I couldn’t help it… given the sheer horrors I had witnessed over the past six hours or so I wanted nothing more than to hide and hope that whoever it was simply went away. “Someone’s at the door!” I hissed to Midge as I curled up in a ball on the couch. “What should I do?”
“Just stay quiet!” she hissed, her words a harsh rasp as she sympathetically felt my fear. “It could be one of… them!”
The stranger pounded sounded again, the tempo growing more frantic and accompanied by a barely audible shout that sounded a lot like words. “I don’t know,” I stage-whispered into the phone as I peered over the back of the couch towards the front door. If only I had turned off the porch light… “I think that…” I swallowed, held a split-second debate in my head, and decided to take a chance. “I’m gonna go check it out,” I said softly as I slipped of the couch.
“No, Leila, that’s a really stupid idea!” Midge’s fear was palpable, and naturally my fear fed on hers – and hers on mine – as I slid across the carpeting and onto the tile floor of the foyer. “I don’t think…”
“Wait…” I took the phone and Midge’s pants away from my ear and strained to hear over the pounding. The voice shouted – screamed, really – again, a high-pitched falsetto little-girl voice that sounded as if it were teetering on the edge of sheer terror. “I… I’m gonna see who’s out there,” I told Midge as I made my way towards the door. “I’ll leave the line open, don’t go anywhere!” I glanced around in an attempt to decide where to place the phone and then grunted – I was wearing my comfy robe and the thing had pockets that were nice and deep, and into one I dropped the cell. “Can you still hear?” I asked softly, and got a garbled response in return which told me… nothing. As the pounding and shouting started again I swallowed heavily, steeled up my courage, and tried to peer through the warped glass bricks framing the heavy wooden door. “Who… Who’s out there?” I shouted.
“Open up, please help me!” a girl’s voice yelled – sobbed, actually – as she redoubled her efforts to batter down the portal. “Please, he could be back at any second!”
“He who?” I yelled back. Through the glass I couldn’t make out much detail, only that my visitor was only about as big as I currently was, was wearing a red – something – and kept bouncing around on her feet as she alternated between hammering at the wood between us while twisting and turning around. “Who’s out there?”
“Please, let me in!” she yelled back. “They’ll kill me, they’re killing people out here and I think one of them might have followed me, please…” I was torn… part of me wanted to be merciful and let her in, but another part of me was embarrassed at the state I was in. Besides, who knew – she might be a psycho herself! I opened my mouth to ask more questions about her when she screamed a long, loud shriek of terror that would have found a home in any low-budget horror movie. “OhmyGAWD he found me please!” she howled as she pounded more. “Please!!!”
A part of me knew that if I were in that situation I would hope that someone would open the door for me, so I guess I had no choice, really… and the second that I unlatched the deadbolt and cracked the heavy wood panel I was practically knocked on my ass as she shoved her way in, a tiny little girl about my own age – well, new old age, considering – with teased-out blonde hair, blue eyes, and a red dress that looked to be made for someone much older and much more developed. With a little start of recognition I realized that it was Slutty Club Girl from down on Cahuenga, and she was truly terrified. “Quick, shut the door!” she screamed as she grabbed the knob and tried to wrestle it past my calf (smacking the bone sharply, I might add) to secure it behind her. I took a half-second to glance outside… and felt my heart freeze in my chest. He was tall and muscular, looking to be somewhere in his mid-teens and as if he would tower over the pair of us. He had black hair and dark skin, and he was naked, totally bare-butt naked, his thick man-sized cock flapping against his pumping thighs as he charged towards the door. But that’s not what drew my attention – instead, it was the fact that everything between his mouth and hips was completely coated in bright, sticky-looking blood, a crimson shirt that ran down his legs. He spotted me and we locked gazes, and I could see absolutely no sanity in those eyes of his and he moved faster…
Oh, fuck… “Wait, lemme…” I yanked my leg out of the way as the charging boy/man/thing made my driveway, wrapped my hands around the doorknob as he cut across the grass to the sidewalk, slammed the door shut as he leapt onto the six-inch concrete entry porch-thingy that I sometimes tripped over, and threw the deadbolt – and we both leapt backwards ourselves, shrieking in terror as he slammed full-force into the door! “Fuck…” I screamed in shock as I clutched the front of my robe shut. “What the fuck was that thing?”
“Oh GOD can he get in?” Slutty Club Girl’s flat chest was heaving in exertion and there was just a hint of madness in her eyes as she stared at the door, scrabbling backwards across the tile until her flat ass reached the edge of the carpet. “He’s gonna get in, oh GOD we’re so fucking dead…”
“No, wait, just wait.” I scrabbled backwards myself until I was next to her, not taking my eyes off the door for an instant. The whatever-he-was certainly was giving it his all – he was throwing his full body weight against the door and scratching at the wood, and through the thick panel I could hear… snarling? That can’t be right… “I don’t think he can get in,” I whispered to the blonde. “We might be safe.”
“Those things are strong, I’ve seen it…”
“This place was built in the 70’s,” I explained, “back when rich folks were scared of the Manson family. You’d need a tank to get through the door, ‘n there’s no windows along the front.” I gave a tiny little squeak and a jump as the thing slammed against the door again, and then tried to calm my nerves. “We should be safe, I don’t think he can get in,” I added in what I hoped was a slightly reassuring tone – more for myself than for her, if I had to be honest. “Let’s just be quiet, maybe he’ll go away.”
