The room was cavernous, large and open with concrete walls painted a glossy white and a wooden floor that looked as if it would be more at home in a school gymnasium than in a small, non-descript building just outside of town. The lights were bright and harsh, glaring down the vastness with a judgmental glow that illuminated everything and hid nothing. Off to one side were large, heavy pads stacked in neat-ish piles that could be interlocked on the floor to provide some semblance of padding, while a long, thick wooden bar was affixed to the opposite wall that was rib-high on a normal-sized woman but from her perspective was up to her chin. Doors led in and out, back to a somewhat worn locker room and into the messy, disorganized office that was – in theory – staffed by a professional coach but was usually empty and over to the ‘parental waiting area’ and outside and over there and who-knows-where, some with tiny windows high up and some frosted glass and others just thick slabs of wood. All in all, it was a bit overwhelming, and she felt herself quivering with just a bit of nervous energy. But instead of the excitement of being in the room as a member of the Centurions for the first time, of following in her big sister’s footsteps and beginning to make a name for herself in the world of competitive cheerleading, the thing that astonished Bonnie Landon the most was the sheer number of unfamiliar girls in the room.
Gosh, the eight-year-old said to herself as she hovered shyly by the balance bar and let her gaze slide over the crowd of loud, boisterous, hyper-active girls chatting and laughing and shouting and running around and generally bouncing off the walls. I had no idea that so many of us want to be cheerleaders! The little girl took a startled step back as a pair of girls several years older than she shuffled past, their heads together and their words a muffled, giggly whisper as they gossiped. One of the pair, a blonde with pigtails and braces, glanced at Bonnie for a moment, and then turned and whispered something to her redheaded friend. Both girls giggled again and moved on, leaving the eight-year-old to wonder if they were talking about her.
Bonnie blushed a bit, but managed to hide her discomfort by pretending to fiddle with the end of her French braid. Long and dark and so black that it almost bordered on blue, she thought that her hair was the best thing about her, the thing that made her ‘stand out.’ She supposed that she was lucky that she took after her father – at least, that’s what her mother said, she’d never met the guy Brooke once referred to a ‘Bozo the Sperm Guy’ when they thought she wasn’t listening – in terms of her hair. It was the one thing that she believed she had ‘over’ her older sister, and it was the one thing that she clung to whenever she was feeling a bit… a bit… small.
Bonnie chewed on her lip as she glanced across the training gym at her older sister Brooke. The sixteen-year-old was over by the office, deep in conversation with two skinny blonde girls who looked a couple of years younger. The three teenagers were waving and passing clipboards packed with paper back and forth, pausing to glance out into the milling mass of girls before jumping back into their discussion. It’s SO not fair! the eight-year-old pouted as she fought the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. Brooke Landon was taller, prettier, and more of a woman than Bonnie could EVER hope to be in a billion years, and if it weren’t for the fact that her older sister had hair the color of mud then the little girl would have lost all hope. Oh, Brooke always treated her nicely, as nicely as a teenage girl with an active circle of just-as-pretty friends and a strict training regime could be to a little sister half her age, but that just made things worse. I can’t even hate her, Bonnie thought sadly as Brooke caught her gaze, gave her a kind little smile, and returned to her conference. But I will NEVER be as good as her!
“D’ya know them?” a tiny little breathy voice sounded in her ear, almost so close as to be in her own head.
Bonnie started and gave a little squeak in shock, her heart racing as she spun around. Standing next to her was a girl about her own age, with hair so red that it almost looked like it was dyed and a truly horrifying number of freckles across her pale cheeks. At the brunette’s startled reaction the redhead gave a squeak of her own and jumped back, bumping into another girl who was her own mirror image. “Don’t do that!” Bonne giggled as she tried to calm down. “You scared me!”
“Sorry!” The redhead giggled as well as she pushed off her sister and stepped closer. “I didn’t know that you didn’t know we were here.” She glanced over her shoulder at her twin and then turned her attention back to Bonnie. “I’m Nyssa, ‘n this is Juliana.”
“Hi!” The eight-year-old looked closer at the twins and realized that her initial impression might not have been perfect – the girls were about her own age, kind-of cute in an exotic way, and weren’t exactly the same. Juliana was shy, hanging back and slouching and almost acting invisible and letting her sister do all the talking while she simply glanced at the brunette and then quickly looked away – but her twin, her identical twin, stared boldly at her. “Um, yeah,” the brunette replied. “Brooke’s my big sister.”
“Wow, that’s so cool!” Nyssa stepped closer and leaned in, pitching her voice lower as her twin mirrored her movements and joined the huddle. “She was on the team last year, ‘n got to second place in Nationals, right?”
“Right. This year she’s team captain.”
“What’s your name?” asked Juliana in a nervous voice.
“Oh! Sorry! My name’s Bonnie.” The eight-year-old met Juliana’s gaze, and the shy twin blushed and quickly looked away. “Why does Julie keep staring at me?” she whispered to Nyssa.
“’Cause…” Juliana blushed even deeper as she slumped and ground the toe of her tennis shoe into the wooden floor.
“She thinks you’re really pretty!” Nyssa whispered with a grin.
“Nys!” Juliana hissed as she curled her fingers into claws and grabbed her twin’s shoulder with a grip so tight that her knuckles turned white.
“What, are you crazy?” Bonnie glanced at her sister and then back at the redheads. “I’m ugly!” she added as she blushed as well and squirmed under their twin gazes.
“Nu uh!” Bonnie shook her head fiercely as she blushed even deeper, but inside she was secretly thrilled by the twins’ conviction. Wow, they think I’M pretty?!? The eight-year-old sidled a bit closer, whispering fiercely to the redheads as she hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “You’re pretty just like me, but we’re all ugh-ohs compared to Brooke!”
The three turned their heads and stared at the trio across the room, taking in the Centurion captain and her two blonde lieutenants. Bonnie knew their names and knew a bit about them, but this was the first time she had actually looked at her sister’s BFFs closely. Sienna was a girly-girl, a little princess fashion plate in a frilly designer skirt and a sheer blouse, her golden-blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail and her face bright as she smiled widely at Brooke. Jessie was beautiful but in a different way, a sort-of icy Swedish girl with platinum-blonde pigtails and delicate, flawless features that she worked to hide behind gangsta jeans and a wife-beater, her skull wrapped with a bandana. But both fourteen-year-olds paled in comparison to Brooke… Tall, elegant, and oh-so-mature, the sixteen-year old moved with a well-practiced nimbleness that proved to any and all that the skimpy cheerleading outfit she wore was for more than show. The skirt was short but that simply showed off her tanned, toned legs, while her bare midriff exposed her concave belly and adorable, winking navel. She had started developing several years ago, and now her B-cup breasts were swaddled in the tight demi-sweater that graced her ribcage. Bonnie knew that Brooke didn’t date, just wasn’t dating, had absolutely no interest in dating – mainly because of her focus on the squad and her determination to make sure the Centurions won at Nationals. That, for some weird reason, made her even more pretty in the eight-year-old’s eyes.
Brooke caught her staring and flashed a smile at her, and Bonnie quickly looked away, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. I’m so lame… she thought as she wilted under the kind gage of her sister. The eight-year-old glanced at the twins from under her thick eyelashes and saw that they were staring at her, and then they each peeked at the teenagers once more, only trying to be a bit more discrete.
“Yeah,” Nyssa admitted. “They’re so beautiful!”
“We’re ugh-ohs!” Juliana agreed.
“Well, compared to them, we’re fugly,” Bonnie added. She spared her sister one last glance and then turned fully back to the twins. “But I’m only eight, ‘n my mom says that I’ll be just as pretty as Brooke when I grow up. So full of it,” she added dismissively as she fiddled with the end of her braid once more, trying not to display the nervousness she felt at meeting the twins and hoping beyond hope that they liked her just as much as she liked them. “How old are you?”
“We’re nine,” Nyssa admitted. She reached out and tugged at Bonnie’s tee-shirt, a pink thing with black lettering advertising last season’s National Cheerleading Championship in Boca Raton, Florida. “Did you go there?” she asked.
“Uh huh!”
“So cool,” Juliana added as she visibly relaxed and sidled a few inches closer.
