Chapter 1

By BenBad

(Mg, voy)

A man rescues a nine year old girl, but has mixed motivations...









Author’s note:

The following is a novella in eight chapters, a little over forty-one thousand words, approximately one hundred pages long. I wanted to create a story that was more than an assortment of single romps, the individual tales of sexual encounters between an adult and a child. I wanted to tell the complete story detailing the relationship between a grown man and a little girl; their acquaintance, the internal struggle of such a union, the growth of their companionship, and a resolution to the problems surrounding it.

I hope you will find it a flowing, moving story, evoking a few smiles, anger, happiness, and perhaps even a tear or two. Ben

Special thanks to Bob, an avid follower of this site from Great Britain, who gave huge amounts of time and effort into proofreading this work.

Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyrighted 2017 with all rights expressly reserved by its author unless explicitly granted.

Standard Disclaimer: This story contains sexually graphic and explicit material and as such it is not suitable for minors. If you are a minor, please leave now as it is illegal for you to be here. If it is illegal for you to read or view sexually explicit material in the community you view such material, please leave now. This story and characters are purely fictional and any resemblance to events or persons (living or dead) is purely coincidental. If you are offended by sexually explicit stories, please read no further. If you are offended by stories featuring group sex, bisexual situations, incest, sex between minors and adults, or any other situation, please check the story code before reading the text. These stories are just that, stories, and do not promote or condone the activities described herein, especially when it comes to unsafe sexual practices or sex between adults and minors.

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I exited the building and stood for a moment on the stone landing, six steps up from the sidewalk. Night had settled in. The vapor lamps that lit the thoroughfare cast a pale, sickly glow toward the ground. The rain that had inundated the day had finally ceased. A breeze careening down the concrete chasm that was the city street picked up moisture which added to the chill in the air. I pulled my overcoat tighter around my neck and fastened an extra button in its hole.

My attorney’s office, a family concern that dated back to the beginning of the last century, passed from father to son, was not in the worst part of town, but neither was it in the best. By necessity I had parked my vehicle on an adjoining street. I didn’t mind the walk, but I was a little anxious to make sure my car still had four tires and four hub caps.

The meeting with my lawyer had been a long one, but ended to my benefit, so I wasn’t complaining.

My shoes scuffed the wet dirt on the pavement. It was nearly the only sound to be heard. It was particularly quiet for the city, I thought.

As I turned the corner, however, the silence was broken by the inveterate cursing of a man a few feet away. He wore a stained apron, cinched tight around an ample belly. His hair was black, what there was of it. The top of his was bald, shining in the pallid light of the street lamps and the interior glow from the grocery store he stood in front of. In one hand he held an apple; in the other the tightly gripped arm of a young girl.

He shook her with all his might, flinging her roughly to the pavement as I neared. She landed hard on hand and knees. A muffled cry escaped her lips, but I felt she was determined not to show any additional discomfort to him.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, shocked and disgusted by his actions. “What the hell, dude?”

He turned toward me, clearly irritated at my intrusion.

“This fucking little cunt has been stealing from me all week. I finally caught her. We’ll see what she has to say when the police get here.”

I looked from him to the girl on the cement. She had turned onto her side, resting on a hip, holding herself up on one elbow. I could tell she had scraped her knees badly, as well as the one hand I could see. Blood trickled down one leg and the other followed suit, but at a slower pace. She was quite young, too young to be out on the street this late at night by herself. She wore a light blue cotton dress that was too short on her. The hem was tattered and one of the buttons in the front was missing. Her skinny bare arms and legs must have been freezing in this weather.

While I looked at her the brittle wind caught the hem of her dress and folded it back on her legs. A glimpse of the crotch of her panties caught my attention. She made no move to adjust it. I attributed this to the innocence of childhood.

My own motives, however, caught me so unawares it was like a slap in the face. I made no immediate attempt to avert my gaze. Something stirred deep inside me, unbidden, immoral.

The vulgar feelings that surfaced only for the briefest moment, I pushed out of the way, filing them deep within me.

My eyes moved to her dirty face. Her eyes were fastened to the grocers’ with a hatred that was palpable. He in turn removed a cell phone from the apron pocket and prepared to dial.

I knew I couldn’t let him turn her in, but the reason for my coming to her defense was unclear. They would probably simply escort her home with a warning to her parents, but considering the police force in this city, one could never be sure how the situation would be handled.