As if giving lie to my words the thing gave a truly titanic heave and threw himself against the door once more, and this time we both squeaked and jumped, clutching each other tightly and trembling as we remained focused on the only thing standing between us and… And… Well, I didn’t know what would happen, but the amount of blood I had spotted on the guy’s front told me that it probably wasn’t good. It was real blood, too – I could tell because way back in the day I learned the difference from a special effects guy on set of an infinitely-forgettable D-list horror flick in which I was victim number two of the mad psycho killer. Fake-movie-blood was redder and goopier than the real stuff, and actual blood dried quickly and almost turned black within just a few minutes. The stuff on his front was black, which meant…
“Oh God,” Slutty Club Girl whimpered as she tried to squeeze the life out of me. “Oh God, oh God…”
“Quiet!” I hissed softly as I too tried to squeeze the life out of her. I’ll admit it, I was terrified, so frightened of the wolf trying to batter down my door that I could think of nothing else. “Just be quiet…”
I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, clutching each other and staring at the barrier between us and him, but to me it felt like hours. I could hear nothing more than his – its – snarls and the impact against the door, my own pulse pounding in my skull, and Slutty Club Girl’s whimpers of fear… which, I have to admit, I was feeling as well. If he gets in I’m SO dead, I moaned to myself as I bit my lip and re-split the small wound there, tasting blood on my tongue. I’m dead, WE’RE dead, oh GOD what is that thing… But the door held, and after one last impact everything fell silent. We waited, not making a sound, not even daring to breathe too loudly, as we kept our eyes locked on the door, and waited… And nothing, but we waited… “I think he’s gone,” I whispered.
“Are you sure?” Slutty Club Girl whispered back.
I strained to hear, but beyond us I couldn’t detect a sound. “I think yeah, maybe.” I very carefully unwound my arms from around the blonde’s ribcage and slid back a few inches, trying not to think about how many years of life that little encounter had taken off, and took a good, hard look at my guest. My initial impression of her age was off… up close she looked as young as me, somewhere between six years old and a young eight. Her hair was still a tangled mess although she had twisted it back into some semblance of a ratty ponytail, and her eyes were blue with tiny green flecks in them. A tiny little upturned nose that was runny with snot, tear-stained and runny mascara making dark rivulets down her cheeks, mostly-gnawed-off bright red lipstick, freckles across her upper chest stopping just sky of her throat, everything combined to emphasize her young, cute, adorable, terrified Lolita-esque nature. She was shivering slightly from fear, and the way she clutched the remnants of her grossly oversized dress to her body told me that she was barely hanging on. “I’m Leila,” I introduced myself.
She opened her mouth, gave a tiny little hiccup… and then promptly threw up all over my robe! Eww, gross…
Worst of all, when I was finally able to fish my cell phone out of my revolting, puke-soaked pocket, Midge was no longer on the line.
“I’m so sorry,” the little blonde girl said in a miserable, embarrassed voice for, like, the three hundred millionth time. “It was probably food poisoning or the flu, something like that.”
“It’s okay,” I replied gently. I curled my calves under my butt and leaned back against the couch, feeling as if I weren’t careful that I’d slip between two of the soft leather cushions and vanish into the interior of the sofa forever. The old tee-shirt I had tossed over my miniscule frame hung off me like a tent, and I shrugged the collar back up to a place somewhere vaguely around my neck as I tried to give my new house guest a reassuring smile. “After all, that thing out there… It was pretty…” I trailed off, not sure of the words to properly describe the wolf that had tried to break in and eat we two little piggies.
“It was fucking terrifying,” she supplied. She knocked back the half-full glass of wine in her hand in a single gulp, hissed and twisted her head to the side as she made a ‘wine face’ (the scrunched-up look of someone who doesn’t like the taste of the grape – a state of affairs that I always found completely alien, as how could you not like wine?), and leaned forward. “So what do you want to know?” she asked as she extended her glass to me for a refill.
I thought about it for a second as I gingerly tipped the bottle and gave her another cup or so of Pinot. After her oral explosion all over my robe and down the front of her dress we both had far more pressing issues with which to deal. I helped the weakly sobbing girl to her feet and managed to drag us both to the bathroom without leaving to large of a disgusting trail down the hall (at least, nothing that wasn’t quickly cleaned up). While I shoved her in the shower I shrugged out of my filthy robe, trying very, very hard not to be sick myself. The stench emanating from the thing was horrific, and after retrieving my phone I wadded the entire thing up and dropped it in the sink. As the shower was currently occupied I took a moment to avail myself of a wet washcloth, and then rummaged through my now-useless wardrobe, looking for… something, anything, for us to wear. A pink tee-shirt that was a reward from a five kilometer race a decade ago (and which had, unaccountably shrunk in my dresser until it was too small to wear – before) hung off me like a tent, and on instinct I grabbed a rather threadbare lime-green number for...
You don’t even know her name! the dark, suspicious part of my brain shouted. You don’t know anything about her, other than the fact she’s a survivor like you! “But she needed help,” I whispered in response as the sound of running water ended. “She would have died out there!”
“What was that?” my house guest called out from the bathroom.