The brunette felt herself relaxing as the twins plied her with questions about the tournament, and she answered them as best she could. Inside, a tiny part of her soul sang happily – she had finally found friends, and they thought she was interesting!
“Hey, B…” Jessica ‘Jessie’ Appell glanced over her shoulder, frowned, and then turned back to the other two teenagers. “Who’s your sister talking to?” she asked quietly.
Brooke Landon glanced over her friend’s shoulder and peered across the room. Bonnie, all of eight years old, was whispering to a pair of gorgeous redheaded twins. “I think she’s talking to the Allen girls,” she replied.
Sienna turned and peered over Jessie’s shoulder as well, and then glanced down at the clipboard in her hand. “Yup,” the fourteen-year-old said, “Nyssa and Juliana Allen. Nine years old, it’s their first time cheering.”
“Wow,” Brooke muttered as she shook her head as she peeped at the trio of whispering pre-teens out of the corner of her eye. Her sister Bonnie was cute in an immature, little-girl way (and had hair that she would murder to have on her head!), but the twins were simply stunning – from their brilliant red hair and mischievous green eyes, their lean bodies and toned legs, the pair wore matching jean cut-offs and hunter-green tee-shirts, further adding to their twin-ness. “Those two are going to be gorgeous when they grow up!” she added in an envious tone.
“No fucking shit,” Jessie groused. A tiny scowl crossed her face as she tugged on one platinum-blonde pigtail peeking out from under the skull-and-crossbones bandana she had tied over her skull. “Maybe I should dye this shit red. It’d be better than this fucking drab-ass crap.”
“Stop it,” Brooke ordered lightly. “You’re beautiful! I’d kill to have hair like yours instead of this boring brown stuff.” She glanced over Jessie’s shoulder again at the trio across the floor and felt a tiny swell of pride. Bonnie and the Allen twins were standing close, glancing around at the other girls and giggling as they whispered. It’s never been easy for her, being in my shadow, the sixteen-year-old thought as she hid a smile. Their mother had spoken to her a few months ago, pointing out (rightly) that little Bonnie was falling into her big sister’s shadow and it was only right that Brooke should take the eight-years-old under her wing and help her make some friends. But now, maybe, she might become her own person! “And I’d kill for your eyes,” she added as she slid her gaze sideways, away from the little girls and looking Sienna squarely in the face.
The blonde fourteen-year-old blushed and gave a little snort, casting said sapphire eyes down to her shoes. “Ye-ayah, right,” she replied as she glanced at her squad captain and BFF from under her long lashes. “I’d kill for your boobs,” she replied as she hitched an elbow in the general direction of Brooke’s chest.
The dark-haired cheerleader blushed and slouched a bit, almost as if she were subconsciously trying to hide her perky B-cups. “Yeah? Well, I’d kill for your thighs,” she stated with a tiny giggle as she turned to her other BFF and dragged Jessie into the mix, “and not these thunder things I’ve got!”
“Oh, shut the fuck up!” Jessie interjected with a laugh. “Your thighs kick ass! Not like my fucking ass!” The girl glanced over her shoulder as the other two peered around either side of her, and all three spent a second staring at Jessie’s denim-covered backside. “It’s flat as a fucking board!” she added.
Brooke glanced at Sienna, and a tiny smile quirked up a corner of her mouth. “Yeah, there’s that,” she teased.
“Totally not there,” Sienna snickered.
“You got nothing.”
“Nobody’s gonna wanna tap that.”
“How can you even find pants? I mean…” Brooke glanced to make sure nobody was paying attention, and then gave Jessie’s ass a tiny little pat through the girl’s jeans. “You’ve got, like… nothing back there to hold ‘em up!”
“Oh, fuck both of you!” The trio dissolved into a fit of giggles that they only managed to hide from the rest of the squad – and hopefuls – through long practice.
Not for the first time, Brooke was grateful to have both Sienna and Jessie in her life. The trio had met years ago when they had all three decided to join the Cooperstown Centurions, THE nationally-ranked cheerleading squad. Brooke had been a gawky twelve-year-old, all arms and legs and convinced that she was only one bad haircut away from becoming the Elephant Man, while Jessie was so shy that she could barely squeak out a single word and Sienna had the gawky agility of a brick and the fashion sense of a hobo. Over the four years the trio had been on the squad they had become inseparable, developing a deep friendship that almost made them more like sisters. Even after Brooke had become head cheerleader of the squad, even after Sienna began to display the willowy beauty that would turn heads at an early age, even after Jessie had ‘gone street’ in the name of concealing her nerves… the three girls were united, sharing a bond that very few could understand, and the sixteen-year-old brunette smiled as she recognized that she had friends for life.
“Okay,” Brooke finally said as she daubed the tiny tears of humor from the corners of her eyes with one delicate fingertip and dragged the conversation away from body issues. “My sister’s only eight, so that means she’s gonna be in the junior squad. Same with the Allens – they’re nine, so they go there too.” She flipped through some pages, making mental lists in her mind as she gnawed at her lower lip. “Leila Logan, Patrice, Angelica Bower, Elly Smith, Ilise, Jenny B., Jenny R., and Veronica… that’s eleven. That’s enough for a junior squad, seven veterans and four noobs.”
“What about her?” Sienna discretely hooked her thumb over her shoulder towards the stacked floor pads, and the trio surreptitiously peered at the girl out of the corner of their eyes. She was a tween, not quite old enough to run with the teenage crowd yet obviously too old for little-girl things. She was thin and small and a bit on the gawky side like most of the other little girls in the room. She had an unruly mop of chestnut-colored hair that was desperately in need of a brush and a Disney princess band-aid on one knee. Her legs were thin sticks that stuck out from a pair of oversized denim cut-off shorts and pipe-cleaner arms that dangled from the sleeves of a tiny pink tee-shirt that advertised a television show that was popular three years ago. From what the teenagers could tell she wasn’t ugly or dirty – yet for some strange reason the girl seemed to carry the air of grimy poverty. The girl sat on one of the pad stacks, alone and simply watching, her eyes following the other girls as they milled about the studio and the heels of her scuffed tennis shoes kicking the side of her stack-seat as she swung her legs. “Who’s she?”
“Uhm… Laurie Pritchard, I think,” Brooke finally said after finding the right page. “Twelve, so she’s young enough. I think she goes to Jane Addams Middle School, the one right next door to the one with my sister. I don’t know much more about her than that,” she admitted.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen her before,” Jessie added. “Looks a bit… grubby.”
“Like she needs a shower, or three,” interjected Sienna in a catty tone.
“Eh, maybe. So she’s probably no fucking big deal. Stick ‘er with the juniors.”
“Okay,” Brooke nodded as she made a tick mark with a pencil on the girl’s registration form. “And Laurie makes twelve. An even dozen, not too bad!” she smiled.
“Yeah!” Sienna chirped brightly.
“Right, but now for the hard shit.” Jessie puffed through her lips while she tugged at the do-rag covering her almost-white hair. “Who goes where in the seniors?”
The trio all turned their attention to their clipboards, flipping through sheets and discussing positions, determined to make the right choices to take the Centurions back to Nationals – unaware that someone was surreptitiously watching them…
The rough fabric of her shorts scraped against the back of Laurie Pritchard’s hands. She squirmed a bit in discomfort, praying that nothing would happen, nothing would occur that would embarrass her and reveal her to be the pervert that she secretly knew that she was. I wish I hadn’t come, she moaned to herself as she tried to focus her attention on the floor in front of her, and not on the army of teen, tween, and pre-teen girls mobbing around her. I wish I would have stayed home… I would be safe there. This was SUCH a bad idea!!! A momentary image flashed through her mind, of a pussy that looked a lot like what her’s looked like when she had ‘checked’ herself out in a hand mirror, gleaming wet in the dim light of her bedroom, hovering just above her face, so close that all she had to do was raise her head slightly and drink of the sweet nectar… NO! The twelve-year-old dragged her attention back to the cheerleading studio, preferring the gaggle of girls to the fragmentary figment of a not-real lover.
With the gaggle of girls, she would become aroused, but she could control it. With the thoughts of what she wanted to do with the girls, the twisted things she wanted to perform on them and what she wanted them to do to her, she would become so wet that she’d soak through her shorts – proving to everyone just how sick she actually was.
