliest poisons on the continent - and it is within
reach of every homicidal maniac in the country.
On one of our favorite bicycle rides to the ruins of an
old frontier fortress where most of the wooden
structures had decayed and only the old stone remained,
I noticed the telltale traces of the gastropod at the
base of a wall while Lora was having her pee nearby. I
made a mental note of its precise location. Lora and I
indulged our usual play which always resulted in her
knickers being removed. On the day of this discovery,
however, my mind was on other things. That night, after
another of Clara's sucking session and her groping and
masturbating on my bed, I referred to the poisons
register on the internet. And Clara's fate was sealed,
so to speak!
The only problem that remained to trouble me was
whether Rolf Schelden could cope with the pair of us
alone; there was no way I was going to do anything that
could send us hurtling back into the hell hole that was
the orphanage. I really had to think this one out to a
logical conclusion. A possible solution came in a
rather unusually innocent way.
Our foster-dad had just been promoted to something like
vice-president of the law company he worked for. He was
in a magnanimous mood, but mostly he wanted to show off
to us - 'set us a good example,' he would have said!
And to show us off as a demonstration of his public
spiritedness and benevolence. Lora and I were to spend
the day with him in the city. And again we were given
the royal treatment as he showed us around the towering
building where he worked. He posed to suitable effect
and affected importance in the presence of his
subordinates. Yes, we were impressed, and made all the
correct appreciative noises.
And then we met his secretary! She was a wow! With a
lot left over! I caught the look between her and her
boss and I knew in a flash of receptivity that the pair
were fucking regularly. I also knew instinctively that,
with his wife out of the way - other than by an
expensive and mess-making divorce - he would marry this
much younger bowl of fruity lusciousness.
The hypocrite in me also agreed that she could take
Clara Schelden's place in the sucking sessions any
time, and no way would I object! Everything was falling
into place. All that remained now was for gastropod to
pull a finger out of its ass and get back into season.
I was confident that I could work out a means of
administering the poison just as soon as the
opportunity presented itself. And Clara Schelden was
cold!
I was twelve, racing towards teenage. Lora was six and
becoming almost unbearably beautiful. The obnoxious
bitch Clara was sucking me nearly every time her
husband was working overnight, which meant it was
regularly. She even succeeded in bringing me off for my
first orgasms, and she swallowed every gob and blob of
it.
I was interested in the sensation of shooting off, but
the greed displayed by Clara in the swallowing bit
really disgusted me and made my stomach lurch. The odd
thing was, though, that when I tried it later and
succeeded with Lora, I insisted that she swallow. Lora
obliged - if I had asked Lora jump from the rear window
of the speeding school bus, she would have done it
without question. Yes Lora obliged, and it was the most
beautiful and sensual thing I have ever experienced as
I jerked off into her mouth, and I renewed my vow to
kill any who tarnished this patch of perfection.
We were in our favorite hideaway in the frontier
fortress. I placed her against the stone wall of what
was once a cookhouse. I pulled her shorts and her
panties down to her ankles and I kissed and probed at
her pussy. We had done this often before; it had become
part of the ritual of a day out for us. But, as an
experiment, I unzipped, produced my 'dick emery' and
asked her to take it in her mouth and suck.
I have had a number of blow jobs since from others,
male and female, but nothing has ever come close to
matching the technique of my kid sister. She sucked
superbly and tongued and used her teeth to just the
right degree, but it was when she looked up at me for
reassurance with those angel blue eyes, I shot like a
master of arms down her throat. The amount of stuff
that spurted out of me that day really amazed me, and
to some equal extent, scared me.
I had no idea that I was capable of producing so much
semen; compared against this, what I was putting into
Clara Schelden's mouth was little more than a token
effort, which nevertheless seemed to satisfy the evil
old bitch. In passing, it has to be said that Clara had
started trying (with no success) to jack me off; I had
shown Lora how to do it, and she could have me shoot
off in minutes!