“Nothing!” I called back as a quick flash of shame flared in my soul. Stop being suspicious, there are things that are MUCH worse out there… “I’ve got something for you to wear,” I continued as I tossed the tee into the bathroom. “Sorry, but it’s pretty much all I could think of.”
“No, it’s okay, you’ve done a lot already by letting me in.” I heard a quiet rustling and then she padded out into the living room, her bare feet almost silent on the thick pile of the carpeting. Her hair was still damp and she had scrubbed most of the makeup and other assorted icks off her face, and without the gunked-on mess she looked much better. Her skin was pale and her blue eyes were wide and popped in her face, giving her an almost perpetually innocent look. Unlike my slightly pudgy, round face hers was almost all planes and angles, an impression that was reinforced by the way she pulled her blonde mane back into another ponytail as she left the bathroom. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to pay you back,” she added as she nimbly twisted her purloined scrunchy around her soggy ponytail.
“Well, you can start with your name,” I replied with a little smile.
She laughed – giggled, really – as she finished pulling her hair through the elastic band. “Yeah, that’d probably help, somehow. My name’s Be…” She paused for half a second and her eyes took on a tiny little distant look as if she were holding an internal debate, before she snapped back to the here-and-now. “I’m Brittany,” she said, almost as if she were announcing a truth. “My name is Brittany Tanner. Everyone calls me Brit.”
Oh… kay. That was weird. “I’m Leila,” I replied. “And… Well,” I added as I shot her a snarky grin in the hopes of putting her at ease and waved a vague hand up and down my body. “You’ve kind of caught me on a bad day, so I’ve got an excuse for any messes you find.”
“Compared to what’s out there…” Her amusement died instantly as a haunted look filled her eyes, and she actually started to tremble. “I’m serious,” she said with a tiny little sniff, “thank you for letting me in. I think…” She swallowed hard, shivered, and hugged herself tightly. “I would have died,” she whispered.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now. We’re safe in here.” I paused for a second as I tried to push it down, but I had to know, just had to know! “What’s… Do you know…” I stammered.
“No. I don’t.” Brit couldn’t stop trembling, and I took half a step forward to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder – but the second I came near she shied away. “I… Do you have anything to take the edge off?” she asked in a tiny, plaintive voice, looking in that moment like the lost little girl she was. A part of me instantly knew what she needed – a decade of dealing with unsure, scared actresses had given me some mad skills! – and so we padded out to the living room, sequestered ourselves on the couch, and worked to reduce my stock of Pinot Noir by another bottle.
“What happened to you?” I asked quietly. At the tiny tremble of her hand that caused the fresh glass to slosh a bit I quickly amended my question. “I mean, if you can’t, don’t worry about it, you can tell me later…”
“No, it’s okay,” she replied. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and leaned back into the corner of the couch. “I was… out, partying,” she began. “I… everything was normal, it was the same as always, people dancing or being seen or just hanging out. And then…” She trailed off, and one hand gripped her ponytail as a haunted look filled her eyes.
“And then… this,” I supplied.
“And then this,” she agreed with a tiny nod. She gave another shaky exhalation, swallowed half her glass in a single gulp, made her wine face, and steeled herself to continue. “When I came to I was swimming in my dress, and everyone was… Most people were just gone,” she explained, her voice dropping down to a horrified whisper. “There were a few other girls, little girls as young as me, and a couple of teenage guys, all of us in these oversized clothes that had fit just before… it… happened. And one of the girls started screaming, and everyone started freaking out, and I just… couldn’t. I couldn’t deal. So I grabbed my shoes, ‘cause they kept falling off my feet, Jesus, they’re just so fucking small now…” She was almost in shock as she stared down at her toes, barely visible beneath her knees from her cross-legged position across from me.
“I know,” I replied as I too fought to control the sudden wave of panic that washed over me. Not even eight hours ago I had been a middle-aged woman with adult feet and adult legs and adult arms and adult boobs… But now… “I lost my shoes too,” I supplied lamely.
“Sucks,” she opined with a sad, sympathetic nod. “Expensive?”
“No, but I loved them. They made my legs just…” I unfolded one leg and extended it off the couch, flexing my ankle as I lifted it slightly. To my annoyance my calf muscle didn’t do much – it tensed, but the glorious teardrop-shaped bulge that was normally there (a product of way too much pilates, thank you!) was gone.
“Yeah,” she replied with another sad nod. “Mine used to do that to me too. Anyway, I ran on out, and there was, like, almost nobody around… Just another bunch of little girls and teenage boys freaking out, and I was already freaking out, so I just…. I just ran. I just…” She swallowed, took another sip, and leaned forward, her gaze intense. “I wanted to go home, y’know?”
“I so totally get it,” I nodded. “I had to walk down from the highway, all like this.”
“Right! And you don’t know what’s going on, or how other people are going to respond, so you’ve gotta be careful…” She swallowed the rest of her glass, held it out for a refill – and surprise surprise, somehow mine was empty as well! – and waited while I did the pouring. “When you’re this small, this young…” she began.
“You feel like everything could kill you,” I finished. “You feel like the world is just this ginormous thing that just can’t wait to hurt you and eat you up.”
“Yeah! So, I was trying to make my way home when I spotted you…”
“I wasn’t exactly at my best, then,” I admitted with a faint blush.