She heard a shout and involuntarily glanced up, her eyes taking in a pair of girls, one a tasty little Asian nymph and the other a brunette a couple of years older with jet-black hair to die for, the pair giggling as they raced across the studio to suddenly stop and slide across the waxed floor on their socked feet. Her mind flashed to the DIRTY PLACE in a heartbeat, and her mouth went dry at the image of the Asian girl on her back, her wrists bound to the headboard to keep her in place and her eyes half-closed with ecstasy as Laurie lapped at the hairless slit that was her pre-teen pussy, while the raven-haired nymph pushed into her upraised backside from behind with the thick strap-on dildo affixed around her hips, all three of them deafened by their non-stop moans of pure sexual bliss…
No! “Stop it,” she hissed quietly to herself as she tore her gaze from the pair and returned her focus to the floor before her. “Stop it, stop it! You’re such a pervert…”
She couldn’t quite remember when she had become so sick and twisted inside. Oh, she had always had a hard life… her father had left her mother and sister back when she was just a baby, and for as long as she could remember it was just the three of them, scraping by as best as possible. The other kids at her elementary school were cruel, calling her ugly, calling her poor, telling her that her father had left because he hated her so much. Her mother would dry her tears, and her sister would beat up those who were mean to her, and she would claim that she was feeling better – but deep down she knew the truth, she knew that what those cruel kids were saying WAS the truth. She WAS ugly, she WAS poor, and her father HAD left the family because of her. And so she had merely faded away, becoming… invisible.
But then everything changed, back and the end of the school year. She had successfully graduated the fifth grade and was actually looking forward to going to Jane Addams Middle School in the fall. Her birthday happened shortly afterwards, and she noticed that her body was beginning to change, beginning to show the signs that she would soon start becoming a woman. Her chest, which had been flat as a board for far too long, had suddenly developed tiny little bumps under her nipples, and she actually found her first tiny little hair right on her mound. Her sister Denise – her best and only friend and protector – had left home, and that was bad… but the nineteen-year-old made sure to call often, consistently letting the little girl know that she had at least one ally in the cold, cruel world that was her life. But then… Then…
She was in her bedroom… She was naked… She was showing somebody all of her dirty parts, pulling them open and pushing things into her body, and there were flashes and flashes and then another warm body was in bed next to her, the girl/woman/stranger/fairy/demon kissing her neck passionately as she/she/she/she/it pinched the tiny sensitive buds of her not-there tits and slid her hand down Laurie’s flat belly and stroked her stiff clit before slipping two fingers inside of her pussy and she came and something pushed into her butthole and she came again and then her hands were tied behind her back as she lapped at something tasty and she came again and again and AGAIN OH MY GOD IT FELT SO GOOD…
“Stop it,” she hissed to herself. “Stop it!” She curled her fingers into fists beneath her thighs, feeling the hard bones of her knuckles dig into the tender flesh on the back of her legs. She knew that she would be leaving bruises, but… those were FAR better than the alternative of soaked-through shorts!
Someone bumped into her stack of floor pads and dashed away with a vague “Sorry!” tossed over her shoulder, and Laurie sighed as she willed herself to relax. She peered out from behind her curtain of hair at a trio of girls across the room, next to the balance beam. She didn’t know the incredibly cute black-haired one in the pink cheerleading tee-shirt and the jean shorts, but she did know the two drop-dead pretty redheads to which the brunette was talking. The Allen twins were in Mrs. MacGruder’s second-grade class while she was in Mrs. Cooper’s fifth grade, and though she had never actually talked to the pair she knew about them. But she was moving next door to Jane Addams Middle School, and so it would probably be a few years at least until they caught up to her. The three little girls were whispering to each other, glancing over the shoulders before returning to an intense, giggle-filled conversation. At first Laurie thought they were looking at her, talking about her, and she felt a cold knot of fear that they knew, they were gossiping about how she would stare at other girls, how she would touch herself when she thought that nobody was looking, how she was secretly dreaming of taking off her clothes and finding another girl to take off her clothes and kissing and hugging and putting their fingers and lips in each others’ dirty places…
“Stop it!” The voices in her head, her own words tearing herself down and exterminating any shred of self-esteem she may have had, quieted to a dull grumble in the back of her mind, and the twelve-year-old took a deep, shuddering breath. “They’re not looking at you,” she told herself as she willed her heart to stop pounding in her chest. “They’re looking at… Looking at…”
Laurie turned her head slightly and peered out of the corner of her eye at the trio of teenagers standing by the office, the leaders of this year’s squad. One was a blonde girly-girl in a short, frilly skirt and a silky blouse that screamed money, and while she thought she was cute Laurie was also sure that such a high-class girl would never have anything to do with a lump like her! The other blonde was cute-ish as well, in tight jeans and a tee-shirt as she carried herself in a way that the twelve-year-old had seen in rap videos, but the way the girl moved actually scared her so she quickly looked at the third member of the group…
… and felt her heart literally skip a beat. The girl had long brown hair pulled back in a pony tail, a shiny cascade of silky chocolate that flowed from the back of her head down her back, a mane that Laurie just had to run her fingers through – and that was the absolute worst thing about her. She was tall and fit, with long, tanned legs and arms that hinted of strength and a flat belly that she just so wanted to slide her tongue across, and she moved with an easy grace of a tiger. She was dressed in a skimpy cheerleading outfit, a red-and-gold ensemble with an incredibly short pleated skirt and a demi-sweater, both of which emphasized her sheer gorgeousness and almost seemed to draw her in. Her breasts were high and firm, her hips curvy, and the sheen of her bare flesh made the twelve-year-old want to rush over and stroke her, pet her, to drop to her knees and declare her undying adoration and love and worship the teenager forever…
“Fuck,” Laurie whispered as her mouth went dry and her pussy instantly slicked. She had seen the flyer for the Centurions, how the squad was looking for new members in their quest to make it to Nationals, and she had thought that she had been weak when she scraped up the twenty dollar registration fee and filled out part of the form. She had thought that she’d merely look at some pretty girls, bank some dirty images in her mind for those times when she was in the shower and running her hands over her wet body and slipping her fingers down to her peach-fuzzing pussy and worrying her clit until she came with a gasping moan, but she had no clue, no idea that she would ever see a girl as pretty as the one she was spying on. Her mind instantly flashed to a fantasy, of her laying in her bed and the teenager climbing in with her, the cheerleader stroking the side of her face and pulling down the sheet to reveal the twelve-year-old’s nude, barely-developing body, of kissing her and flicking her nipples and moving her fingers lower, down between her open thighs while she whispered words of love to Laurie while Laurie held her close…
Laurie wrenched her eyes away from the girl and back down to the floor, trying to calm herself down. I can’t… she thought. I don’t want to… But… But…
She fired off a quick peek at the teenager again, and knew that the decision had been taken out of her hands. She would do whatever she had to do, do whatever she would have to do, in order to be near the object of her love. And I will do whatever it takes to make her love me! she added fiercely to herself as she straightened her spine just a bit and sat up, an almost terrifyingly intense look in her eye. A shout and a clap from one of the blonde girls caught her attention as she called the meeting to order, and she hesitated for a heartbeat as the roomful of girls began to move over towards the office. She wanted to join them. She did. But… But…
“Hey there,” a delicate, musical voice said. “You coming?”
Laurie looked up and saw HER, the GODDESS, standing right there next to the stack of pads. Even up close she was perfect – perfect lips, perfect eyes, perfect skin, perfect smile, perfect toned body and firm tits and flaring hips, and the twelve-year-old wanted to touch her, simply reach one hand out and stroke her belly, and she felt her body tremble as the teenager smiled at her. “I’m Brooke, the captain of the squad,” she said as she leaned forward. “You Laurie Pritchard?”
“Y… yes.” Her voice sounded rough, an almost silent rasp as she managed to choke the single word out. Kiss her, the sick part of her soul screamed. Kiss her kiss her kiss her Kiss Her Kiss HER KISS HER KISS HER…
“Well, c’mon,” Brooke said with a smile as she held out her hand. “Meeting’s starting. We’ll get through the dull stuff today, ‘n Friday we’ll start training. I promise!”
