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Archive name: pete2.txt (Mf, voy, ped, inc)
Authors name: GM (gm@mrdouble.com)
Story title : Pete and Cindy - 2

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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
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Pete and Cindy - 2
by GM (gm@mrdouble.com)

***

Pete wanted her. He could already feel his lips closing 
around her jutting red nipples, sucking and gnawing 
until she moaned in ecstasy. Oh yes, he'd make her 
moan. (Mf, voy, ped, 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.

***

PETE and CINDY
PART TWO

3.

As Peter expected, Cindy's Mom was rushing about in a 
dither by the time they arrived home. Her shift began 
in less than fifteen minutes, and she'd barely finished 
blow-drying her hair when they walked in. Julie Connors 
had been this way as long as Pete had known her; like 
many highly organized professionals, her personal life 
was an unqualified shambles. 

She darted into the main hallway, hurriedly tucking her 
blouse into her loose blue Levis, raising a miniature 
tornado in her wake. She was a tall, slim thirty-
something with dark brown eyes and the face of an 
errant pixie. She paused just long enough to bend down 
and kiss Cindy on the cheek.

"Hey, Baby. Have a good day at school?" she asked 
without listening for an answer. She was ferreting 
around for her shoulder bag, which she was certain 
she'd left on the coffee table. Or on the sofa. Or 
maybe out in the kitchen. Cindy managed to fire off a 
few words edgewise before her mother vanished into the 
living room. 

Pete hung his backpack over a wall hook and ushered the 
girl through the doorway, keeping his face carefully 
neutral. His Aunt probably wouldn't notice anything 
unusual, but he wasn't about to take any risks. Cindy 
stood next to him, unconsciously kneading the hem of 
her dress, listening to her mother's rapid-fire banter.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have time to cook a meal tonight," 
Julie prattled, clipping on a pair of gold ear-rings, 
"so I've put a couple of those frozen casseroles in the 
microwave. Just set the timer to seven and push the 
button." Pete nodded his assent, grateful for the 
general chaos that seemed to surround Julie's 
existence. She'd be out of here in five minutes, and 
he'd have the place to himself for at least the next 
nine hours.

"What time are you coming home?" he asked, just to make 
certain.

"Probably around six tomorrow morning," she replied 
distractedly, "unless we decide to hit McDonald's for 
breakfast." Casting around distractedly, she clocked 
over to the coffee table in her impossibly tall high-
heels, reaching down for her shoulder-bag. For once, it 
was exactly where she remembered leaving it. 

"There any desert, Mommy?" Cindy chipped in, never one 
to overlook the most important meal of the day. She'd 
long since grown accustomed to her mother's nightly 
absences, and knew precisely the right questions to ask 
as she was on her way out.

"Yeah, there's some Sarah Lea in the fridge, Sweet-
heart," Julie said, then straightened up, looping the 
bag over one arm. "chocolate mudcake, I think. Pull it 
out of the freezer now, it'll be ready by the time you 
finish dinner." She checked her watch, then glanced 
across at her nephew with an oddly quizzical 
expression. Pete knew that look, he'd seen it 
practically every week over the past three years. She 
was about to make some kind of request.

"Pete, could you do me a favor?" she asked, immediately 
confirming his hunch. 

"Yeah, sure," he answered without hesitation.

"I'm running a bit short on time here," she said, 
rifling through the bag, "do you think you could you 
run a bath for Cindy?"

Cindy giggled, eyes widening with surprise. She put a 
hand to her mouth to hide an embarrassed smile; a fine 
carmine tint began to creep into her cheeks. Showing 
off her underwear had been (mostly) innocent fun, but 
this was completely different. The thought of actually 
taking all her clothes off in front of her cousin set 
her heart galloping like a race horse. A swarm of 
butterflies started cartwheeling in her belly. 

(petey's going to see me NAKED)

"Well sure," Peter agreed, disguising his astonishment 
behind a shrug of indifference, then added, as if in 
afterthought: "I mean, if Cindy doesn't mind ..."

"Of course she doesn't mind," Julie interrupted, a 
little impatiently, "you're like a brother to her. See, 
she's laughing." It was true, the little girl was 
sniggering behind both hands now, blue eyes dancing 
with a kind of mischievous joy. Peter glanced down at 
her, unable to believe his good fortune. This was 
literally the last thing he'd been expecting. A vast 
wave of elation washed over him, almost boiling the 
blood in his veins. It was almost too good to be true. 
Julie had all but given him carte-blanche to take her 
upstairs and -

"Anyway, I have to get moving," Julia said, pulling the 
car-keys out of her bag and stepping into the hallway. 
It was ten to the hour, she'd have to drive like the 
devil to make her shift. 