The thing that cast the last die, was the night when
Clara, after bathing me, insisted that I lie naked on
top of the bed. She also discarded her clothing and
positioned herself over me. She started sucking, but
then, when I was fully erect, she sat above me and
directed my cock into her wet, hairy ancient cunt. She
smelt of stale fish. There was no difficulty in sliding
inside her, and I vaguely felt her muscles twitching.
Truly, I felt the vomit beginning in my gut; my
thinking got stuck on the proposition: it was either
this or the orphanage. Fortunately the bitch was in the
desperation stages of advanced heat; she jerked
insanely, shouting crude obscenities about her husband
knocking up his secretary, then orgasmed. The juices
poured out of her. The vomit was on the way up to my
gullet.
Clara moaned crazily then asked me, "Did you come,
darling?" I nodded. I knew it was an unspoken lie, and
I suspected Clara knew it too. But, after all, the
woman had only days left to live so an agreeable lie
was of little consequence. She bent over and kissed me
with sloppy lips. "We'll do it again!" It was like a
threat of doom. "Often!"
She dismounted, collected her clothes and left the room
without a glance at Lora who was standing at our common
door. The kid clutched a three hundred dollar teddy
bear. The inevitable thumb was stuck in her mouth. The
light behind her from her own bedroom made her
nightdress almost transparent and silhouetted her
perfect shape.
"Can I sit on you, Robbie?" she asked quietly as she
joined me on the bed. "Like she did?" Lora now always
referred to her foster mother as 'she', and both foster
parents together as 'them'.
"Tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise!" I felt unclean. I
did not want to contaminate my kid sister. "Let's just
cuddle and get to sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow."
"Can we kiss?" And we did!
Clara Schelden was a pig, not only with me, but in
everything she did. In eating she excelled in piggery.
One delicacy she simply could not resist was French
cream cheese which she could devour by the imported
shipload. And it was the one thing I could be sure that
she alone in the house would eat; Rolf was too besotted
by his own athletic Adonis shape-conscious ego to
indulge, and an article he had read in some freak
magazine suggested that it could affect male potency
adversely.
Lora made a sour face when the greedy bitch made the
supreme sacrifice and put a tiny portion of the stuff
into the kid's mouth - just enough to put Lora off
imported French cheese for the rest of her life.
I paid particular attention when Clara was stacking her
shopping into cupboards, the larder, the fridge and the
freezer. Every time she handled a carton of French
cream cheese she would open it, run her sticky finger
along the surface of the contents and lick it clean. It
was an utterly disgusting habit that would have called
for a thorough thrashing in the orphanage. French cream
cheese, I decided, would be the death of her!
Before Lora and I set out on our next weekend bike ride
to the old fortress, I pulled a couple of pairs of
plastic gloves from the roll in the kitchen. I made it
like a kind of pretend Indianapolis game and Lora was
perfectly happy to wear them if I was sporting them. I
also pocketed a small pair of cooking forceps from the
kitchen and a tiny discarded plastic box, the inside of
which I smeared thickly with butter substitute.
That's all it required. Selecting the fattest snail
took only seconds while Lora was having her pee; it was
lifted by the forceps, put into the box and the box put
in the leather satchel on my bicycle. I cut short our
excursion on the excuse that I thought it was going to
rain and with the promise that we would play 'doctors'
indoors.
.But first, I said, I would make peanut butter
sandwiches while Lora got undressed in 'the examination
room'. Clara did not object to us using her kitchen,
indeed the lazy bitch had begun to encourage us to
'fend for ourselves'. I let the gastropod gorge itself
for fully a minute on the latest carton of cream cheese
before dropping the creature into the disposal unit on
the kitchen sink.
I placed the carton of cheese, with the lid temptingly
half-open in the optimum position on the top tray of
the fridge, then washed out the empty box and the
plastic gloves and dumped them into the trash can. I
scoured the forceps with steel wool and put them in the
dish washing machine then scrubbed my hands a couple of
times.
"Where's the peanut butter sandwiches?" demanded my
naked kid sister when I finally made it to my bedroom.
The entire operation had taken less than fifteen
minutes.