“You gonna be there too?” the twelve-year-old whisper-asked, her heart pounding in her chest as she reached out a trembling hand and placed it in the teenager’s.
“Of course!” Brooke was a good foot-and-a-half taller than the little girl, a point that was driven home to when she hopped off the stack of pads and stood next to the teen. Laurie looked up, saw that she was staring right at the teen’s PERFECT, FIRM, SUCCULENT, SQUEEZABLE breasts, and she blushed furiously as she looked down at Brooke’s TONED, TANNED, LEAN AND PERFECT legs. “I wouldn’t want to let my girls down!” the Perfect Woman added as she led the tween over to the rest of the girls.
As Laurie took a seat on one side of the crowd, she knew deep in her heart that everything had changed. It was at that moment that she knew Laurie-the-Weakling was gone forever. In order to be with HER – in order to be worthy of the Perfect Woman, of the Goddess, of Brooke– she would have to become Laurie-the Cheerleader. If only she had a clue of what she needed to do…
“D’ya still have your uniform?” Jenny Rin whispered in her ear. Patrice Dusquaine merely shushed her friend and turned her attention back to Jessie, trying to look as if she was paying attention.
“… so make sure you show up tomorrow. I’m serious!” The fourteen-year-old scowled at a small cluster of girls off to the side whose volume had risen above the “Hard-Ass Jessie Ignore Level” and had drawn the fourteen-year-old’s attention – the side other than where Patrice sat – as she tapped the back of her clipboard impatiently as she glowered the violators into silence. “We need to take your measurements so we can make sure that your uniform fits properly. You can’t just wear the same old thing you wore last year. It might be worn out, or you might have grown and it’s too tight or too short…”
“The shorter the skirt, the higher the score,” Jenny whispered, and Patrice had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. It was – had been – a running joke among the three of them – that the only squads who won in competitions were those in which half of the girls managed to ‘accidentally’ flash the judges their spanky pants while on the floor. At Nationals back in May the three of them had a giggling argument in their hotel room as they drank WAY too much soda and snuck WAY too much candy in blatant violation of the squad’s fitness guidelines, each one trying to one-up the others in outrageous suggestions of how to win the competition. Jenny had suggested going spanky-pantless so that the perverted old men at the judging table would catch flashes of their little-girl parts, while Ilise declared that topless was the way to go. Patrice had topped them all by seizing the low ground and declaring that the easiest win would come when they were all naked and doing lots of jump-splits. The image of THAT had sent them all into a non-stop giggle-fest that seemed to go on forever and actually made her tummy ache, she had laughed so much.
That memory brought up other memories of Nationals, and Patrice felt the proto-laugh die in her throat. She glanced at Ilise out of the corner of her eye and caught the twelve-year-old as she was turning her attention away from her and back to Jessie, who had moved on and was droning on about the proper care and cleaning of the team uniform. She didn’t say anything, Patrice thought. Not a single word. The tween gnawed the inside of her mouth, feeling the dull pinch of flesh between her teeth as she tried to decide if Ilise was embarrassed, if she was embarrassed and Ilise was afraid that she would hate her… or if she had dreamed the entire thing.
They had finally fallen asleep WAY too late, and when Brooke had woken them up at far-too-early o’clock the next morning the three of them had to scramble to get ready. Nine-year-old Jenny was the first to dash into the shower, practically bowling over Patrice to get cleaned up while she cursed under her breath in her native Cantonese, the words sounding alien in the twelve-year-old’s ears as she struggled to wake up and shake off the twinge in her tummy from way too much junk the previous evening. “Too much,” moaned Ilise from her spot under the covers.
“C’mon,” Patrice said as she managed to get to her feet. She tugged down the grossly-oversized sleeping tee so that it was no longer twisted about her body and took the two steps across to the other bed. “We gotta get up.”
“She was on a cot,” Ilise moaned, ‘and I’m in a bed, and she still has way too much energy!”
“C’mon,” the twelve-year-old repeated as she pulled back the covers. Ilise moaned and grumbled and grumped and rolled over to bury her face in her pillow, the pink little-girl pajamas she had donned the evening before looking a bit grimy and sweat-stained. “I’ll go next, ‘n then it’s your turn. We gotta do the team breakfast before finals.”
Ilise let loose with a stream of muffled curses as Patrice turned away and padded across the room, grasping her tee about her waist and pulling the thing up and over her head. The garment came off easily and she tossed it on top of the open cover of her suitcase. Clad only in yesterday’s panties, she squatted as she rummaged through the case, looking for the small little zippered bag that contained her shampoo and makeup. “If you hadn’t drank so much soda yesterday,” she advised her friend absently, “you wouldn’t be so sluggish today.”
“I hate you,” Ilise muttered as she clambered off the bed.
Patrice gave a little grunt of triumph as she found what she was looking for and stood. “Nah, you don’t hate me,” she replied with a smile as she turned. “You love…”
The eleven-year-old was standing right behind her. Right behind her, and now in front, only about a foot and a half away.
Patrice froze, unsure of what was going on. Ilise’s sandy-blonde hair was still a tousled rat’s-nest from her sleep, and her plain, makeup-free face looked pale in the morning light. There was an odd look in her blue eyes as she peered at the twelve-year-old – and then she took a step closer. “Il, what…” Patrice muttered in confusion.
Ilise leaned in and… kissed her.
Patrice froze in shock, unsure of what was happening. The eleven-year-old’s breath was truly horrendous but she was sure that hers was just as foul, and she could smell the odor of unwashed girl in her nostrils as their lips met. Ilise’s kiss was gentle, tentative, almost as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was doing… but it was enough to send a little shiver of something shuddering through the twelve-year-old’s body. She felt her eyes flutter closed as she returned the kiss, her body overriding her confused brain that just merely stammered in shock.
Ilise broke the kiss, and just stood there, her eyes wide and glittering. “You’re right,” she whispered, her little-girl voice barely audible over the hum of the room’s air conditioning. “I don’t hate you.”
Patrice was aware, oh so aware, that she was almost totally naked, standing before her best friend who had just kissed her! “I…” she stammered. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry and her knees feeling weak as a tidal wave of confused emotions churned in her soul. “Il, I…”
“I love you,” the sandy-blonde simply said.
She wasn’t quite sure how long they had simply stood and stared at each other… but then the moment was broken. Jenny dashed out of the bathroom in a flurry of damp black hair and flailing limbs, cursing as she clutched the towel around her freshly-washed body. Ilise took a step back as the Asian girl dashed between the pair, intent on getting to her own suitcase. “I can’t believe we overslept, we are SOOOOO dead…” the nine-year-old moaned.
“Il…” Patrice wasn’t sure what she wanted to say.
“Shower’s free,” her BFF – More than BFF? she wondered – took another step back and then turned to the bed. Her elbows and arms moved, and Patrice could only watch dumbstruck as the eleven-year-old unbuttoned her pajamas and pulled the top from her body. “You going,” she asked over her shoulder, the flesh of her pale back in full view of Patrice’s seeking eyes, flawless except for three tiny moles in a triangle formation over her right shoulderblade, “or is it my turn?”
“I’ll… go.” The twelve-year-old felt numb as she padded into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. What the hell was that?!? her brain screamed. She pulled down her panties and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over her nude form as she groped for her shampoo. Did that just HAPPEN?!? What the HELL WAS THAT…
Within minutes she was done and left the bathroom, her black hair a damp and tangled mess and her towel wrapped around her newly-cleaned body. Ilise didn’t say a word as she slipped past her friend, simply stepping naked into the bathroom herself without meeting Patrice’s shocked gaze. Moving on autopilot, the twelve-year-old fished her spanky pants out of her suitcase and then pulled on her cheer skirt, her fingers shaking as she buttoned the waist and rotated the short pleated red-and-gold garment so that it sat properly low on her hips.
“We are so dead, so dead,” Jenny was chanting. The nine-year-old was in the same state of semi-dress, with her cheer skirt around her waist but topless. She leaned forward as she furiously brushed out her long, silky black hair while simultaneously fumbling with one of a pair of scrunchies. “Brooke is SO gonna kill us,” she added as she grasped the hair on the right side of her head and twisted painfully, working to pull the wad through the scrunchy and flicking the side-tail over her bare shoulder before turning her attention to the other side of her skull, all while her tiny dark-pink nipples capping her totally flat chest danced in the mirror. “You got glitter?” she asked, turning to face Patrice directly with a terrified look in her eyes as she twisted the hair on the left side of her skull. “I can’t find my glitter. I need glitter or Brooke’s gonna kill me!”