“You did look pretty chewed up,” she agreed with a small grin. “But you were… You seemed like me, going somewhere. You weren’t just screaming and freaking out and crying like everyone else was doing! So I started sneaking behind you to see where you went…”
I flashed back to my encounter with the thing, the dangerous creature that had almost found me on my trip back home – and tried not to think about my self-love session while I hid from him! “Did you… Did you see…”
“That crazy boy?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, yeah.” She gave a little shudder and almost seemed to shrink back into the cushions. “I lost you about half-way up, but when I heard him running and snarling I got scared, so I hid in the woods. I… That’s where I dropped my shoes,” she added in a miserable tone. “But I was hiding behind this thorn bush between two trees, and he ran down and… He stopped, he just stopped.” As she spoke her voice was growing quieter and quieter, becoming more frightened with each passing second, and I felt my heart pounding in my chest as my own sympathetic fears welled up in my soul. “He was sniffing, and turning around, almost like he was… hunting, or something. Like he was hunting me. He kept turning and sniffing, and every so often he’d growl like he knew I was there, I was hiding, and all he had to do was just find me, and then he’d… He’d…”
“Rape you,” I whispered as the cold dread settled in my chest. “Rape you, kill you, make you hurt.”
“Yeah.” Brit’s eyes grew distant as she lost herself in her reverie, but I barely noticed it as I got lost as well. I remembered the sheer lust, the sheer desire I had to just step out and let the thing do whatever it wanted to me, to let the thing hurt me! That scared me more than anything else, and I swallowed my wine in a couple of tiny, dainty little-girl gulps. As the alcohol burned its way down to my stomach I tried to force my thoughts away from my self-destructive lusts and back to another subject. Any subject! Anything other than my sickness, right now…
I leaned over and picked up my cell, hitting speed-dial to try Midge one more time. As usual it went instantly to voicemail, and I allowed myself a tiny little growl as I cut the connection and redialed 911 – which gave the same result as well. Where the fuck is everyone…
“Who’s that?”
Brit’s quiet question actually startled me – for a split-second I had forgotten she was there. “Oh! Sorry, I was just trying 911 again…”
“Anything?”
“No. I think everyone’s trying to call in. ‘N then I tried a friend I know survived this thing, like us.” Grateful for the distraction and the change of subject, I refilled our glasses and settled back, giving my cell phone a little glare before turning my attention back to my house guest. “Midge is a client of mine, over in Beverly Hills. She was home when all this shit went down, ‘n we were talking when you arrived. By the time I got back to her she was gone, and now it’s just going to voicemail.” I sighed and glanced at the muted television – so far, every channel was still showing a technical difficulties image. “I’m really worried about her.”
“You’re an agent?” Brit asked.
“Yes, I am.” I glanced at her and noticed the quick flash of a very familiar look. “Lemme guess, you’re an actress too, right?”
“I… Yeah, I’m an actress.” It was subtle, but I could tell that it was there – an almost hesitant hitch in her voice, the way that she stiffened ever-so-slightly, the quick glance down and to the left, all of them combined to tell me that she wasn’t being entirely truthful. “You look familiar,” she added in a rather clumsy attempt to change the subject. “Were you an actress too?”
“Yeah, long ago.” I flashed back to my acting days, and allowed a small smile to wander across my face as I moved down some familiar terrain. “Nothing major, like I never won an Oscar or anything like that. But I had a bit part on School Days back in the ‘90s, ‘n I was a co-star on Laredo U, it’s a shame that it only lasted one season…”
In hindsight I think that maybe I should have been a bit more discrete… Brittany put two and two together, peered intently at my suddenly blushing face for a few heartbeats, and then gave a little start. “Leila… Holy fuck, you’re Leila Morgan!” she exclaimed in delight, gesturing wildly and threatening to send some perfectly good Pinot sloshing from her glass onto the carpet. “You’re the Slut in the Shower!!!”
“Yes,” I admitted morosely. It was a role that I had done way back at the beginning of my career, back when I was a fresh-faced and insanely gullible seventeen-year-old wannabe. I thought that it was going to be my big break, but after the film was released – and if I had to be honest, the thing was only a few steps above a fake snuff film – I had instead found myself with a rather tasteless nickname… the ‘Slut in the Shower,’ given to me because I spent most of the first half of the movie naked and having simulated sex, had ended up masturbating in the girls shower at school (the writers evidently didn’t worry about plot or logic too much), and ended up getting gutted by the unkillable-psycho-slasher-who-had-a-fetish-for-murdering-pretty-girls-who-get-naked-and-have-sex forty-five minutes in. It took me another three years of other parts before I could transcend the stigma of that horrible role, but I was still known to many people as the Slut. “That was me. I’m her. It was a long time ago,” I added quickly, reciting the standard explanation that I had voiced many, many times over the years. “I was young, ‘n didn’t know any better, and it wasn’t that bad…”
“You slept with six different guys before you got the knife,” the blonde shot back with a grin as she mimed a stabbing motion in my general direction.
“My character slept with six guys,” I replied emphatically – and conveniently left out the part where I had slept with two studio executives and the producer just to get the part. “I didn’t sleep with anyone in the film. Besides, you know how this place works… sex sells.” I settled back a bit as the warm buzz of the wine filtered through my system and relaxed me a hair more. “But what about you… What have you done?”