"I thought it would throw you off your lunch." I made a
show of studying the sky from the window. "I don't
think it is going to rain after all," I said. "Put your
clothes on and I'll take you to the playground in the
town park." Next to our bike rides to the frontier
fortress, the public park in town was Lora's favorite
outing. "We'll stay there until lunch." By which time,
I reckoned, Clara Schelden should be dead.
On our return three and a half hours later to the house
I let Lora run on ahead, hopefully to find the body. I
deliberately slowed my pace. As expected, she raced
back from the house. I simulated surprise.
"She lying on the floor!" she yelled at me. Everything
was going according to plan. I had to force myself not
to smile. She gasped for breath. There were even a
trace of tears. "There's blood everywhere!"
Electric eels wriggled in my stomach. "Blood?" That
shouldn't have happened; there shouldn't be any blood.
Instinctively I grasped my kid sister's hand. I
repeated, "Blood?" and Lora nodded enthusiastically.
"On the walls!" she exclaimed. "Everywhere!" She made a
sweeping gesture with her arm. "The carpet is soggy wet
with it."
Something had gone badly wrong; there shouldn't be any
blood. We edged slowly towards the front door. It was
wide open as Lora had left it. The idea flashed into my
mind.
"Was the door open when you got here?" I demanded.
Lora seemed frightened by the urgency in my voice. Her
lower lip trembled. She nodded. I drew her close and
held her tightly. I peered into the wide hallway. It
was as the kid had said. The wall that I could see was
spattered with blood. There was blood on the wall
mirror and the telephone table and on the pale grey
carpet and on the richly colored Indian rug with the
artificial tiger head. And Clara Schelden lay front
down in the middle of it with her head smashed in and
her body bloodied to her bare ankles. I felt my gut
heaving.
"Some fucking snail!" I exclaimed aloud. I drew Lora
back. "We're going to bike back to town," I told her.
"We'll have to tell the police about this!"
The house was out-of-bounds. The police swarmed like
warrior ants over the place. Press photographers and
television cameramen, reporters and interviewers
appeared from under the stones and camped on the lawns.
A police-woman and a human gorilla in police uniform
refused to let any of the media vampires anywhere near
Lora and me. Rolf, of course, came back from the city
immediately. I was pleased to see that he had his
secretary with him.
Lora and I spent two hours playing computer games in a
room at police headquarters before Rolf came to collect
us. He took us back to the city and we put up in a
suite at one of the top hotels; it had four bedrooms,
but only two were more than partially slept in, if at
all! All through the night Lora kept insisting that I
tell her what was going on, and in the other bedroom my
foster dad and his secretary were likewise engaged
throughout the night.
At the breakfast table, Rolf waved a hand in our
direction as he said to the woman, "These are my kids!"
His smile was enamel. "Robbie and Lora!" Things had
been too hectic the previous day to allow
introductions. He pointed, rudely I thought, at his
secretary. "This is Paulette!" He seemed to have
forgotten our visit to his office and had missed
completely my evaluation of their relationship. He
seemed to be lost in thought, but he managed to say,
"Well, shake hands!"
"When can we go home?" asked Lora quite irrelevantly
and ignoring the introduction and especially the
woman's offered hand.
"Not for a day or two, honey." I could see that Rolf
Schelden was having difficulty maintaining the tolerant
smile. "The police want to find out how Clara." He
tried to get words that he wouldn't choke on and that
the kid would understand. "The police have to find out
who did this dreadful thing." I noticed that the two
adults exchanged glances, and I began to wonder if they
had engineered the murder.
"Then we have to get the place cleaned up." He made it
sound like an irritable chore rather than the aftermath
of a horrible homicide. "And then we have to make sure
that it can't happen again."
He threw me a peculiar look as he made the last
statement, and I began to wonder if he suspected
anything about my intentions; or maybe there was a
threat intended. "We'll go back as soon as we can,
honey!" Again he exchanged fully charged glances with
his sex-loaded secretary. She smiled sweetly.