“Yeah,” Patrice replied absently. She KISSED me… her brain stammered. “Kill you,” she added as she slid the tiny jar of silvery glitter over to the panicked girl. And then came the twin thoughts that terrified and confused her even more.
Did I kiss her back? I did, didn’t I?? And did I like it???
She never got an answer… In the flurry of the morning the trio completed their absolutions, had gotten themselves dolled up pure Centurion fashion, and had dashed from the hotel room. Brooke was holding court in the restaurant and gave them the stink-eye as they slipped into the back of the room while Liz and Miranda did co-captain stuff at the table next to her (that, in her opinion, seemed to consist of glancing at the girls and holding giggly whispers), but she didn’t say anything. Ilise didn’t say anything either, and Patrice had no idea of what to say – or even if she should say anything.
They came in second at the competition, giving them three trophies for the event. Most of the team was happy at their performance, but Patrice could tell that Brooke wasn’t… and Ilise still didn’t say anything. She gave the twelve-year-old a hug and mumbled something, and then hopped in the car with her mother and a couple of the other girls, and then she was gone in a cloud of exhaust, and the twelve-year-old still didn’t know what was going on. The kiss haunted her all the way back to Cooperstown and home.
Over the next three months she tried calling, tried writing, tried getting in contact with Ilise, but for some reason the girl kept ducking her. Oh, Patrice knew that she was home and that she was out and about doing things – she would see the girl on occasion, but the eleven-year-old would quickly move away whenever she approached. She got mad when Ilise’s twelfth birthday came and went without a word, and then even madder when she didn’t show up to Jenny’s tenth birthday party, and then sobbed like a child because she felt so alone, and then got mad again, and then felt cold resignation, and then sobbed – and for three months she dreamed of Ilise’s kiss, dreamed of her scent and the feeling of their lips meeting, dreamed of the strange sensation in the pit of her tummy… Dreamed of… Dreamed of…
Am I GAY?!? she wondered for what felt like the umpteen-billionth time. She glanced at Ilise out of the corner of her eye and swallowed, trying NOT to do or say anything when what she really wanted to do was to grab the sandy-blonde girl by the shoulders and shake her violently. Is SHE gay? Are we gay together? Ilise hadn’t said a single word to her about the kiss or about the cold shoulder that she had given Patrice over the summer – when the brunette had arrived for the first meeting of the squad after school the girl had simply said hello and had acted as if everything was just fine, that nothing was different, as if nothing had happened and that they had a normal summer together. She was confused and in shock, and all the questions that she had asked herself in the dark of the night came roaring back in an instant. Do I love her? Am I…
“Hey!” Jessie’s sharp voice cut through her reverie like a knife, and Patrice dragged her attention back to the present. The lieutenant was glaring at her, a look in her eyes telling the twelve-year-old that she had absolutely no problem with murdering her and burying her body in a shallow grave. “What the hell did I just say?!?”
“Um…” Oh, fuck…
“You want us to make sure that we remained focused,” Jenny said. “’N that it’s the only way were gonna win this year!”
“Right.” Jessie gave Patrice another wilting glare and then turned her attention back to her clipboard.
“What’s wrong with you?” the Asian girl whispered in her ear. “You’re, like, spacing out.”
“N… I’m fine,” Patrice mumbled. She glanced at Ilise out of the corner of her eye, noting that the girl was peering at her, and felt even more confused. “Everything’s fine,” she said, wishing it were true.
“Okay.” Jenny’s voice contained more than a little doubt, almost as if she knew her friend was lying.
“Everything’s fine,” she repeated, only this time she was looking at Ilise. Her whatever-she-was merely looked back at her and didn’t say a word. Everything’s NOT fine, her brain shouted as she turned her attention back to the trio standing before the group. Patrice was angry and hurt, sad and scared, confused and sure and everything and nothing… and it was all Ilise’s fault. Everything’s not fine, she thought once more as Jessie wrapped up her hard-ass diatribes about the squad and turned the floor back over to Brooke, who explained that she was modeling the precisely correct way the squad uniform should be worn.
But, she added as she gave Ilise one more glance, it WILL be fine. It wasn’t as if she made an intentional decision, but instead merely surrendered to the inevitable – she was GOING to find out what had happened, what was happening, even if it killed her!
Just lean forward and smile like an idiot, Sienna thought to herself. Don’t think about it, don’t let anyone know, just pretend like it never happened. The fourteen-year-old crowded in close, pressing her hip against Brooke’s and letting one of the new girls – Laurie? she wondered as a tiny unsure look flitted through her blue eyes – press against her hip. She felt a hand on her lower back, the heat of the girl’s palm almost burning into the strip of flesh where the tail of her blouse had pulled out of the waist of her skirt, and she somehow managed to stifle the shudder that ran through her body. Don’t think about it! her mind screamed, and she instead flipped her ponytail over one shoulder and smiled a brilliant, beaming smile as she waited for one of the girl’s mothers to take the picture.
“Okay, everyone,” the stocky middle-aged woman said brightly, “smile!” Sienna willed herself to look normal, to be normal as she grinned like an idiot, and the camera flashed, and
“Spread your cunt a bit more,” the voice ordered, and she marveled at the suggestion. Of course, why didn’t SHE think of that – after all, how could everyone see just how cute and tasty her inner pink was unless she SHOWED them how cute and tasty it was? She moved her right hand down between her splayed thighs and pressed her index and middle fingers on either side of her lightly-furred slit, parting her flower as she smiled widely. With her left hand she moved the tip of the buzzing vibrator closer to her clit, her hard, achingly stiff clit, and shuddered a bit as she felt the warm sparks of pleasure shooting into the pit of her tummy. A brilliant flash, and then another, and then a third, and she moved the vibrator closer as she spread her pussy wider, and she smelled herself as the tip of the toy hit her clit and deep in her belly her entire pussy spasmed
The two dozen-plus girls erupted in cheering, and the willowy blonde stood back up, almost dizzy as dark spots danced in her vision. Sienna felt hot and sticky, felt as though she were going mad, felt as if she had no control over anything. She took a deep, shuddering breath and tucked her blouse back into her skirt, taking the momentary respite to try and calm her nerves.
“Whoa,” Brooke remarked as she took a half-step away from her friend, her beautiful face a mask of concern. “What was that about?”
“What was all what?” Sienna replied.
“That jump.” At the blonde’s confused look, Brooke elaborated. “When Mrs. Gantry took the picture, you jumped like someone grabbed your ass. Is everything okay?”
“Sure!” she lied. “Everything’s okey-dokey.” Please, please don’t ask any more…
Brooke peered at her for another couple of heartbeats, and then grunted. “Okay,” she replied dubiously. She glanced about quickly and then leaned forward, placing her hand on Sienna’s shoulder and pitching her voice low. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I mean, that’s what BFFs do.”
“I know,” she replied. “Don’t worry, everything’s fine!” She plastered a stupid smile on her face, gave Brooke a quick hug, and then began to wind her way through the milling throng of girls – hating herself with every step she took. She couldn’t tell, couldn’t admit the truth… because she wasn’t sure if it was real or not.
When Sienna had taken Healthy Lifestyles in sixth grade, she (along with her fellow twelve-year-olds) had decided right then and there that there was no WAY that she would EVER have sex. She wasn’t stupid, she got the message the first time the wizened old lady leading the course had mentioned it, but it was FAR TOO DANGEROUS to EVER even CONSIDER doing anything with a boy! Diseases, pregnancies, reputation, pregnancies, injuries, and those pesky pregnancies… even the thought of actually doing something sexual seemed, in her mind, like a REALLY BAD IDEA. Besides, all the boys were buttheads anyway, so she instead contented herself with her hand, touching herself in the dark of the night under her covers while the rest of the house was asleep, face-down with her backside raised and her girly-juices dribbling down her thighs and her face buried in her pillow so that her gasps and moans and sobs of sexual release remained a secret. She didn’t really fantasize about anything in particular – she instead focused on the good feelings of her fingers working her little buzzer, of the little flashes of electricity shooting through her body before the tidal wave of her orgasm swept everything aside and almost knocked her out. It was messy but she quickly learned how to clean up after herself, and then she would drift off into a deep sleep as the warmth of her body and the aftershocks deep in her belly took her to a happy place.
