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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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Ronni's Summer of Love - 1
by Vernica Lumpkin (ronnilum67@gmail.com)

***

I was a crazy kid. Loved running around naked, even as 
a baby, I'm told. Loved the attention that got from 
Daddy and my little brother, but not the attention I 
got from my mother. (Mf, fm, ped, tease, 1st, mast, 
exh)

***

The summer I turned 16 was the craziest time of my 
life. Don't get me wrong. I had always been a crazy 
girl, even when I was little, I just loved to run 
around naked, I still do. My parents just couldn't 
keep clothes on me. I would shed my diaper when I was 
a baby and take off, my onesies or panties as a 
toddler. Mom and dad got a kick out of for a while. It 
was quite entertaining I suppose. 

As I got a little older, Daddy didn't mind seeing my 
little body but Mom tried to stop me. "Let the girl 
be," he'd say, "She's not hurting anyone. She's just a 
little nudist."

I became "Daddy's Little Nudist" and a problem child 
for my mother. Daddy would chase his Little Nudist 
around until he caught me and "Gum my tummy" or tickle 
me, with his finger and mouth until I was about to pee 
or bite my little bum and kiss my legs. Mother would 
get so angry, but Daddy was getting aroused. 

At the time I didn't know what that bulge in his 
trousers was about but I knew he enjoyed our little 
games as much as I did. I loved the sight of that 
bulge and the feel of it against me when I sat my 
naked little butt in his lap and wiggled around. Of 
course Mother hated that as well.

As I got older he would scold me in a mock stern 
voice, saying, "Get some clothes on girl! Don't make 
me have to spank you!" I would run to the door of 
whatever room we were in, stop look back at Daddy to 
make sure he was gonna chase me and run giggling into 
my room. 

As I got a little older, nine or ten, I would pause, 
look back over my shoulder at Daddy, shake my naked 
little fanny and run for my room. At that age I would 
fumble with the doorknob until Daddy would catch up to 
me. Just before I slipped into my room, he would 
deliver one sharp little smack on my bare butt. I 
would escape into my room, out of breath from 
giggling, the tender flesh of my bum warm and stinging 
from Daddy's little spanking and a tingling between my 
legs that I didn't understand but somehow knew it was 
sexual in nature and relished it.

That little game went on and progressed for quite some 
time. I would pause a little longer at my door, 
pushing my butt back for my swat or swats, sometimes 
there were two or three, if he and I were the only 
ones in the house. I would pose there, my fanny bare, 
my back arched, looking back over my shoulder, biting 
my lower lip, feigning fear, but hardly masking my 
anticipation and excitement. If I was wearing panties, 
he would pull them down enough to expose my bare 
cheeks for him to paddle. 

Daddy would swat my butt once, twice and sometimes 
thrice. I would gasp with the first and maybe the 
second and grunt with the third and whimper after. 
Then Daddy would lay his hand on my stinging fanny, 
lean down close and whisper, "Now get in your room, 
you naughty little thing, and don't come out again 
until your respectable. I don't want to see you like 
that again."

I knew full well that was a lie. He loved to see me 
like that and he enjoyed those spankings as much as I 
did. That was the only time he ever spanked me. I 
would whimper again and say in my quivering, most 
pitiful little voice, "I'm sorry Daddy. I'll be good. 
I promise. I won't do that again." He knew that was a 
lie.

As I went into my room Daddy would give me one more 
swat for good measure, often a tad sharper than the 
rest, and say, "See that you don't."

I had no idea that Mother saw through our little 
charade and hated it with as much passion as Daddy and 
I loved it. What nobody saw was what went on once I 
was in my room. By the time I was eleven, going on 
twelve. I had grown to relish that little pain and 
understood very well the tingling and wetness it 
brought on. It ended all too soon for me. I had 
developed a fantasy in which after paddling me outside 
my bedroom door, Daddy, always dressed in just boxer 
shorts, would scoop me up under his arm and carry me 
into my room.