It was two days later in the same hotel in the city,
sitting at a late evening meal with Rolf Schelden and
his honey-pot secretary, I fluttered my dark eyelashes
in the woman's direction and asked in the sweetest,
most innocent voice, "What is going to happen to us?
Lora and me?" Both of them stared at me, the man with a
forkful of meat on route to his big mouth. "I mean,
will we have to go back to the orphanage?" And I
reached out for and took the kid's hand!
The dumb blond stared outrage at the man. Schelden
lowered the fork. He looked embarrassed and I thought,
'The bastard was really contemplating sending us back!'
He gazed at his secretary as if trying to assess her
ability to understand. "Of course not," he said to me
while still looking at her. "What do you take me for? I
adopted you, didn't I! Now, what kind of fool question
is that to ask, Robbie?"
"Who is going to look after us?" I insisted. I was
clutching my kid sister's hand; I had actually got into
the habit of thinking of Lora really as my sister. "If
Mrs. Schelden isn't coming back." There were tears in
the woman's eyes. My performance was worthy of an
Oscar.
"Eat your dinner!" said the man. "I don't want you to
worry your head about things like that, either of you.
And I don't want to hear another word. We'll be back
home in a couple of days." He seemed about to say
something more, but instead lifted the fork to his fat
mouth.
I felt reasonably confident that I had secured at least
the immediate future for Lora and me. I cast longing
looks in her direction. I was certain that if I didn't
fuck her soon I would explode from sheer frustration.
Lora and Me
Part Two
by
Alasder
It was almost a whole month before we could return
home. Lora and I settled in immediately. It took Rolf
another few weeks to get back to 'normal'. He did a lot
of work from home which required the presence of the
sexy secretary in the house. We generally ate together,
for a while with meals brought in by an outside caterer
or in local restaurants at weekends, but that was as
far as any social intercourse went. Otherwise, the
adults stuck to their routine and their territory and
we were content in ours.
There was no doubt that the honeymoon of our early days
was over. It was obvious that the original idea of
taking us from the orphanage had been Clara's. Nor
could we pretend that the house had not been
partitioned; a couple of times Lora was severely
reprimanded with more than required severity for
trespassing out of her space into compromising and
embarrassing situations.
"They were making naughty on the floor," Lora giggled.
She was not the full one hundred cent dollar when it
came to an intellectual exercise, but the kid was
observant. "And swearing at each other!" She could give
me intricate and intimate details; I learned in the
orphanage that information is marketable and extremely
functional. "They kept on saying 'fuck' to each other!"
I was perfectly happy playing with Lora, mostly in the
secret corners of the garden, climbing trees, Lora
first, of course, (I have never tired of looking at her
apparatus), digging and planting, rolling on the lawns.
We only retreated indoors when the weather was too
unfriendly to be outside. I attended to her little
accidents and emergencies, and nursed her and bathed
her. I supervised her home assignments from school and
made sure that everything she returned was absolutely
factually correct and in her own handwriting.
She slept in my bed where we resumed our kissing and
licking sessions and sexual experimentation. I fondled
her and she sucked me or jerked me nightly, and it was
going to be only a matter of time before I started to
fuck her for real. I did all the chores I had done
before, like taking the trash can down to the end of
our road where the garbage collectors could empty it,
and collecting the letters from the box where the
mailman left them. Lora and I did most of the washing-
up after meals at home.
We were picked up by the school bus service from the
end of our road and dumped there on the return trip.
And gradually, degree by degree, life became much as it
had been before Clara's murder. From what I could see,
apart from one or two extra security devices, Rolf's
promise 'to see that it didn't happen again' did not
count for much. We did have more frequent visits from
the sheriff or his deputies, but these very soon became
routine as Mrs. Klotsky, our newly acquired 'daytime
only' housekeeper, plied them with coffee and cookies.