But then, five months ago, just before Nationals… The first time it had happened she had almost freaked out. She remembered having dinner with her mother, and then climbing the stairs to do her homework and get ready for bed – and the next thing she knew it was night, well after midnight, and everything was wrong. She was naked beneath her sheets, and there was a foul taste in her mouth as if she had been sucking on a piece of candy made of rotting garbage. Her tiny little A-cup breasts felt scratched and bruised as if someone had been scraping and slapping them, and her pussy…
It was wet, so wet that it dribbled down my ass, she remembered with a frown as she pushed open the door to the office to retrieve her purse. And I was laying in a pool of the stuff! And it hurt, like it was rubbed raw, and my tummy hurt so much, like I had just got done doing a million sit-ups… She dug around in her purse and pulled out her lipstick, and then leaned forward to peer in the full-length mirror attached to the wall beside the door. Opening her mouth slightly and tilting her head up, she slid the color across her upper lip with a well-practiced hand, and then tilted her head down to repeat the process on her lower lip. She rubbed her lips together, snatched a tissue from the box on the desk, and pressed… and viola! Perfect lips. The reapplication had provided a welcome distraction for a minute, but as she popped the cap back on the lipstick and dropped the tube into her purse she found herself obsessing.
I knew that I had been raped… or at least that I had sex. Sienna pushed out of the office, waved to Brooke and Jessie, and then made her way outside. The early September afternoon was perfect, warm (but not too warm) and sunny (but not too sunny), and the air smelled clean and bright, but the teenager didn’t notice any of it. I was only thirteen, and no longer a virgin. And I didn’t remember what happened! I didn’t remember who I gave my flower to!!! Her gaze grew distant as she clip-clopped down the sidewalk and headed for the corner and the bus stop, her heels making a TICK-TACK-TICK noice on the concrete with each step. I was too scared, too confused, so I didn’t do anything. In the dark of the night she sobbed while she had cleaned herself up, fell back into a fitful sleep, and then the next morning she plastered on a perfect smile and bounced downstairs and went about her day and pretended that it had never happened. But inside she was terrified, convinced that some MAN had spurted inside her cunny, that she was pregnant and that her belly would swell up and everyone would know what a slut she was. About a week later she got her period so, at least, there was that… But still…
It happened again. Ten days later she remembered being at her locker at Jane Addams, piling a truly gargantuan mountain of books into her backpack at the end of a long school day while a sea of girls and boys shouted and raced around her… and then suddenly it was almost six o’clock, the sun was low in the sky, and she felt the horrible taste-ache-wetness once more. Her panties were gone, the insides of her thighs were slick with pussy juice, and her down-there lips felt raw and torn, proof that sometime in her missing three-plus hours she had once again had sex. She managed to stagger through that evening without letting on that anything was wrong, but she knew, and it haunted her – so much that she failed her math quiz the next day.
It happened again two days later… And then on Saturday… and then when she had left for school the following Tuesday… And again… And again… Three of four times per week, with no rhyme or reason, she would suddenly blank out for several hours – and ‘wake up’ again somewhere else, her body feeling as though she had just had sex. Sometimes she still had her panties, sometimes she didn’t… Sometimes her bra was inside-out and her skirt was on backwards, sometimes her clothes were back on her normally… Once she had ‘awoken’ in a totally different outfit than she remembered wearing, a tee-shirt that screamed she was a TOTAL SLUT!!! and a pair of shorts so tight that she could see her cunny through the tight fabric, her hair was done up in pigtails that she hadn’t worn since she was six and her makeup totally slutty. Another time it was the dead of the night and she was in a sheer black negligee with ruffles around the hem and collar, as opposed to the oversized sleeping tee that she normally wore. And once she had come back to herself at the exact moment she came, doubling over and collapsing face-first into the muddy ground of the forest near her house as wave after wave of the climax wracked her body, and when she had managed to regain consciousness after the truly titanic orgasm she tugged the little wire leading into her pussy and pulled the small egg-shaped vibrator from its place deep within her cunny, a pink plastic thing that she had never seen before, still buzzing merrily in her palm. After about a month the pain in her down-there lips had vanished but she was always wet, so wet that she was soaking through whatever she wore below her waist (at best) or uncomfortable because of her own girl-oils coating the insides of her thighs and her butt crack that made her feel slimy when she walked (at worst). Sometimes she remembered little bits, tiny fragments with flashing lights and strange positions, and sometimes there was someone else there and they were doing things… Dirty, filthy things…
What’s happening to me? the fourteen-year-old whimpered as she felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes and stifled a sob. She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse as she reached the corner and stopped, waiting for the bus that would take her back home. Deep in her mind she knew what she was doing during her ‘Blank Times,’ knew that she was a total slut and pervert, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t prevent herself from doing the things she didn’t want to do. I don’t want to do those things, but I can’t stop them…
She was so lost in her misery that she didn’t notice the traffic, didn’t notice the cars and minivans filled with the other cheerleaders passing by, a few giving little honks of their horns in acknowledgement of her presence. She didn’t notice the gentle breeze that flowed across her, fluttering the hem of her frilly skirt and causing a few stray strands of golden hair to flow onto her shoulder. She just waited, and waited…
Eventually the bus arrived, pulling up to the corner with a low grumble and the hiss of hydraulic brakes. The doors opened but nobody got off, and the driver – a middle-aged man with graying hair and a pot belly – glanced down at the teenager standing at the curb. “Haverton Lane,” he called out in a dull, almost bored voice.
Sienna didn’t move.
“Hey, you wanna get on?” The bus driver peered at the girl closer, more intently, his brow furrowing in annoyance. “Haverton Lane, you want a ride?”
Sienna just stood there.
“Last call. Haverton Lane!” The driver waited another few heartbeats and then turned back to the dashboard with a grumble of annoyance. “Fuckin’ stupid bitch,” he growled quietly as he pulled the lever and closed the doors. With another hiss of the brakes and a growl that rose in pitch the bus pulled away from the curb, moving down the road towards the intersection and away from the still girl.
Sienna stood at the curb for another few minutes, motionless except for the gentle fluttering of her ponytail and her skirt. Her face was neutral, neither good nor bad, showing absolutely no emotion… And then, without another word she turned, her stride purposeful as she moved down the sidewalk, heading towards a place that she knew so well…
The room was dark because She liked it that way. Not because She had a problem with light – far from it. Rather, She liked it dark because it just felt right, and the darkness heightened her sense of salaciousness. She loved the feeling that She got when She was being creative, of matching stories to pictures and remembering what had actually gone down when the clothes came off…
She rolled her chair a few inches forward to get at her keyboard a bit better and turned her attention to the open the manila folder off to the side. The photos were stacked neatly, crisp and square and arranged in a way that She thought was perfect, and She very carefully flipped the one on the right over and placed it face-down on the top of the pile on the left. The new picture was a good one, and She felt a tiny shiver of half-sexual, half-power excitement tremble through her body as She looked closely at the lewd image. Sienna was on her bed, the sweater of her cheer uniform pulled up above the tiny swells of her A-cup breasts, her pleated skirt rolled up around her waist, her blonde ponytail draped over one shoulder and her blue eyes wide and bright. The girl’s legs were thrown wide exposing her peach-fuzzed pussy to the world, and she was smiling as she spread her slit with two fingers while holding the tip of a vibrator close to her clit. The girl’s flesh was a sun-kissed gold, displaying absolutely no tan lines as proof that she eschewed any covering when laying outside, and the bright pearly-pink marble of her inner pink flesh made a wonderful, arousing contrast to her wholesome, all-American girl image.
She stared at the photograph for almost a minute, her eyes raking over the teenager’s nude form, her mind whirling… And then She sat back, turned her attention to the keyboard, and began to type. “I’m only fourteen,” Sienna told us, “but I love it when I get my cunt stretched by stuff! Fingers, dildos, vibrators, I don’t care… As long as a pretty woman shoves something inside of me, I’m happy!”