It was clear that that was a question she wasn’t too eager to answer. “Oh! Well… I’ve done some films,” she stammered as she looked down and to the left once more. “Uhm, I had a role in a pirate thing, and there was this high school thing…”
My eyes narrowed slightly. After she gives me shit for MY choice of films, now SHE’S gonna get all slippery? “What were their titles?” I asked in a neutral tone. “Maybe I’ve heard of them.”
“There was a lot of European stuff…” I fixed her with a critical eye, peering at her with an intensity that caused her to shrink back a bit further into the couch. “Okay, fine!” she finally blurted defensively. “I did porn, I was a porn star!”
“Oh… Oh!” I don’t know why I was so shocked – after all this was California, and Hollywood was the world capitol of sex films and sexually promiscuous women – but for some reason I had trouble reconciling the little girl sitting in front of me with the industry. “I’m… sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I stammered.
“No, I’m used to it,” she snapped. “I just don’t talk about it ‘cause most people instantly assume that I’m a turbo slut whore junkie trading sex for crack. Just like you just did.” Her tone made it apparent that she was pissed and that it was a deep-seated anger that was as much a part of her personality as her favorite color. She dropped – slammed, more like – her wineglass down on the coffee table and glared at me. “We can’t all be super-spec-fucking-tacular mainstream actresses like you,” she added, her words containing a low growl. “Some of us can only bring holes to the table, ‘n you gotta do what you gotta do in order to survive. I fucked for cash… deal with it.”
“Look, really, I didn’t mean anything,” I quickly insisted as I held up a defensive hand. “Really, it’s fine…” I could feel my heart start to beat a little faster in my chest and realized that I was becoming scared. Scared that she would leave and I’d be all alone again in my Hell of a new life… Scared that she’d be so angry that she’d attack me or something… Scared that she wouldn’t sleep with me wait, What?!? I knew that it was insane, I knew that it wasn’t how it had been in reality, but I couldn’t get the image of Brit out of my mind, her nude six-year-old body gleaming as she lowered herself down on a stiff, hard, adult-sized cock. Logically I was aware that she had been an adult porn star before – this whatever happened to us, but in my mind I had her fixed as a pre-teen kiddy porn starlet, having sex with grown men while the cameras rolled. “I’m sorry I asked, I’m sorry that I pushed, really, it’s nothing…” I stammered as I tried to force the imaginary images out of my head. Of course, the growing slick in my own six-year-old pussy made that particular task difficult…
Brit herself was panting slightly, looking almost as flustered as I felt as she glowered at me. I noticed that she was flushed and had a thin sheen of perspiration on her bare skin that almost glimmered in the lamplight of the living room, and as my pulse roared in my ears I warred against the desire to simply lean forward and taste her skin… “Don’t judge me,” she whispered.
“I’m not, I swear…” Brit on the bed rolling her hips with a thick man-cock lodged inside her painfully stretched slit and another two in her hands and a fourth pressing its way between her flat little-girl asscheeks… “I don’t… I’m not…”
Her discomfort seemed to grow right before my eyes, and in a sudden movement that startled me she unfolded her legs and leapt off the couch. “I… I’m gonna go pee,” she mumbled as she backed away a few steps, spun, and dashed back towards the bedroom in a delicate patter of tiny feet. I followed her with my eyes as she vanished into the dim hallway, feeling so fucking horny, so unbelievably aroused that I thought I would go insane. My nipples were so hard they actually hurt a little bit, and I was afraid that I would drool girly-juices onto the sofa if I didn’t keep my thighs tightly closed. I peered around the room wildly as I tried to get myself under control, but it was hopeless and I knew that there was only one thing that could satisfy my half-drunk arousal…
I glanced back into the hall and couldn’t see her, so I decided to take the chance. I brought my fingers up to my chest and flicked my nipples, stifling a squeak of pleasure as the hyper-sensitive nubbins sent sparks of erotic energy flashing through my body. I flicked them again as I bit my lip, then again, and then pinched them lightly as I tugged, each action sending me higher and higher. The entire room seemed to be spinning as I continued to worry one nipple with my left hand while I dropped my right down to my lap. The pink tee slid up easily until it was bundled at my waist, and my fingers slipped down as I slightly parted my legs. My clit was just as hard and sensitive as my nipples but even more so, and the second my pads made contact I almost squirted right there! I started to stroke myself, each worry of my button sending lightning bolts of pure pleasure roiling through my tummy. I added a second finger, bracketing my clit as I let my legs slip further apart, my mind filled with images of Brit-the-porn-star taking generic cock after generic cock in her pussy as ill-defined man after ill-defined man fucked her and used her tiny pre-teen body…
I reclined back against the arm of the couch and spread my legs even wider, giving myself even greater access to my pre-teen hole. As I let my mind wander I realized with a tiny start that things were… different. It was weird – I thought that I knew what I wanted, thought I knew what would get me off. Normally I would retire to my bedroom, turn off the lights and climb under the covers, and worry my stiff little clit until I tensed and twitched and came. When I did that I would usually imagine whoever floated into my mind, usually the hunkiest flavor-of-the-month, all ripped and muscley and gleaming, and I tried to push my thoughts in that direction. But unlike the previous times I masturbated I found that my thoughts were going elsewhere… I was so aware of myself, so aware of my little-girl body and the sensations flowing through it that every time I tried to imagine someone specific they were just washed away in a tidal wave of other desires. I wanted – no, I needed to feel something big, something firm, something hard just being pressed inside my body. No! I