I would kneel beside my bed, as if in prayer and 
imagine Daddy had carried me there. In my fantasy he 
would sit on my bed and put me over his knee. He would 
pull my panties down and spank my bare behind until it 
was even more red and stinging. Once I was in 
sufficient pain, a tiny tear rolling down my cheek, he 
would gently caress the hot tender skin of my bum as I 
begged his forgiveness and mercy, promising not to be 
a naughty girl.

"You know I love my naughty girl," I could imagine him 
say as I parted my legs and allowed his caresses to 
move between my thighs. I knew what he was saying was, 
"You know I love it when my little girl is naughty.

Just as I imagined him touching my most sensitive 
place, I would shiver and shake in the throes of my 
earliest orgasms. That was one of my first sexual 
fantasies. I began to equate pain and sexual pleasure 
at a very early age. That particular fantasy 
progressed as time went on. 

Sometimes I imagined that my fingers were Daddy's 
delving deep inside my, as I lay across his lap, 
pressing my belly on his throbbing hardness. Or I 
might slide down to my knees, pull down his boxers and 
service his magnificent member with my little mouth. 
Usually just as I imagined that I touched his 
wonderful organ with my lips or tongue I would arrive 
at a wonderful little orgasm. My orgasms were rather 
small in magnitude then, but immensely enjoyable.

As much as I enjoyed Daddy's attention it was my 
little brother Joey that I loved the most. He was 
almost three years younger than me. Seeing me naked 
seemed quite natural to him. That's not to say that he 
wasn't aroused at the sight of my body. I was such an 
exhibitionist. Mother said I was a shameless show off.
 
Although Joey and I shared a room, we had separate 
beds and still we slept together. We never wore 
clothes in bed. We shed our PJ's the minute we were 
under the covers. We cuddled and touched one another 
under the covers. I loved getting Joey's little pecker 
hard. We would rub our bodies together, thinking we 
were having sex. All we knew about sex was it was what 
mommies and daddies, and sometimes boys and girls, did 
when they were naked in bed together. We knew it had 
something to do with those body parts we were supposed 
to keep covered. Well, we were naked together in bed 
and using those particular body parts as best we knew 
how, so it must have been sex. 

Joey and I bathed together too. We loved to lather 
each other up and wash one another. Of course Joey's 
cute little pecker got hard when I washed it. When I 
rinsed it I would kiss it and giggle when it twitched. 
Joey would kiss my body after my rinse as well. He'd 
kiss and lick my nipples, nibble on my bum the way 
he'd seen Dad do. He'd kiss the mound where my pubic 
hair would one day grow and I would press his face 
firmly to me. 

Al that came to a screeching halt when Mother decided 
to put her foot down and put an end to all the 
inappropriate behavior in our house. I couldn't help 
but feel it was my fault since it all centered on me. 
"Has that girl no shame?" I'd hear her ask Daddy. "And 
you do nothing but encourage her!" 

I must have been around eight as Joey was about to 
start school. "It's just not proper for a boy his age 
to bath with his sister. He's a big boy now," and "She 
simply has to wear clothes around the house!" She had 
Joey and me sleep in separate rooms. That broke our 
little hearts. 

Joey would sneak into my bed as often as he could and 
Mother would throw a fit when she caught us. Daddy and 
I still played some of our little games when we could. 
I still dressed as scantily as I could at home and sat 
on Daddy's lap whenever possible. The little spankings 
had become a rare treat, only when Daddy and I were 
home alone.  

As hard as we tried to behave it wasn't enough to suit 
her. I felt quite neglected. I wasn't getting the sort 
of attention I craved, and had become rather 
accustomed to, from Daddy or Joey. To hear her tell 
it, Daddy couldn't keep his hands off me. He could 
scarcely hug me without getting a hard look from her, 
probably because of the hard lump in his trousers. 

Joey was a good boy, but I was still a crazy kid and 
as puberty set in I became a very naughty girl in my 
own mind. I suppose the way Daddy and I behaved when 
we were alone was improper. But she, nor anyone else 
witnessed any of that. She was convinced we were 
having sex, but we weren't. We cuddled and kissed is 
all; that and some touching – touching that she would 
never have approved of, touching that would be deemed 
inappropriate by most folks, but no sex.