She sat back, bounced her gaze from the words floating on the screen in front of her over to the photos and then back again, her teeth worrying her lower lip as she evaluated her prose. She gave a little grunt, moved the cursor, and added the word hard between something and inside, and then moved to the end of the sentence. “I love being a lezzie slut!” was added, perfect punctuation to a perfect statement. Another evaluation, and She gave a grunt of satisfaction and hit save.
“I am so fucking lucky,” She whispered to herself as she sat back and let herself dream. She hadn’t set out to become a purveyor of porn, hadn’t intended on taking nude, sexually explicit photos of teenage and pre-teen girls for profit. It just kind-of… happened. Oh, She had always been interested in young girls, had always gotten a thrill from the idea of taking their budding sexuality and channeling it towards her own satisfaction – but for some strange reason society found that to be wrong, to be sick, and She had been forced to hide her true nature from those around her. To the rest of the world She was normal – a loving single mother struggling to get by on her own, stylish and pretty even though it was a battle to pay the bills with her low-paying jobs and raise two daughters, so sweet that sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth! She still dreamed, of course… dreamed of little girls and their teenage sisters, of hairless slits and flat chests, of the taste of their pussies and the feel of their barely-there breasts as she taught them the ways of the lesbian, and She had pleasured herself in the dark of the night, tearing orgasm after orgasm from her body as She bit her lip to keep from crying out and fixed the image of her own daughters’ naked bodies in her mind. But She never, ever acted because… well… just because.
But then, almost two years ago, things had… changed. The package that had come in the mail just before Christmas, in a plain manila envelope that was tightly sealed and sporting three rows of stamps from Denmark and markings that indicated international shipping. She had wondered what it was – She couldn’t remember ordering anything recently, let alone anything from overseas – and She had sat on the couch just after lunch and opened it with curiosity… and felt a coldness race up her spine when she pulled the magazine out. It was a copy of something called Little Lovers, and the cover featured a tiny little girl nowhere near puberty kneeling on a bed, nude, her knees spread and a look of pure bliss on her face as a teenage girl nuzzled her neck and slid one hand down between the little girl’s thighs. Oh my GOD… She thought as the envelope fell from her suddenly numb fingers to the floor and the magazine landed in her lap. She had simply stared at the cover, her heart pounding in her chest and her pulse roaring in her ears, for almost five minutes. And then, with trembling fingers, She opened the cover and slowly leafed through the pages…
It was made for me! She thought with a rather dumb, almost hypnotized smile as She thought back to the beginning. At only thirty-two pages it wasn’t long, and there were only two photosets within, but She had poured over each picture with an obsession bordering on the manic. The first set, sixteen glossy pages of illegal ecstasy, featured a thirteen-year-old named ‘Rodica’ and her eight-year-old sister named ‘Zuri.’ The magazine claimed that they were Romanian, that they had each been sexually active for the past six years, and that nothing made them happier than to make love after a hard day of working as prostitutes. She barely registered the words though – she was entranced by the pictures of the pair undressing each other, of caressing each other’s bodies, of kissing and nuzzling and fingering and licking and bringing each other to explosive climaxes. The photos were explicit, and She lingered over one photo featuring an extreme close-up of Rodica’s tongue buried in Zuri’s spread, hairless, bright-pink cunny, and She wasn’t surprised in the least as she realized that She was grinding her fingers through her jeans to stimulate her clit, her nubbin so hard and erect that it almost ached.
The second set, ten glossy pages, were even better. Those featured a bright, precocious ten-year-old from Mexico named Maria who really, really wanted a nice American woman to adopt her, to be her mother, to be her big sister, to teach her the ways of women loving women. Her body was lean to the point of being gaunt, with just the tiniest of hints of buds on her chest and a roundness to her ass that forecasted the statuesque physique she would display in over a decade, and she had absolutely no problem displaying her assets and pressing her stiffened fingers into every tiny, undeveloped hole. She stared, entranced, and masturbated herself through her clothes until she exploded in an earth-shaking climax, the most intense of her life.
She had spent the afternoon pouring over the magazine, drooling and masturbating, cumming again and again, over and over, until the images were seared into her mind and her pussy felt rubbed raw. At four She heard the scrape of a key being pushed into the lock of the front door and she had scrambled to her bedroom, scrabbling on her knees to shove the magazine between the mattress and box spring of her bed, and after changing her clothes She greeted one of her daughters and her girlfriends from school, back to pretending to be the perfect mother and oh-so-NOT interested in underage girls!
Over the next few weeks She worked to forget what She had seen, but it was hard, so hard! She found a perfect hiding space in her closet, a little cubbyhole behind a rack of shoes with a tiny little one-by-two foot panel of drywall that had evidently missed the builder’s last quality control walk-through. She had hid the magazine, telling herself every day when her daughters left for school that today was the day she would not drool over Rodica and Zuri and Maria and furiously work her clit for hours on end until her womanly juices coated her hand and the seat below her, and every day She extracted the magazine once more, pouring over the images and stroking herself until She came, gasping and trembling with her legs splayed and her juices soaking into the carpet beneath her asscheeks as She flowed around her fingers filling her pussy. The weekends had been hard but She had persevered, locking the twisted part of her mind away and simply waiting for Monday, when She could gaze at her obsessions once more.
And then, on a Monday in the next month, came her next issue. Eagerly She tore it open, her eyes devouring the pages with the tiny, pale, blonde nine-year-old Russian girl named Svetlana and how she would masturbate while dreaming of her best friend Olga, followed by three triplets from Canada named April, May, and June, gawky eleven-year-old redheads who had ‘found’ a hardcore lesbian magazine and decided to imitate the images they had seen using their mother’s vibrators. (She came so hard at the image of April fingering June while May slipped her tiny pink tongue between the first’s cheeks to feast her little pucker that she actually passed out on the floor of her bedroom.) And there came another the next month, with a masturbating black girl of eleven and a fifteen-year-old Polish girl using her tongue to pleasure her six-year-old ‘daughter.’ (She wasn’t sure if the two were sisters or actually mother/daughter… but the thought that the teenager had given birth when she was only nine years old was really, really hot, and made her orgasm even more explosive.) And another the next month… And another… And another… And with each one She could feel the madness growing within her, consuming her, until She could only look on her daughters and their friends and every single little girl and teenage proto-woman who ran around town as sexual beings just aching to be touched…
And everything jumped to the next level back in December. Her issue had arrived right on schedule, but this time the envelope contained a little something extra. In it was a crisply-folded sheet of paper, and within she could feel other, stiffer things. The paper turned out to be a series of instructions on taking photographs – the best camera to buy, scene construction, photo scanning and uploading. One of the things inside was a card, blank with only the name Danielle Pannebrect and an address in tight, crisp lettering. And the third was her login and password for a website. The website proved to be a bank in the Cayman Islands, with one thousand dollars already on deposit. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, and was ready to throw it all away – until her eyes fell on the back of Danielle’s card, and She saw the dollar amount.
It had been easy to buy the camera, and to train herself in its use. And it had been easy to find Danielle’s house, to wait outside until She spotted the girl’s parents leaving, to go up and knock and greet the adorable nine-year-old with a smile, to feel the girl’s pre-teen body pressed against hers as they hugged, to feel her arousal spike as the little nymph took her by the hand and led her upstairs to a frilly, girly bedroom featuring a canopied bed littered with stuffed animals. The girl had mousey-brown hair, buck teeth, and freckles – but she displayed an almost little-girl beauty that She found irresistible. And Danielle was willing, and eager, and she did everything that She asked, taking off her clothes and spreading her legs and touching herself, and dozens of photos of the little girl masturbating ended up on the camera’s digital card, and then She fell on the willing little lesbian and they had made love, over and over again, her mouth on Danielle’s pussy and Danielle’s on hers, their hands roaming over each other for hours, stroking and probing and slipping inside their bodies as each erupted in the other’s mouths, their grown-up and pre-teen cunts flowing with the issue of their orgasms and leaving both in almost a head-to-toe glaze of sticky pussy juice…
Afterwards, She went home and pretended nothing had happened. The next day She followed the instructions, printed out copies of the photos for her own collection, and uploaded the original data to… somewhere. The captions took her most of the day, but She had constructed an elegant story of how the nine-year-old girl dreamed of losing her virginity, of being taught of how to please a woman, and recalled with fond memories of how she had slept with one of her mother’s friends. And she hit send, and waited… And a few hours later, her Cayman bank account was twenty thousand dollars larger.