firmly told myself – while I didn’t necessarily mind being penetrated, I was more of a clit girl… so when my eyes darted over and fixed on the empty wine bottle and I idly wondered how it would feel to grab it and shove the neck inside myself I actually felt a little afraid. It’s not too thick but it looks hard! I idly noted as I ran my eyes up and down its length. At six inches it would go deep, and best of all it got wider the further down it went which meant that it would stretch my little-girl pussy out so wonderfully… Wait, what the fuck?!? I sat back up and shook my head in shock as I forced the image – or what I imagined to be the image – of shoving the hard glass up inside my pussy. No I DON’T like that, I don’t WANT that! Stop, just refocus… Slowly I sank back to my reclining position and slipped my fingers back down to my clit, digging into my memories to find a hard-bodied stud muffin, imagining him wrestling me onto the couch, forcing my legs apart, forcing me to take every inch of his mammoth, throbbing cock into my tiny little cunny, holding me down as he fucked me…
I didn’t want to imagine it, but it was just so hot, so unbelievably fucking arousing that I couldn’t help myself. My fingertips were a blur of motion across my tiny, stiff clit as I sighed and moaned and squirmed just a bit. I dipped my digits down and slid them between my non-existent lips as I imagined him slapping me, and the sensation of my fingertips glancing across my magically-reformed cherry caused me to jerk. A tiny part of my soul was a bit sickened by my desires – I had been date-raped a couple of times over the years (really, what girl working in the industry hadn’t?) and was hurt and sickened each time it happened, but right then, right in that moment, the idea that I would be helpless to prevent whatever generic-stud-guy wanted to do to me was making me so wet! My other hand fluttered up to my chest and twisted my right nipple through the thin fabric of the tee, and the sharp shocking pain combined with the fiery pleasure between my legs to push me even higher. “Yeah, do it!” I hissed as I pressed my hand against my cunt, working my clit with the heel of my palm as I stroked the entrance to my pre-teen sex and switched my twisting grip to my other nubbin. “Make me take it, make me your bitch!” The specifics of the guy had faded and he had just become a generic figure, nothing more than a shadowy figure abusing me, and when the image of Brittany’s face flashed through my mind for a split-second I was a bit disturbed but I was too far gone, too lost in my own lusts to worry about my perverse turn.
I was close, so fucking close! All I could think of was huge, massive things being shoved inside of me, filling me completely, filling me up so fully that I was afraid I was going to rip open. Cocks, wine bottles, dildos, anything, everything, all inside of me, inside, Brittany, Brittany’s face, Brittany’s hand pressing against my cunt, pushing deeper, pushing in all the way, I’m tied up and tied open and she’s fisting me and I can’t do a fucking thing to stop her oh GOD this is so fucking HOT…
I was teetering right on the edge when I became aware of a presence. Maybe she had made a small noise that cut through the haze of my sexual imagery, maybe I just sensed another presence near me while I was pleasuring myself – it really didn’t matter. My eyes snapped open and I looked up, looked into the face of Brittany leaning with one hip against the back of the couch. The little blonde porn star hand slipped her hand under the hem of her oversized tee and was stroking herself, her eyes wide as she peered down at me. From where I was I couldn’t see anything specific… her hand was blocking my view of anything good, but the clenching and twisting of her hand told me that she was pleasuring herself. But I knew that she could see everything, see my fingertips dipping into my tiny, white-hot slit and poking my cherry, see my hairless pussy displayed between my wide-thrown legs, and that was all it took. I jerked once, twice, three-four-five-six-seven times and then I was cumming, my little-girl pussy clenching and gripping and undulating as it worked to draw the gallons of spunk it was convinced was being poured into my cunt, and everything around me shrank until all I could see were blue eyes locked with mine, and then even those started to fade but not before her irises grew wide and black and I knew she was cumming too, we were cumming together, two women in little girl bodies pleasuring themselves to each other, and it was perfect, so perfect as my orgasm was truly titanic, far harder than anything I had experienced in years…
After what felt like an eternity I slowly started to come back into myself. The first thing I noticed was the sheer scent of little-girl pussy filling my nostrils – most of it was mine, a familiar scent that I had dimly forgotten after years as an adult but was instantly recognizable as my own sweet slick, but there was an undercurrent of another scent that I instinctively knew was Brittany’s, a mouth-watering combination of sweet little girl and dripping pussy smell that made me just want to breathe it in forever. My eyes fluttered open to fix on the little blonde half-laying across the back of the couch, beads of perspiration on her forehead as she trembled through the last few spasms of her orgasm, and she looked so beautiful in that moment that all I wanted to do was kiss her, to kiss her deep and taste her lips, and oh my FUCKING GOD what is WRONG with me…
The knowledge of what I had done, of what Brittany had watched me do, hit me like a punch to the gut, and a tsunami of embarrassment and humiliation and self-loathing washed over my soul. Instantly I yanked my hand from between my legs and snapped my thighs shut, flipping the hem of my tee down over my shame as I blushed and looked away from her. “Don’t look at me,” I whimpered in shame as I felt tears fill my eyes. “Don’t…”
“Leila,” she murmured softly, and when I returned my gaze to her I could see the matching embarrassment and humiliation and self-loathing and shame in her eyes. “I…” She swallowed, sniffed, and then threw herself off the back of the couch and dashed down the hall to the bedroom. I sat up just as her tiny little backside and heels vanished through the door, and the slam of wood-on-wood frame told me all I needed to know.