Mrs. Klotsky was the common-law wife of the man who
came two or three times each week to tidy up the
garden. The one worry that lingered, even when the
trauma of Clara's death began to evaporate, was that
we, Lora and I, would find ourselves back in the
orphanage. I did not have a great deal of faith in Rolf
Schelden's assurances. We were already in the advanced
stages of parental neglect: he never enquired about our
progress at school or supervised home tasks, never
insisted that we brush our teeth or wash behind our
ears, never gave a thought about the things we ate, and
could not have cared less about what we did when we
were alone or together! At bath time and bed time, Lora
and I ran naked around the house, we slept naked, and
never once did he reprimand us.
One of the first things I did on the day of our return
to the house, before Mrs. Klotsky arrived, was to visit
the kitchen on the pretence of fetching my kid sister a
cold drink from the fridge. Everything seemed to be in
place. Except for the carton of French cream cheese! It
had been the most expensive brand on the market and not
top of a farm worker's shopping list. I could feel the
eels wriggling in my gut again.
I assumed that a thieving cop had removed it; I could
hardly bring myself to believe that they could connect
it in any way with Clara's death. Perhaps Clara herself
had taken it. But why kill what was already dead and
her skull had been smashed in beyond possible
recognition, which for some reason made it seem
unlikely. Anyway, it was gone, and, in a way, I was
relieved! For the one inescapable fact was that I had
intended to kill the woman - I really meant to end the
life of another human being and the cream cheese had
been a very evident reminder of the fact.
Murder had become part of our daily diet on television,
so much so that we took it for a fact of life without
it having a great deal of significance. But gazing at
the spot where the cream cheese had been on the tray in
the kitchen fridge suddenly brought it home to me that
murder had become something more than a statistic or a
feature of a television program as far as I was
concerned; it was something that somehow had become
part of my life and, more than that, somehow it made me
responsible for Clara Schelden dying. I kept an eye on
the local television news and on the newspaper
headlines and listened to the local radio station, half
expecting to learn of some unexplained death by
poisoning, but nothing significant surfaced.
I argued that perhaps the snail was the wrong type or
that the poison had not worked with cheese, but I found
myself difficult to convince. I tried to forget it. But
it wouldn't go away. There was use trying to pretend it
was all a bit of childish fun. I was nearly twelve and
the awful realization slashed into my brain: I was a
potential killer.
Not only had I genuinely intended to murder Clara for
sexually abusing me, the fact persisted that the poison
I had prepared may still be in circulation and may be
used to effect on some unsuspecting victim. Perhaps it
ran in the family. Perhaps that was why I landed up in
the orphanage in the first place. Perhaps my father and
grandfather had been killers. I even considered going
to the police to confess, but concluded that was the
most direct route back to the orphanage and would
almost certainly mean that I would be separated from my
adopted sister. I couldn't live with that thought.
I sought solace in Lora's body. I stripped her on the
least excuse and studied and touched her most tender
spots and kissed her all over; I had become obsessed
with the kid in a kind of guilt-ridden sublimation. At
least once every day from the time we returned to the
house she sucked me off or jerked me or I shot off
between her thighs. I even had a go at her backside as
she lay naked on our bed, but it hurt her so much I had
to give up.
I also had an attempted assault on her pussy, again
with no greater success. In return I pampered her and
petted her and ran and fetched and carried for her;
anything she wanted I would get for her, lawfully or
criminally, if I could. As time passed we became
inseparable. Only dimly was I aware that she needed me
as much as I wanted her.
I started junior high when I was thirteen. It was a
couple of miles beyond the elementary school. It was a
tearful Lora who left the bus without me for the first
time. She stood at waved at the school bus until it was
out of sight. I truly felt sorry for the kid. I
couldn't concentrate on my new surroundings and had to
be chastised by a couple of the teachers.
The junior high was a newly constructed affair and even
the principal, his staff and everyone else were
obviously having as much difficulty as I was in
settling in to the routine, and I suspected that I was
being used as a scapegoat and whipping boy -- students
and staff alike knew that I was orphanage fodder which
was tantamount to be a leper in our corner of the
woods. The outcome was that for that first week, we
were released mid-afternoon, a good couple of hours
early. I left the return bus at the elementary school
and kicked my heels in the dust until the screaming
kids poured out.