The next month Little Lovers was twice as big, with three pictorals and tiny little Danielle on the cover, legs spread wide and a snaggle-toothed grin on her face as she pushed a smallish dildo into her pre-teen cunt. And there was another card, this one for a twelve-year-old named Jessica who lived in the rich part of town, and She followed the instructions and shot dozens of photographs and made love to another little girl who trembled and moaned and clutched at her skull as her tween cunny spasmed and squirted several succulent, musky blasts of girly-cum onto her probing tongue, and She wrote up little Jessica’s fictional desire to be tied up and forced to cum over and over and over again, and she sent up her work and earned another twenty thousand.
She never knew who the publishers were – there was absolutely no information on them within the magazines. And She couldn’t go online and search for her ‘benefactors’ – Lord knew what kind of bells and alarms that would raise among the internet police! Whoever they were, they seemed to know exactly what She wanted, and they seemed to know exactly what ‘talent’ was running around the schools and playgrounds and malls of her town. And a part of her mind was convinced that it was all a put-on, an elaborate something designed to entrap her into a criminal activity, and there were days in which She was convinced that the cops were going to break down her door at any moment. But they never did, and She continued her joyous work.
There was something off about the girls, though, and She frowned a bit as she sat back in her chair and rubbed her philtrum with her finger. They’re not right, She mused. It’s not right! It’s WAY too easy… The girls were very happy to see her, very willing to follow instruction, and almost eager to perform whatever twisted, degrading task she might suggest. They never balked, they never objected, they never fought back or told anyone what She had made them do for her camera, what She had made them do to her body and She to theirs. And what was strange was that they didn’t even seem to remember what they had done… She had run into Danielle at the mall around Christmas while She was shopping for her girls and using some of the money that she had earned, and the mousey little nine-year-old had merely stood by with a bored look on her face as She chatted with the girl’s mother. That is, until her mother turned her attention to the little boy in tow – THAT’S when Danielle seemed to notice her for the first time, and the pre-teen winked and licked her lips and let her know that she DID remember. Weird…
Still, that was not really her concern. She really, truly did not care. Well, she did… But she didn’t. Do I care? She asked herself. Something wasn’t right, something fluttered in her brain just out of reach, almost like a moth darting towards a candle flame and then away, skittering and reeling and not quite coherent… When did I start loving little girls? She wondered. Was I always this way? Or is this something new? She didn’t know, and her frowned deepened a bit as she tried to grasp the moth, tried to get her thoughts in order to the point that she could see what was bothering her…
The soft padding of feet in the hallway distracted her, and She turned to face the bedroom door as it opened. Her daughter was at that cheerleading thing, that much She knew, so it could only be…
“Hello, mommy,” Sienna Koptau said in a soft voice as she quietly shut the door behind her. The fourteen-year-old had just come from the same cheerleading meeting as her daughter – That’s right, today was the orientation meeting, wasn’t it? She mused – and looked out of breath. “I came home as fast as I could,” the girl added, looking at her woman shyly under her long eyelashes as she fiddled with the tip of her blonde ponytail.
She looked her lover up and down, taking in the silky blouse and frilly skirt and expensive-looking shoes gracing the girl’s feet, and She felt her heart pound in her chest. When She had taken the photos of Sienna almost four months ago She had truly enjoyed the taste and feel of the teenager well over half her age, and had simply forgotten about the girl in light of her next sexual conquest. She had almost had a heart attack when there came a knock at her door one afternoon and found the middle schooler standing on her porch, looking confused and unsure and so adorably molestable, and for a moment she thought that she’d finally been caught. But then Sienna had spoken softly, about how she was horny, how she wanted the woman to tough her again, to taste her again, and how she wanted to taste the woman on her lips, and She was dumbfounded, and simply took the girl by the hand and led her to the bedroom. They made love again, over and over, with her lapping at the teen’s pussy and the teen at hers, with fingers working clits and probing assholes and the kisses, oh GOD the kisses… And several days later when the blonde showed up again, this time in her cheerleading uniform, and She introduced the obsessed teenage lesbian to the joys and pleasures of strap-ons and they made love again… And she came back once more, twice more, every few days, and it was perfect.
So perfect that She didn’t mind when the producers of Little Lovers insisted that the next star of their pictorials was her own daughter. She had resisted for all of two hours… and then had seduced her little girl. Laurie had responded like all the others, curious at first, and then excited, and then almost demonically sexual, showing off her on-the-cusp-of-puberty body and masturbating like a fiend while She snapped dozens of photos. The sight of the tween splayed out on her own bed, her back arched and the tiny buds of her breasts pointing towards the ceiling, her mouth open in a gasping mewl of pleasure as she furiously rubbed her diamond-hard clit and came so hard that she sprayed a little squirt of pre-teen pussy juice across the no-longer-pristine sheets had sent her mother over the edge, and She joined her little girl, tasting of her daughter as she tore the clothes from her body. She taught Laurie how to eat pussy, how to finger another girl, how to trib… She taught her daughter everything. She had every opportunity after that night to go back and sample her daughter’s wares, but Sienna always returned, always wanted to make love to her, and so She had chalked up the incest as a one-time thing and stayed with her girlfriend. “Sweetheart,” She whispered as her grown-up pussy instantly slicked. “I’m so glad you’re here…”
“I missed you, mommy.” Sienna unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off her body in a single motion as she walked across the floor of the home office, exposing herself to the woman’s hungry eyes as she fumbled with the clasp of her bra, her elbows pressed tight against her sides as she groped behind her back. “All day at school ‘n after, all I could think about was feeling your fingers inside of me,” she added as she stripped off the bra and let her tiny, firm A-cup breasts hang free in the air, and then she unzipped her short, frilly skirt. The teen did a little shuffle as she kicked of her shoes, wriggling her tiny little ass as she worked the skimpy tartan fabric down her slim, muscular legs, and then kicked the wad off to one side. She posed before her, her legs slightly parted to display the large wet spot in the crotch of her cotton panties, almost nude and unashamed as she twirled one blonde lock around a finger. “Do you still think I’m pretty, mommy?” she asked in a high-pitched, little-girl voice that bordered on a whine.
She swallowed heavily as she gazed at Sienna, her eyes raking over the teen’s body, her mouth suddenly dry and her nipples hard enough to cut glass. “Yes, I do, baby,” she replied, her voice low and throaty and filled with lust. She reached out and ran her fingertips across the girl’s nipples and was rewarded with a tiny gasp of pleasure. “I love you, sweetheart,” she added.
“I love you too, mommy.” Sienna leaned forward, placing a hand on her shoulder as she gazed into the woman’s eyes, and brought her face closer. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips met, and She moaned slightly as She felt the girl’s tongue flick into her mouth. She slipped her hands around Sienna’s back, down her smooth skin until She was cupping the teen’s ass in her palms, and pulled the girl to her. At the same time She felt the girl fumbling with her own blouse, working the buttons loose and pulling the silk from her shoulders. “I want to taste you, mommy,” she whispered as she spread her legs and straddled the older woman. “I want to lick your pussy while you lick mine!”
“I… Yes,” She moaned. Gathering Sienna in her arms She stood and pulled the teen to the bed that had only held her and her alone for so many years, working the slacks from around her hips roughly as her mind was overwhelmed with the sheer scent of the girl. She allowed all of her doubts to vanish, allowed herself this pleasure, and as she feathered a line of kisses down Sienna’s flat belly to the drooling cleft between her thighs she allowed Rebecca Pritchard back in, allowed the frustrated thirty-two year old mother of two girls to seize what she knew was right. Laurie tasted good, she thought as she slipped her tongue between the delicate folds of the cheerleader’s pussy, tasting the girl’s musky nectar in the back of her throat as she fed on her underaged lover. But THIS tastes so much better!
And as she felt the teenager’s tongue flick across her own throbbing, thirty-two year old clit, she surrendered to the passion as her pussy clenched.