It was all too much… I sank back onto the cushions, curled into a ball, and sobbed. “What’s wrong with me?” I sniffed as tears rolled down my cheeks. “What the fuck is wrong with me?!?”
In my misery, no answers came. I cried for a long, long time – until there were no more tears to cry.
We spent the rest of the day avoiding each other. What else could we do? Between our traumatic transformations, the inexplicable arousal that seemed to roar through our bodies every other hour, and the sheer lack of knowledge of what was happening outside coupled with the knowledge of what was likely lurking beyond the walls of my house, we couldn’t actually think of anything that didn’t involve twisted, kinky sex or horrific, murderous violence – and I knew that I didn’t want to deal with either of those particular topics right then! Brittany stayed back in the bedroom while I stayed in the living room, both of us silently deciding that the hallway was some sort of no-woman’s land while we tried to comprehend what we had each become and what we had watched each other do. For most of the rest of the day we just stayed apart and… dealt.
I quickly decided that that might have been the best idea in the entire history of the world, given my perverse urges. A few hours after Brittany had caught me fingering myself the desires returned, and though I tried to fight it, tried to think of something, anything other than sex, it was a losing battle. This time I slouched low on the couch, carefully balancing my flat, little-girl ass on the front of the cushion while propping my heels on the edge, three big ornamental pillows behind my back to keep me somewhat upright. I could do nothing to stop myself from letting my knees fall open again to expose my pre-teen cunt and my fingers from working my clit until I dribbled my girly juices onto the carpet below, my eyes flicking around my living room, darting from phallic item to phallic item as my sex-washed brain imagined how it would feel to cram them up inside of me – and my orgasm was so mind-blowingly fantastic that I actually blacked out for a few seconds before regaining consciousness and allowing myself another shame-fueled crying jag.
Things only got worse from there. Mid-afternoon I broke down yet again and became a perverted slut, this time succumbing to my fantasies and working the neck of the empty wine bottle into my six-year-old pussy. It was a tight fit and I hesitated for a second when the hard, rounded mouth pressed against my hymen – but the urges weren’t to be denied, and I bit my lip so hard that I re-split the gash as I took a grip on the base and pushed firmly. The pressure increased and I started to whimper, and then with a suddenness that shocked me my cherry tore open and I moaned involuntarily as my little-girl pussy was suddenly filled with glorious hard. I only managed to wedge about three inches or so inside before the bottle widened too far, but between the perverse twisted feel of something filling my pre-teen fuckhole combined with the painful stretching of my entryway I was in pervert heaven. “Oh fuck yeah,” I whimpered as I twisted the bottle a bit and felt it slide and scrape deep against the walls of my vag, “that’s it, that’s it!” I slowly pulled it out and actually twitched a mini-orgasm of bliss, and then just as slowly slid it back inside of me. In and out, in and out, twist and roll, pump, I brought my knees up to my armpits as I used one hand to work the wine bottle in and out of me while worrying my clit with the other, feeling both gloriously nasty and ashamed at the same time, and in less than a minute I tore another titanic orgasm from my tiny body and lay gasping on the couch, trying to reconcile the fact that I was behaving in such a depraved manner and hating myself for doing so while at the same time reveling in the sensations my twisted act of self-love brought forth within me.
I checked the phone every ten minutes, but nobody ever answered. Every twenty minutes I had to fight the little fantasies that would rear up in my mind whenever my gaze fell on something big and hard and vaguely cock-shaped and I would wonder how it would feel to have it shoved inside my body – but fortunately I could fight the urges if I had something to distract me, which constantly scrolling through three hundred sixty non-working channels on the television certainly did. The empty wine bottle was my make-shift lover once more that afternoon, but unlike the previous self-abuse sessions this time I only felt numb after my orgasm – maybe it was the fact that my emotions had simply run out, maybe part of me was coming to terms with my perversions, whatever. The fact is that I simply stared at the bottle protruding out of my six-year-old pussy as I trembled and shivered and twitched in my post-orgasmic warmth, torn between reveling in my newfound sexual stimulation and revolted at what I was becoming… what I had become.
Of course, given the relatively cramped quarters in which we were residing, there was no possible way that Brit and I could avoid each other forever. She was the one to break the deadlock, just before six – I was on the couch trying very, very hard not to think about the fact that I had to pee very, very badly, and I had just reached the point where I was seriously considering skittering onto the porch and hanging my bare backside over the railing when I heard a quiet little noise from the hallway. I turned to see my little blonde houseguest lurking in the gloom, peering at me with her wide blue eyes. “Hey,” she simply said, giving me a little nod before blushing and looking away.