Still she claims that is what drove her to the arms of 
another man – another, much younger man. She had an 
affair, with "that boy" as my father called him and 
after a few months ran off with him. I hated her after 
that. How could she just run off and leave my father 
that way. Because he was too loving a father? And to 
abandon her own children. Fuck her! The cunt! I 
figured that now I have my guys all to myself. I'll 
take care of them just fine. I'll satisfy any needs 
they might have.

She'd laid such a guilt trip on us that Daddy and Joey 
would hardly come near me for the longest time. I felt 
like a Pariah! It didn't stop my fantasies though. I 
became the woman of the house at thirteen. I cooked 
and cleaned for them and dreamed of satisfying their 
other needs. I hoped that Daddy would eventually take 
me into his bed and really let me be the woman of the 
house. He became rather withdrawn and didn't seem to 
have any desire for me or any woman for the longest 
time.

I knew if Joey snuck into my bed one night things 
would have been so much different than they had been. 
Together we would discover what real sex was like. I 
was dying to make love to him, even though I knew he 
was too young. That didn't happen either. He too was 
less lusty. She had done such a number on my guys. She 
hadn't killed my spirits though. My urges were getting 
stronger by the day. I set my sights on a cute boy at 
school and thought I had fallen in love.

Michael was sweet and funny and just as horny as any 
other fourteen year old boy. We kissed and touched one 
another. He was eager, yet awkward and more than a 
little shy. I had to guide him every step of the way. 
I rubbed my young breasts against his body until he 
finally put his hand in my blouse and felt my boobs. I 
rubbed his hard young dick through his pants which 
drove him wild. I opened my top and practically had to 
force his mouth to my naked nipple to get him to suck 
my titty. I loved that.

I had to unbutton my pants as an invitation to touch 
my bare pussy. It wasn't really bare. I had developed 
a nice little thatch of soft, brown pubes, of which I 
was quite proud. I had nice little round titties, a 
rather cute butt and that soft pelt of pubes and I 
thought I was damned sexy. Young Michael didn't 
realize what a lucky boy he was. He had the sexiest 
girl in eighth grade and she was more than willing to 
go all the way. And we were going, if I had to drag 
him kicking and screaming. Michael was ready and 
willing, just not quite capable of making the right 
moves.

After much, necking and petting, as my father's 
generation would have put it, and lots of dry-humping, 
Michael finally started touching me on his own. I did 
love the way he touched and my titties and sucked my 
nipples. He had a wonderful way of caressing my ass 
too, but he had a lot to learn about handling a girl's 
pussy. 

Joey had diddled me better when he was eight, but then 
again he'd had years of experience by then. And Joey 
knew just what I liked. I probably shouldn't have let 
my mind wander to my little brother when I was trying 
to get it on with my boyfriend, but I couldn't help it 
– not then and not now. I still dream of Jo-Jo while 
having sex with my husband, or one of my other lovers.

The first time I opened Michael's pants and actually 
saw and got hold of his young member, I was thrilled. 
I hadn't touched a boy's hard pecker for what seemed 
like years and years – not since Joey and I had been 
naked in bed together. This was so much different. 
Michael's dick was bigger and thicker and had hair 
around the base. This was not a little boy's cute 
little pecker. I handled it as if it were a delicate 
medical specimen at first – as if it just might 
crumble in my hand. It twitched and throbbed at my 
touch. And Michael's moans delighted me.

We kissed as I gently stroked my boyfriend's hard, 
young dick. Michael's hand found his way into my 
panties and his fingers tenderly smoothed the soft 
brown hair. He deftly parted the soft hair and then 
the moist lips beneath and penetrated me slowly as my 
grip became a little tighter on his cock. He seemed to 
be inspired by my touch. 

I remember thinking that Joey would be proud, but 
quickly let thoughts of my baby brother slip my mind 
and tried to focus my attention on Michael's marvelous 
organ and how the best finger-fucking I'd ever had. I 
was sure that this was what I'd heard of as fore-play. 
This was more than just two kids messin' around. This 
was the prelude to the real thing. Michael was about 
to make love to me.