Lora ran to me at the main gate of the school. She was
in tears.
"Billy Gallacher touched me!" she exclaimed and pointed
a finger at her crotch. "Here" She prodded herself.
"And Barney Wester!"
"Gallacher?"
My stomach churned. Billy Gallacher was the school
bully, a thick-necked ape of a boy. He was fourteen,
but stupid, quite literally, totally dead
intellectually. There was no other place for him to go,
so he was kept back at the elementary school to do
repetitive basic learning skills and to help the
janitor shift furniture and clean out the toilet
facilities. The important thing was that he was nearly
twice my size and marginally insane and should quite
properly have been institutionalized. The other boy,
Wester, was an over-weight nonentity who went from one
companion to another - anyone who would tolerate him.
"We were playing touch football," Lora sobbed. "He
burst into our game. He and Barney Wester. They pushed
me to the ground and pulled up my dress and pulled down
my panties and touched me." She prodded her finger
again into her crutch. "Here!" She was trembling with
outrage and the tears poured from her.
I saw Gallacher with his gang. Most of them lived
around the school and did not come and go by bus. Billy
Gallacher himself was the only son of a nearby local
tenant farmer, notoriously incompetent and idle, and a
sex pervert who fucked indiscriminately, human and
animal, kin and stranger. The boys were a motley
collection who usually hung around Gallacher because
they were afraid of being dissociated from him; they
haunted the school playground until the other kids had
dispersed. I told Lora to get into the bus and go home.
I approached the group of boys. My knees were
trembling, serpents wriggled in my gut. But the vision
of some ignorant lout touching my sister in places I
regarded as my personal, private and exclusive
territory fired my steel.
"You touched up my kid sister!" I put as much
aggression into my voice as I could. I was sure the
clown, stupid as he was, would sense my lack of
confidence and hear the tremor in my voice.
"Yeah!" The thick lips curled like a savage dog. "What
of it? Nice touch! Neat little cunt! And tomorrow I
might fuck her." He turned his head to share his sneer
with his followers. "We all might fuck her."
That was my chance. I hit him on the side of the face
between his right eye and the top of his ear. I had
seen the maneuver in many fights in the orphanage. I
threw everything I had into the punch for I knew, in a
fair fight, he would have mauled me. The effect was
even more dramatic than I could have anticipated. For
fully five seconds he stood transfixed, rooted to the
spot with the silly grin spread across his face. His
arms had dropped loosely by his side.
His eyes turned heavenwards until only the white
showed, then very slowly the eyelids closed. He
collapsed. There was a gasp of shock from his
supporters, but no one could have been more surprised
than I was. However, I had to put a brave face on it. I
knelt by the face and pressed a thumb into the tender
spot behind his ear and could feel the pulse. I waited,
several minutes, until there was a flicker of life from
his eyelids then pressed heavily - another evil trick
picked up in my previous existence. I released the
pressure when I guessed he was about to pass out again.
I spoke softly to his ear. "If ever you as much as look
at my kid sister, ever again, I'll kill you!" It was no
idle threat; my mind was rapidly working out how I
could get the idiot to ingest the excrement of my
gastropodic ally. My earlier guilt complex had
vanished. "You and your whole family!" I took hold of
his throat and pressed tightly. "Do you understand what
I am saying?"
The eyes opened widely. Sheer amazement was written
plainly on the blank face. He nodded feebly. His lip
trembled. "Sorry, Robbie," he stuttered. "It was a
joke!"
I stood and placed a foot on his ankle and pressed. I
felt a bone crack. The fourteen year old yelped in
agony. I turned to the other boys and scowled. "Where
is Barney Wester?" The tubby red haired boy gasped,
swung from the group and wobbled away as if the demons
of hell were at his heels. The others snickered self-
consciously and shifted uncomfortably then began to
drift away. I looked one last time at the boy on the
ground. I now felt sure of myself. I was no longer
afraid of him. In fact, I felt some pity.
"I don't want to make a big deal out of this,
Gallacher," I said, "and I don't want to make a regular
habit of knocking you about. But I will if I have to.