Cindy followed her mother to the front door, chortling 
farewells and bobbing up and down like the Easter 
Bunny. Pete brought up the rear, slowing his stride to 
conceal his impatience. He wanted his aunt gone, out of 
the way. His eyes crawled over Cindy's pert young 
fanny, imagining how it would feel cupped between his 
palms. He could hear the skirt swishing against her 
panties as she moved. The sound was driving him crazy.

Opening the door, Julie paused to kiss her daughter.

"Bye-bye, Sweet-heart, see you tomorrow morning," she 
said, touching her mouth to the child's lips, "you be 
good for Peter. And no later than eight-thirty, right?" 
Cindy accepted her curfew without complaint, knowing 
she'd be up until ten at the very least. Julie lifted 
her eyes towards her nephew.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Peter. I 
really appreciate it." Pete opened his mouth to dismiss 
her words with an airy wave of his hand (hey, no 
problem, anytime, don't mention it), but she was 
already turning away. A gust of wind blew into the 
corridor as the door clicked shut. Footsteps were heard 
clopping down the front steps, fading into the early 
evening. Keys jingled, an engine roared, a car pulled 
out from the drive way. And then she was gone.

Peter looked down at the little girl, that razor-thin 
smile touching his features once more.

Time to play.

4.

"OK, climb out of that frock, Honey-girl."

Blushing to the hairline, Cindy began unbuttoning the 
front of her dress. Moist, fluid heat seemed to swirl 
though her belly, her complexion darkened to a deep, 
feverish red. She simply couldn't believe this was 
happening: Petey was running a hot bath, and she was 
getting undressed. She had to take everything off, 
right in front of him. In a few seconds, she'd be 
standing completely nude with her clothes strewn 
carelessly around her feet. The words ran through her 
mind with a kind of frenzied urgency: 

(petey's going to see me naked, petey's going to see me 
naked, petey's going to see me NAKED!!)

Clouds of vapor drifted up from the tub, filling the 
bathroom with a fine white mist. Peter was leaning over 
the faucets, staring into the water while he fine tuned 
the temperature. Cindy felt an odd pang of 
disappointment. He hardly seemed to be paying attention 
to her at all. 

She opened the frilly bodice of her sundress, exposing 
a delicious sweep of alabaster torso. Her nipples were 
standing up in exclamation points. It was funny; 
sometimes when it was cold, they grew so big and hard 
she couldn't bear to touch them. They felt that way 
now, except she wasn't cold at all; not with all the 
steam whirling up from the bath tub. 

Just at that second, Petey turned his head and looked 
across at her. A rash of gooseflesh played along her 
tummy, all the way to her upper thighs. She dropped her 
gaze with a coy smile, wild strawberries standing out 
on her cheeks. He'd been watching her out of the corner 
of his eye for the last five minutes, waiting for her 
to take off the dress. Her mind swam with a heady 
cocktail of reluctant pleasure; huge waves of delight 
seemed to cascade through her system:

(he WANTS to see me naked!)

Sliding the sleeves off her shoulders, Cindy lowered 
the frock towards the floor. The thin red fabric glided 
down her midriff, murmuring against her smooth flesh. 
The breath caught in the back of her throat. A moment 
later, she was standing up in her pretty little 
panties, bath-mist whickering around her bare legs. A 
bright carmine flush had covered her entire midsection, 
from the dip of her throat to the thimble of her belly 
button. Her nipples had begun to throb. She stared up 
at her cousin, gapingly aware of how little she was 
wearing. 

Peter was sitting on the edge of the bath, idly testing 
the water with his right hand. He was watching her with 
that same gilt-edged smile he'd worn all afternoon, 
regarding her like she was some rare, succulent morsel. 
She couldn't have put it in such complex terms, but 
that was precisely how she felt - as if Pete was going 
to eat her alive. The image both frightened and excited 
her.

"Over here, Honey girl," he beckoned. 

Pulse slamming into overdrive, Cindy padded over to the 
bathtub, her toes leaving prints on the slick blue 
tiles. She halted before him, unable to meet his gaze 
for more than a second. Her fingers skittered over her 
pristine white underpants, playing with the elastic 
trim. She felt a delicious tingling sensation between 
her thighs, as if someone was tickling her down there. 
Her tummy strummed and clenched with expectation. This 
was so terribly, terribly naughty - much naughtier than 
the handstands in the Domain.

Leaning forward, Pete hooked his fingers through the 
lacy frill of her waistband.