“Wait,” I said, turning back to him. “How much would that apple cost to make you forget about this?” I reached inside my coat and extracted my billfold. From it I slid two one hundred dollar bills.

He looked at them with confusion before snatching them from my hands and turning back to his shop.

“What about my apple?” I asked.

He stopped momentarily then slammed it to the sidewalk where it exploded into a hundred pieces.

“Nice,” I commented. “You’re a real piece of work.”

His only response was to shoot me the finger over his shoulder.

I squatted down by the little girl. “Are you okay?” I asked, then immediately answered my own question. “No. Of course you’re not.”

I placed my hands under each armpit and lifted her to her feet.

“Tell me where you live and I’ll take you home. Your mom and dad must be worried about you.” The outrageous thoughts that had briefly entered my mind subsided and vanished. In a moment I would escort her home. A good deed would be done and I could continue my night with the heartwarming glow that accompanies such acts. And, no more recrimination need be entered into.

There was a pause before she replied in a weak little voice, “No dad.”

Of course, I realized it was not unusual for children in this end of the city to have no male parent in their lives. “Well, your mom, then.”

We had begun walking down the street.

“Mom says can’t live there no more.” It struck me odd she left out “I”, referring to herself.

“What?!” I wasn’t sure I heard her right, or maybe just didn’t understand.

“Says it costs too much for food and clothes.”

“Huh, yeah, I can see that,” I exclaimed. The insensitivity of such a statement from a mother was more than I could believe. This poor waif was skinny as a rail and she obviously had not had a change of clothing in days. “Are you telling me your mother kicked you out?”

I wasn’t trying to bring up bad memories for her, but understanding the circumstances for what they were seemed incredible.

She gave me a quick side glance, and then looked down at the pavement before nodding.

I shook my head. “That’s despicable. Why would she do that?” We had come even with a bench in the street. I motioned for her to take a seat. I sat beside her.

“To buy drugs.”

I shook my head. “No wonder you’ve been stealing food. You must be starved.”

Another glance, another nod.

I took a long look at her face. She was a beautiful little girl, and she had the most haunting eyes I’ve ever seen. As yet I was still unaware of just how probing and expressive they could be. Her straw colored hair was cut straight around at shoulder length, with straight cut bangs as well, but had become straggly with lack of attention.

The unwelcome feelings roiled in my subconscious like a witch’s cauldron. I didn’t understand them, but they frightened me. I felt it better not to explore them. They made me uneasy, scared me.

So, I tried my best to convince myself what I was about to suggest was the proper course of action. If I turned her in to CPS they would only end up taking her back to the mother. Considering what she had told me, I felt that would be a disaster.

“What’s your name, hon?” I asked, laying the groundwork for coming on friendly terms.

“Nora,” she replied after a pause, and so softly I almost didn’t hear her.

“My name’s Scott,” I told her. “How old are you?”

Another pause. “Nine”.

I steeled myself for what I was about to suggest, but I also was thoroughly convinced the answer would be a negative anyhow. “Listen, hon, I don’t know if you trust me enough to come home with me for the night or not. I can offer a warm, safe place to sleep, and a good meal. And we’ll get your wounds cleaned up. What do you think?”

Nora looked up into my eyes, and for the briefest moment in time I could tell she read my thoughts, thoughts that weren’t even concrete in my mind yet. I knew she saw the ulterior motives dancing around my consciousness. There was no indication by a change of expression on her face or movement in her body. But I KNEW she knew.

My expectation was that she would run away screaming, and it would have been a justified reaction, but she sat, unmoving. Her eyes went back to the pavement. After a moment’s pause she nodded.

Did I interpret her response correctly? Was she accepting my invitation in spite of the evilness she spotted in me?

“Do you mean ‘yes’ you’ll come with me?” probably sounding more like a perv by voicing it that way.

Again, she nodded.

I looked away from her trying to understand. Must be her hunger, the cold, and solitude outweighed the question of my less than pure motives.

I placed my hand on her back and we slipped off the bench. “My car is just down this way,” I told her. We walked in silence.

My car sat on all four tires, with hub caps. That was a relief, but it didn’t quell the emotions I was fighting inside.