Do you understand what I am saying to you?" Again the
head nodded. The jaw dropped open. He was writhing in
pain and attempted to clutch his injured ankle.
"Tomorrow you will apologise to my kid sister in front
of your gang. If you don't I'll be round at your place
in the evening, and if I don't see you, I'll beat the
shit outa your sister or even your dad!" The thought of
tackling the mad monster of a woman that was his mother
was too much to be taken seriously.
I really felt good. I helped him to his feet. I brushed
him down when I noticed the school janitor coming in
our direction. I swung away with as much nonchalance as
I could muster. My feet did not seem to touch the earth
as I walked homeward. I imagined myself as super-hero.
I decided I would enjoy Lora in bed that night. Indeed,
as soon as I got inside the house I took her to our
bedroom, stripped her and checked that her cherry was
still intact then jerked off over her belly.
It was about six months after the Gallacher episode
that Paulette, the zoomph of a secretary, moved into
the house on a permanent (or so they thought) basis.
She arrived in a private cab followed by a couple of
mini-furniture vans. Removal men spent all morning and
part of the early afternoon carrying in bits and pieces
and rearranging what was already in the house. Lora and
I had a couple of days off school - it was an official
holiday.
We kept as much out of the way as we could, but Lora
was curious about the stuff the woman had brought. It
was the first time ever that she asked me to take her
back home when we went on our bicycle outing to the old
frontier post, and in the afternoon she declined the
invitation to the play park in the town.
In bed on that second night after the secretary had
moved her things in, Lora was able to give me an
inventory of all the possessions the woman had brought.
"She has a gun!"
My blood curdled. I hated guns; they spelt trouble, and
a fast track back to the orphanage. For several nights
I found it difficult to get to sleep. Clara Schelden
had been a pathetic, passive soul; despite her protests
in my presence, she would allow her husband to walk
over her. Paulette was something else again, and not
one to allow her affections to be tampered with, and I
had visions of her turning a gun on Rolf, and of us,
Lora and I hurtling back through time to that fucking
orphanage.
After about a week of inner turmoil I decided that
something had to be done! But what? An accidental
poisoning so soon after Clara Schelden's murder was
almost certain to arouse the suspicion of the most
easy-going lawman, and no matter which direction the
wind of suspicion blew, Lora and I would pay the
ultimate penalty. No matter how I approached the
problem, the end result always seemed to add up to Lora
and I were destined for the orphanage. We existed on
the proverbial knife edge and the slightest disturbance
of the balance could ruin everything.
Lora and I continued to run naked about the place.
Paulette showed no inclination to suck me or fuck me;
as a matter of fact, I was shattered at the complete
apathy with which she regarded us or ignored us. Mrs.
Klotsky spent longer hours in the house, and slept in
on several occasions when Rolf and the concubine
secretary had reason to be away from home. And then,
once again the wheel of fate took an unexpected turn.
I had never considered myself to be particularly good
at anything. Orphanage kids are conditioned to consider
themselves lucky if they can keep a nose above the
water-level of mediocrity. At junior high school, it
was discovered that I had a special aptitude for
numbers; I was in the top section in all my math
classes and on a couple of occasions when it really
mattered I secured top marks in examinations.
It was a time when pressure was put on the educational
system to produce mathematicians and scientists. I
achieved some sort of fame in a national competition
and appeared on television as an orphan who showed
promise and could make it to the top.
The one thing that Rolf Schelden readily associated
with was public success where he could get even a
passing mention. He appeared as my mentor and guardian
on television and avowed to millions of witnesses that
my future was secure in his hands. And it went without
saying: Lora's future and mine were inseparable!
Rolf also at that time took a greater interest in our
welfare at home, asked about our health and hygiene,
was a bit more careful about the things we ate, made
sure we were properly dressed with the help of Paulette
and Mrs. Klotsky. On the odd occasion when the
secretary was absent, he also showed more interest in
Lora as a budding beauty and demonstrated more
affection than he had even done since that first ever
time he had blown a kiss on her naked pussy at bath
time.