"Panties down, Kitten." 

Stretching the elastic with his fingertips, Peter 
slipped her pants down over her hips. Cindy gasped, 
suppressing a nervous giggle. Her pudgy little girl-
spot popped into view - softly pouting lips folded 
around a pink, dimpled cleft. A brief, flaring contact: 
Cindy's hands twitched, but she made no move to cover 
herself. She was close to fainting with arousal; 
Peter's eyes were gliding all over her nubile young 
form as he slid her panties down to the floor. 
Literally everything she had was on open exhibition, 
everything! 

(I'm naked)

She stepped out of her underwear, looking down at 
herself in naive curiosity. Like most little girls, 
Cindy was fascinated by the sight of her own body; its 
frail beauty; its flawless, feminine perfection. Her 
hair was a sumptuous blond waterfall spilling over her 
shoulders, her waist surprisingly slim for one so 
young. She moved with an unconscious grace, an innate 
sensuality unique to girls her age. She ran her hands 
over her sleekly contoured torso, mesmerized by the 
crystal texture of her skin.

(I'm naked. I'm naked)

She'd never been this undressed in front of any man. 
She couldn't remember her father, and there were no 
other males in her immediate family. Peter was the 
closest thing she'd ever had to a brother (or a Daddy, 
for that matter), and here she was, standing nude and 
vulnerable and utterly helpless before him. She looked 
shyly up at her cousin, large eyes filled with love and 
trust and the unquestioning devotion of a child.

5.

Peter roamed his vision over Cindy's naked body, 
drinking in her thighs, her nipples, her tiny pink 
labia. His breathing shallowed, his pupils dilated, a 
fine layer of cold sweat coated his neckline. He was 
almost delirious with lust: peeling Cindy's panties 
down had sent his overloaded libido into melt down. 

When his fingers had skimmed over her plump little 
vulva, he'd virtually imploded with yearning. He could 
barely restrain himself even now. Shaking inside his 
skin, he rolled his tongue over his teeth, eyes 
circling back to her tightly pursed clip. It looked so 
tender, so delicate, so . He wanted her. 

He wanted her now, this instant. He could already feel 
his lips closing around her jutting red nipples, 
sucking and gnawing until she moaned in ecstasy. Oh 
yes, he'd make her moan. He'd be as gentle as possible, 
she was only a little girl after all; but she'd gasp 
and writhe and shudder in his arms. 

Maybe she'd even weep and plead for mercy ("no, Petey, 
no, please stop, it hurts"), but he was going to have 
her, all the same. He was going to satisfy himself in 
her frail, yielding girl-flesh. And when he'd finished 
stroking and sucking and groping and squeezing, he'd 
splay her thighs and - He'd have to be careful. 

He couldn't allow himself to leave marks or bruises. He 
couldn't get too rough with her, no matter how much she 
stoked his fire. As he said before, it was all a 
question of control. He had to reign himself in: she 
was a child - a rather fragile one, at that - and he 
couldn't afford to harm her. A scrape, a scratch, a 
single drop of blood, and the game would be over. 
Forever. Her mother would guess the truth. She'd never 
forgive him, never trust him again. And he'd never be 
able to touch her again.

Control. 

Peter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand (a 
gesture he'd learned from his father, years ago), 
giving himself a moment's breathing space. There had to 
be an answer, some resolution to the paradox. Patience 
was the key to the puzzle. The same quiet perseverance 
he'd shown over the past three years. 

He could still have her - there was absolutely no 
question of that - but first, she had to be warm, 
relaxed and comfortable. Not drowsy, the way she was 
when they stretched out together on the sofa. He didn't 
want her nodding off to sleep tonight. No, he wanted 
her wide awake, lively, frisky . playful. 

He smiled down on the small, naked girl, relishing the 
spectacle of her exquisitely molded form. It would take 
all his strength, but he had to postpone the 
celebrations for a few minutes longer. He'd waited 
three years to immerse himself in the lush delights of 
her body, he could wait another half an hour. Then 
she'd be his for the rest of the evening. 

He'd carry her, clean and fresh and giggling into her 
bedroom, her long golden hair smelling of wild green 
apples. He'd lay her gently on the pink satin quilt, 
her nude, damp torso open to his caresses. He'd touch 
his mouth to her swollen, crimson nipples . and the 
games would begin.

The tub was nearly full. Peter twisted the faucets and 
looked back at his cousin

"OK, Kitten," he said, reaching down take her under the 
arms, "let's get you clean."

TO BE CONTINUED

EMAIL ME FOR PART 3:
AFTER THE BATH

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