I activated the locks and opened the passenger side door for her. She slid in on the leather seat. I could tell she was being careful not to get blood on the interior. I reached across her for the safety belt. “By law you should be sitting in the back, but I doubt any cops will stop us. If they do just tell them you’re eighteen.” It was a joke. I tried to alleviate the stiffness of the moment, but she didn’t laugh. Why should she?

The drive was as quiet as our walk had been.  I turned into the parking garage beneath my building, parked, and escorted her to the elevator. Inside, in the brass panel containing floor numbers, I inserted and turned the key for the penthouse. This made it an express elevator, going directly to the top floor with no stops. The only way to get there was by the key or my admitting visitors from the apartment.

When the doors opened I stepped into my suite. The entire top floor was mine. It was extensive, extravagant, and expensive, and more than I really needed, but I didn’t care. I liked the privacy and the view.

Nora stood in the elevator, unmoving.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Don’t you want to come in?” I feared she finally came to her senses and wanted out, away from me.

She looked at the carpet on the floor, light beige, then at her palms and knees.

“Are you afraid to get blood on the floor?”

She looked at me for a moment and then glanced away.

“Listen, don’t worry about that. If anything gets on it we’ll have it cleaned,” I said, incorporating her into the action to make her feel a part of it. “Besides, I have a proposal that will make it so you don’t have to be concerned about it.”

She took a tentative step into the room. The doors closed behind her.

To the left of the elevator was a closet. I hung my coat in that. To the right on an adjoining wall was a full guest bathroom for use when I entertained, which I seldom did. Why it was necessary to have a full bath for people who would only be relieving themselves I didn’t know, but the apartment came that way, and, in this instance, I was glad of it.

“Nora, I have a suggestion, and if you are uncomfortable with it just tell me,” I began, trying to sound like the voice of reason, sensibility. “Your scrapes are dirty and bloody. They need to be cleaned, but it would be a lot easier and less painful if they soaked for a while.” I tried to make it sound like the proper course of action. I wasn’t sure how I was doing. Her gaze was on the floor. “The other thing is you need a bath. I doubt you’ve had one in a while, right?”

She slowly nodded, eyes closed, embarrassed.

“You’re not going to be able to bathe yourself with your hands like that.” Here it comes, I thought. The blood pounded in my temples. What I was about to say might cause her to flee in terror, screaming loudly. I steeled myself for such a reaction. “Would you allow me to bathe you?” I hurried to add, “If you are uncomfortable, let me know and we’ll find another way.” There was no fleeing, no screaming. I pushed my luck by asking the question again. One way or another she would need to answer me. “Will you let me give you a bath?”

She glanced at me quickly. Her gaze once again settled on the floor. My heart beat a thousand times a second, waiting for her reply. She looked up again, into my eyes. It was only for a moment, but I could tell, as on the street, she was reading my inner motives. She had to know, she DID know, I wanted to see her naked. Sure, her wounds needed care, and she definitely needed a bath, but those were not the prime reasons I made the proposition. I wanted to see her naked. I wanted this skinny nine year old’s body laid bare for my own pleasure. It was wrong, but it was the truth, and she knew it.

Nora looked down once more. Then she nodded.

I wasn’t sure I understood her correctly, so I tempted fate by asking once more, “You are okay with me giving you a bath?”

Again, she nodded.

I didn’t want to show my relief at her answer, or my elation over her choice, so I led her into the bathroom.

The water in the tub was adjusted to medium, to give her body warmth, hopefully hot enough to help cleanse her wounds, but cool enough that it didn’t cause her discomfort.

I still questioned my actions. It was a case of the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. The devil won out. I doubt the angel ever really materialized.

Another thought raced into my sullied mind. “Maybe I should take a couple of photos in case we have to prove later on how neglected you were. I don’t know yet what we are going to do about you, but I hate to think of you going back to your mother.”

Another nod. I was certain by now she would agree to just about anything I suggested, to be warm, and fed, and safe. That realization scared the crap out of me.

I grabbed my camera and snapped a few pics showing the condition of her hands and knees, plus how ragged her clothes were.

Nora was short for a nine year old, her head barely rising above my navel. The fact that she was so skinny made her appear taller. I hoisted her onto the closed lid of the toilet and removed her sneakers and socks, which I tossed in the corner. Slowly, I unbuttoned her dress, wanting to draw out the anticipation of the final result.