Michael's body tensed up, he grunted and he came. I 
felt his cock throb. I felt it surge up through the 
thing. The stuff went everywhere. Most of it was on my 
hand and arm. I didn't know how to react, so I burst 
out in nervous laughter. I couldn't help it. Poor 
Michael was so embarrassed. Although I was a bit 
disappointed, I thought it was kind of cool. I had 
made a boy cum! I loved it.

 A lot of girls would have been grossed out, but I 
thought it was cool. I started playing with it, 
rubbing it with my fingers. I started to rub it on 
Michael's prick, but he pulled away. I wanted to rub 
it on my pussy, but Michael, started fastening his 
pants and muttering, "I'm sorry, Ronni." and "I'm such 
a fuck-up." and things like that. I told him it was 
all right and things would be fine, but he wouldn't 
listen. I guess laughing the way I did didn't help 
matters. I wasn't laughing at him. I tried to tell him 
so, but he wouldn't listen. He wouldn't talk to me for 
days. 
 
We finally got past all that. We eventually made love. 
It never lasted more than a minute or two, but it was 
usually sweet and special. We were sure we were in 
love and would always be. We broke up after six 
months. It was my fault. I kissed another boy. An 
older boy named Arnold, Arnie. After Michael dumped 
me, I let that other boy fuck me. It was neither 
sweet, nor special, but it felt good. Arnie was not 
shy. We fucked a lot. I went out with him for about 
three months. Arnie could last a while but he never 
gave me an orgasm. The only orgasms were the ones I 
gave myself.

For a while I was back to prancing around my house in 
various stages of undress, trying to arouse my father 
and my brother. I wanted them to know that I was 
becoming a young woman. It was easy to show of my 
breasts. I had run around topless at home my whole 
life. Dad still scolded me and told me to put 
something on, but he always got an eyeful before I 
left the room. I wanted him to play the "chase-me-
spank-me" game but he wouldn't take the bait. I was 
sure I could get him to put me over his knee. I still 
got myself off pretty good on that fantasy.

 Giving my guys a view of my new pubes was a bit 
trickier. What I finally did was strip down in the 
bathroom and start the shower, then I wrapped a towel 
around myself and ran into the living room, where 
Daddy was, screaming that there was a huge spider in 
the bathroom. Daddy and Joey both rushed to my rescue. 

While my guys searched for the fictitious spider, I 
squealed and jumped up and down until I dropped my 
towel. I kept up my little charade until Daddy got a 
good look at me. Joey had noticed right away and tried 
not to let me know he was checking me out in the 
mirror. Daddy looked me up and down and told me to 
either get dressed or get in the shower. The scary old 
spider was gone. I hugged Daddy, rubbing my boobies 
and my little pelt on him and told him he was my hero. 
Joey looked a little perturbed at that display. But I 
did notice a bulge in Joey's pants. 

Once I got into the shower I was so turned on that I 
got myself off, imagining that Daddy was washing me, 
telling me that I was blossoming into a lovely, young 
woman as her ran his big strong hand over the soft, 
hair on my wet little twat. "Such gorgeous breasts," I 
heard him say in my head, taking my nipple in his lips 
and plunging his big, thick finger inside me. That's 
when I came so hard my knees nearly buckled. 

The next time I showered I pictured Joey in there with 
me. I wanted to wash his young body and get my hands 
on him. I wanted to see just how much he'd grown. I 
was determined to find a way to get him in the shower 
with me and into my bed again. I used to steal a 
pillow off Joey's bed and clutch to my breast as I 
launched into one of my fantasies about him. Smelling 
him on that pillow as I came was so special to me.

Things were beginning to change around the house. Dad 
was loosening up a bit and Jo Jo seemed to be getting 
horny around me. I liked that – a lot! I knew it was 
just a matter of time before one or both of my guys 
would make love to me.

To be continued?

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is 
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in 
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 system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 75