I made a vow to intensify my supervision; any kind of
sexual advance, I promised myself, and Rolf was dead. I
questioned her nightly about the things Rolf said and
did to her in my absence and made her promise to tell
me if ever placed a finger where it ought not to go.
And all this time my own sexual activity with my kid
sister was becoming more and more intimate and intense.
By my sixteenth birthday, I knew I had to fuck her for
real.
It was also around my sixteenth birthday that I noticed
that the peculiar smell of the orphanage, and the
almost uncanny coldness, had completely gone from
Lora's body - it had taken all these years quite
literally! Lora was eleven. I still ensured that she
washed herself properly, showered or bathed at least
once every day. Rolf's reawakened concern for our
welfare had waned and it was very much left to me again
to see that my adopted kid sister was properly turned
out for school and was socially acceptable in her dress
and body hygiene - I even packed a spare pair of
panties and a deodorant stick in her satchel.
I was even applying a trace of coloring to her lips and
face because the other girls at school has started
putting on lipstick and eye-shadow. It was shortly
after that she began to give off that distinct young
girl smell deliberately designed to drive males crazy.
After years of being shunned as an orphanage kid, she
was invited to a number of birthday parties, and a
couple of guys at the school had asked her out on
dates.
I took her to the parties and brought her home, and
even let one of the boys take her out - with the threat
that I would break both his arms if he tried anything
on other than a goodnight kiss. Lora was less than
enthusiastic about any of these extra-curricular,
beyond-the-house activities where I was absent; she was
bashful by nature, and to be honest, anything but
educationally gifted. But she was mine! Nevertheless I
insisted that she put in an appearance at the parties
and tolerate an evening out with one of the boys.
Then shortly after her twelfth birthday a series of
events, insignificant on their own, one after the other
tended to shift the direction of our lives. By pure
chance I had come across one of the most useful books
ever published in America - and one of the most
blatantly ignored - called 'The Single Father (and the
Growing Daughter)'.
I found the information in the book slotted into my
situation in almost everything I did with Lora in mind
- even the chapters on the inevitability and the
potential dangers of a developing sexual relationship
and how to escape (or cultivate) them. The book also
has the best practical advice anywhere on the onset of
puberty. I read through the entire volume several times
and made copious mental notes so that I would be ready
for and able to deal with emergencies.
Lora was accustomed to getting her injuries cleansed
and bandaged by me. She had bled often, from her nose,
from open wounds, or when she lost a tooth.
Consequently it was no big deal when her periods
started. She came to me. I explained menstruation and
she accepted that it was a fact of life as natural as
the occasion hiccup. After they became a regular
feature, I marked them on her calendar so that she
wouldn't be caught out in an embarrassing situation.
I showed her how to use the simple sanitary towel and
explained how later we would use tampons, and stressed
the greater need to keep herself clean. It was this
time, I think, that created the closest bond between
us, and I, for the time being, assumed the role of
single dad with a growing daughter. It was also one of
the most sensitive times, for I still existed on the
edge of a razor-sharp blade and would have readily
killed anyone who as much as looked unkindly at Lora.
Around that time there had been a series of child rapes
in the county. There was even a case of an eleven-year
old being made pregnant which led ultimately, through
the recently introduced genetic testing, to the arrest
and conviction of one of the rapists. One other black
kid was gang-banged by a group of white supremist
youths; she also became pregnant, but killed herself
and the unborn baby with an overdose of pills.
I had to make the point with Rolf, and for once in the
blue moon cycle, he listened and agreed that something
had to be done with regard to my kid sister. There were
long stretches of the school day when I could not be
with her, and the fact that I had been offered a place
in the state university meant that these stretches
would become longer.
The outcome was that Lora was given the very latest
contraception - a very simple needle jag which, the
expensive medical consultant assured us, would last for
the entire year. Her life would be unchanged: she would
still have her monthly period, for instance, and feel
normal sexual urges.
Then relations between Paulette and Rolf began to show
signs of stress. I helped in this!
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