Before removing it I asked once more, just to be sure, “You’re certain this is okay with you?”

She looked fleetingly, twice in my eyes and nodded.

I slid her off the seat let the dress fall from her shoulders to the floor. She stepped out of it and it joined its companions in the corner. Now the only article of clothing keeping me from feasting my eyes on her naked body were her panties. They were dingy gray cotton, probably once white. Not wanting to have her get cold feet at this point I immediately slipped my thumbs under the waistband on either side and drew them hurriedly to the floor.

She made no move to cover up, nor showed any sign of embarrassment other than a subtle change in skin tone to a medium red. I wanted to stand back and just gaze at her. A quick glance would have to suffice for now.

Her face was shaped as a gentle oval with the soft lines of her jaw moving smoothly to her chin. Her neck was long and melded into the flat chest between two mildly sloping shoulders. The nipples that adorned her chest were small, pink ornaments, barely making their presence known. The concavity of her stomach attested to the fact she had not had enough nourishment in her short life. Besides the short, skinny legs already described, the only remaining anatomy left to note was her pussy. Not a single hair decorated it yet. No hint of labia peeked from the solitary slit that hid her secret cove.

All this I inhaled in less than a moment.

I moved to the tub and turned off the faucets. This gave me an excuse to move behind her to retrieve a towel and wash cloth and a chance to appraise her backside. When I turned from the cabinet my evil reveling was brought swiftly to a close. Yes, bony shoulder blades emanated from her back and her spine traversed its length to a sweet rounded ass. She caught me looking in the mirror ahead of her. She also saw me frown.

I moved to her and turned her into better light so I could examine more closely what made me instantly furious. Across her shoulders was a dark red mark, snaking from one side to the other. A similar feature ran at an angle across her lower back, four on her buttocks, and two more on the backs of her thighs.

“Who did this to you?” I asked in an angered tone. I knew she wouldn’t mistake my anger as being against her. She could read my inner emotions, after all.

“Randy,” she murmured.

“Your mother’s boyfriend?” I conjectured.

“Dealer,” she said looking at the floor.

“How? What did he use?” My curiosity about the marks was as piqued as my anger.

“Lamp cord,” she admitted.

“But, why?” I couldn’t fathom whipping a nine year old girl for any reason.

“She couldn’t pay for the drugs she used.”

I could see the discussion was starting to upset her. Her breathing became more rapid, and she shook perceptibly.

“Do they hurt?” I asked, softly.

She shook her head.

“It must have hurt when he was doing it, though,” I stated a fact.

Her lower lip puckered and quivered.

I enveloped her in a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry you had to go through that. It isn’t right.” She let me hold her and slowly lowered her head to my breast. In a moment I felt the hot wetness of her tears.

I held her away and looked at her tearstained face, the tracks of moisture leaving clean trails down her cheeks. “You okay?” I asked.

She nodded staring at the floor.

“Will you let me photograph them?” I asked. “It might be important later.” I hurriedly added, “I’ll only do your back and legs, okay?”

She gave her usual assent. I took a number of pics from different angles to highlight the severity of her wounds. Heaven forgive me, I took some of her ass for myself.

I placed the camera back on the sink counter. “Come on,” I said, leading her to the tub. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll make you a good hot meal. Sound good?”

Another nod was her answer, but she gave me a quick glance.

As she raised one leg to get into the tub I told her, “I tried to make the temperature warm and comfortable, but not hot enough to sting your scrapes.” By now her toes had tentatively entered the water. “Is it too hot?”

She shook her head, no.

Her hands grasped the side of the tub to lower herself into the warm liquid. When she had settled I asked if the water hurt her scrapes. The shake of her head and slight face that she made clued me that it wasn’t unbearable, but it did sting a bit. That was good. It would help cleanse the wounds of dirt and other foreign matter. Then, when I doctored them up it wouldn’t be as painful.

I knelt beside her. The level of the water came to just below her chest. I scanned her from head to toe. She was a beautiful innocent whose purity had been corrupted by situations beyond her control. She was a casualty of a tainted society. She was a victim of mental, physical, and, probably, sexual abuse. Was I about to exploit this poor waif even further?

The answer was an undeniable ‘yes’. I didn’t feel good about it, or about me, but I was. I was using the excuse of bathing her to get her clean then dress her wounds, but I was doing so with the underlying reason of seeing her naked and touching her all over. I was as sick as the bastard who already had polluted her purity. But I was unable to resist the opportunity.

With a soaped up washcloth I gently cleansed her face. This brought a slight crimson glow to her cheeks. With a clean face I glimpsed visage that was blemish free, perfect.

“Why don’t we do your hair next?” I suggested.

She nodded.

I supported her with one hand as I pressed her against her chest with the other, leaning her backward until her hair was submerged. With a cup I had brought from the sink I rinsed that part of her hair that was not soaking. I lifted her up and lathered in shampoo. She closed her eyes. It could have been to prevent shampoo from getting in her eyes, but I believe it was because it felt good to have her hair cleaned. I leaned her back again and rinsed the suds away.

The next ten minutes was spent soaping and rinsing her arms, back, and chest. I told her to show me her hands and took very careful steps to clean her scrapes. The water had soaked most of the debris away. Nora gave no indication of discomfort.

Now it was time to bathe the rest of her. My heartbeat pulsed so rapidly I expected to fall dead. “Stand up, and lets finish up here.”

She obeyed with no argument, standing as the water ran from her body. My eyes gravitated to her crotch. I looked up and saw she was taking in my interested gaze. Soaping the washcloth I lathered her hips, legs and carefully cleaned her knees, which were much like her palms. I took a deep breath as I prepared to cleanse her butt and crotch.

I turned her to the side and ran the cloth between her butt cheeks. My pulse raced in my ears as I felt the area of her ass hole, making special effort to feel her anus through the terry cloth. Next, I did the same with her slit. I tenderly washed between the folds.

With her whole body being clean I let the water out of the tub. While it drained I grabbed a towel and dried her body and hair.

She stepped out onto a thick rug. I finished drying her off and set her on the toilet again. Grabbing some antiseptic cream from the sink cabinet I rubbed a liberal amount on her knees and palms, and placed bandages and tape over them.

I stood her up and took the throne seat myself. With a brush from the cabinet I began to brush her hair. It wasn’t difficult to get the snags out. Her hair was not that long or thick.

When I was finished I turned her toward me and gave her another hug. “Ready for some food?” I asked.

She nodded.

We left the bathroom. Directly to the right was a bar with numerous stools. I set her on one. Behind the bar, which also contained numerous bottles of alcohol, was an archway to a kitchen. I went in and began to cook a meal for her. It had to be something light and easy, because she had only eaten what she had been able to steal or scrounge.

In a short time I had made a fried egg sandwich on whole wheat bread with a slice of Canadian bacon and a little mustard. There was a glass of milk, a pickle, and a few potato chips.

It was obvious she was embarrassed, sitting there stark naked, but she dove right into the food.

In the meantime I went to my bedroom and retrieved an old Hard Rock Café tee shirt. She seemed relieved to see it. She raised her arms and I slipped it over her head.

The meal was gone in a flash. I asked her if she wanted anything more, but she shook her head.

When she stood I could see how loose the shirt was on her. It hung far below her knees. I grabbed the cord from my bathrobe and cinched it around her waist. This not only tightened the shirt around her, but raised the hem above her knees, which pleased me.

My feelings were so conflicted. This poor girl had lived a horrible existence, and I was exploiting it.

“Are you full?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Tired?”

Another nod.

I sat on the opposite side of the counter while she finished her milk and told her, “Tomorrow I’ll run out and get you some clothes. Then we’ll have to decide what to do with you.”

She looked up. It was furtive glance, but it told me she was concerned what that meant exactly. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll come up with a plan.” I didn’t know what that plan would be, but I definitely wasn’t going to let her go back to her mother.

“Come on,” I said, sliding off the stool, and trying to put on a brighter face to alleviate her fears. “I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

She took my hand and I led her to my bedroom. The penthouse was mostly laid out as a big open space. The centerpiece of the room was a three hundred and sixty degree open fireplace that could be viewed from any point in the room. Built into the large square wooden mantel that ran above it to the ceiling were four massive flat screen tvs marking each direction. To the right of the elevator was the guest bathroom, already described, a snack bar, which sat in front of two portals to the kitchen. Between the portals was a wet bar, stocked with virtually everything one could want to drink. The rest of that side of the room opened into a large open area with couches and comfortable chairs. A big oaken door led to the master bedroom.

This was where we were headed, but to describe the rest of the apartment, the wall across from the elevator was large plate glass windows, revealing a magnificent view of the city. Glass doors opened onto a patio/balcony. On the wall to the left was a door that led to my private office and one that went to the guest bedroom and bathroom. The entire interior of the suite was studded with expensive furnishings, a grand piano, and occasional tables.

I opened the door to the master bedroom and the lights came on automatically. To the right was the master bath. I brought her there and found an unopened toothbrush for her to use. I waited outside, sitting on the bed.

When she came back into the room I told her, “You can sleep in here tonight. This is a fabulous bed. You’ll be really comfortable. I’ll be right outside on the couch.”

She looked disturbed.

She pointed to the bed. “You sleep here.”

“It’s okay, hon. I’ll be comfortable on the couch. Right out here if you need anything.” I wanted her to have the chance to sleep in a five thousand dollar king size bed. It might be the only opportunity she ever had.

“No,” she said, trying to make her point known. “You sleep here, too.”

It finally sunk in, what she was getting at. “You want me to sleep with you?”

A quick glance and a nod confirmed my query.

I wasn’t about to go against her desires, even though it meant I might have to battle with some desires of my own.

She climbed into bed and I went about my own night time routine.

When I joined her, even though there was like an acre of bed, she cuddled up beside me. I wrapped my arms around her. She snuggled down and fell promptly asleep. I, however, lay considering the events of the evening, my role in it, and what was to happen next.

A glance at her brought a smile to my face. This was undoubtedly the best night’s sleep she may have had, well, ever. She was in a comfortable bed, covered up to her neck, tucked securely in the arms of a protector. Yeah, right.

Protector? Maybe that is the way she thought of me, but how accurate was it? I had manipulated her distress so I could see her naked body and run my hands all over it. What kind of protector is that?

After hours of self-deprecation I drifted off. My slumber was fraught with dreams, bad dreams. Maybe I should clarify ‘bad dreams’. They were dreams of me doing bad things to a little girl (supposedly Nora). They were dreams where, now that I had her in my house she was mine to do with as I felt. She was a child of the street. Expelled from her home by an addict mother, living alone, stealing meals; no one would miss her. She could be my plaything, my toy.

These were restless dreams. Even in my sleep I berated myself for my actions. I awoke early. I was particularly filled with self-loathing at discovering my dreams had caused me to become erect.

Nora had turned with her back toward me during the night, but was still pressed against my body. I stared at her sleeping figure. It wasn’t clear to me what things I had done to her in my dreams, but it was certain they were severe, sadistic, and more than just sexual. I determined I would need to get her out of this apartment and remove the temptation she presented to me before I could act on them.

This was not me. I lamented the fact that I couldn’t simply be a good Samaritan and help raise her out of the gutter her life had been so far. I didn’t want to add to it. She deserved better than that.

So, I would shower, get dressed and go out to buy her some clothes. Then what? Where would I take her? Child Protective Services did nothing to protect children. They often ended up back in the original, troublesome situation, or in a foster home where they were just as abused and exploited.

Well, I would figure that out later.

I wasn’t the only one to be disturbed by dreams. Toward morning I awoke to the sound of Nora whimpering in her sleep. She tossed restlessly. At first I thought maybe I attempted something barbaric in my sleep, but quickly put it out of my mind. This was just a nightmare.

I gently shook her shoulder. “Nora, wake up, sweetie. You’re having a bad dream.”

She opened her eyes. Waking in the unfamiliar surroundings and a stranger in bed with her probably echoed her sleeping anguishes. She shied away from me for a moment until the reality of her environs became clear in her mind.

“It’s me, hon, Scott,” I assured her softly.

Tears began to run down her cheeks. She grabbed me in a tight embrace and sobbed.

I held her, caressing her hair, and reassuring her she was safe. “Don’t worry. No one will hurt you as long as you are here,” I told her, and I meant it.

I held her the rest of the night and when the sun was up I slipped out of bed.


THE END - Chapter 1




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Thanks. I really enjoyed the story; not a boner based dick twister but a very pleasant and well written story. Nice apartment, hope that you live there. Thank you also for the little things of spelling and grammatical usage, it most certainly enhances the story.

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