“Hey,” I replied just as simply. The little blonde porn star had slipped her hand under the hem of her oversized tee and was stroking herself, her eyes wide as she peered down at me... The memory of her watching me masturbate and my own display of lewdness flashed through my mind, and I too blushed and looked away. “Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” She took a deep breath, paused, and slowly stepped into the living room, moving almost as if she thought the floor was tissue paper that would break the second she put too much weight on it. “I…” she began before grinding to a halt. She took another moment to gather her thoughts, and then brought her eyes straight up to mine. “I’m sorry I acted like a little bitch before,” she apologized. “I’m… I always think that people are going to give me shit whenever they find out I do porn.”
“I wasn’t, I swear to God I wasn’t,” I insisted. Oh thank GOD she doesn’t want to talk about… “I’m sorry I pried, it’s really none of my business. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Okay, whatever. We’ll talk about it more later.” She took another step in, and then another, and then started to make her way to the couch. “I’m getting kinda hungry, and I bet you gotta piss like a racehorse.”
“I do! Thanks!” I flashed the tiny blonde a quick, grateful smile and darted past her, making a beeline straight for the toilet. Five quick minutes later and I returned, my hands washed clean and a very large bladder issue taken care of, to find her sitting on ‘her end’ of the couch, leaning forward as she cycled through the channels on the television. “Nothing on?” she asked.
“No, it’s been dead all day.” I was about to say more but then I noticed something that caused my heart to freeze in my chest… my wine bottle had been moved! I clearly remember placing it off to one side on the edge of the coffee table after the second time I had pushed it inside myself, half-wanting to throw it as far from me as possible while half-wanting to keep it close at hand the next time my perverted urges struck. However, in the time that I had been in the bathroom it had moved more towards the center of the table… I think. Did I place it there? I wondered as I took my seat again and tried to look at Brit out of the corner of my eye. Or did SHE move it? Does she know what I’ve been doing?!? I tried not to tremble as I glanced at the bottle and noted that there was a tiny sheen of Leila-oil completely covering the neck, proof of my sickness – but did Brit know what it was, what I had been doing? I glanced back at her and saw that she was totally ignoring me, the bottle, everything except the cycling channels. “I think most stations are off the air,” I added as I tried to maintain my cool while secretly trembling inside. She KNOWS what a freak I am…
“Well, fuck.” The blonde girl grumbled as she dropped the remote on the table, hopped off the couch, and padded into the kitchen. “I’m really hungry, I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat since last night,” she declared. I took the opportunity to grab my makeshift dildo and stash it under the end table next to me, moving quickly so that I could be just sitting innocently when she turned around again and somehow managing to succeed. “What do you have?” she asked as she pulled open the refrigerator.
“I don’t really know,” I admitted. “I don’t really do all that much cooking myself… I just never seemed to have the time.” Once I had hidden my spur-of-the-moment sex toy I managed to calm myself down just enough to think – and realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually used the kitchen as anything other than a place to store wine bottles and cereal bars. “Actually, I have no idea what I’ve got, it’s been so long since I had to think about it,” I added with a little frown.
“Huh, sounds like me.” Brit flashed me a quick grin, turned, and bent over to peer into the fridge… and I quickly averted my eyes as her pose emphasized her slim, narrow, flat backside through the back of her long tee. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to look – rather, I noticed just how much I wanted to stare at Brit’s six-year-old ass! It was tiny and bony and had absolutely no curve to it, looking absolutely nothing like a mature woman’s – or my own, pre-change. “I’m not seeing much in here,” she said as she shifted slightly and I had to fight to keep my mouth from watering as her ass shifted beneath the fabric. “I think I see a container of take-out…”
“I wouldn’t,” I advised with a tiny grimace. “I think that’s been in there since April.”
“I see an open jar of olives, a tiny little bottle of pink champagne, ‘n a container with something green and fuzzy in it.” She closed the door, opened the freezer above her, and stood on her tip-toes to peer in. “’N up here there’s nothing but ice cubes and film.” Brit let the door swing shut as she peered up at the cabinets above the counter. They were kind-of out of reach back when I was normal – but as I was only five feet tall as a grown woman, most things were. But now, as we were both somewhere between three and four feet tall, they may as well have been on the moon… “You got a stepstool or something?” she asked.
“Yeah, crammed in beside the fridge,” I replied. “But it won’t do any good, there’s nothing to eat up there. I know.”
“Well, fuck.” The girl stood glaring at the cabinets of a second with her fists on her hips, and then stomped back to the living room. “I’m so fucking hungry,” she whined as she threw herself on the couch, and I was struck at just how bratty she looked in that moment – like a little girl who’s been told she can’t have something. I idly wondered if I would look like that if I whined as she slouched down and rested her feet on the coffee table. Her maneuver sent her tee riding up.... way up, exposing ever inch of her thin, skinny legs. They were pale (nowhere near as bony-white as my legs) and smooth, with none of the lines or creases or spider veins that women tend to get the second they turned thirty. As Brit continued grumbling quietly I let my gaze slide up to where the edge of the tee barely rested just below the cleft between her thighs – and then gave myself a mental slap as I started wondering just what her tiny, six-year-old slit looked like. Focus! I shouted to myself as I pulled my eyes back up to her face, just in time to meet hers. “We’re going to need food,” she remarked. “Aren’t you hungry too?”
“I’m not too bad.” I suddenly realized that I had pretty much survived on only water and wine since the evening before – and naturally that was the point at which my stomach growled, a mid-range whine of emptiness that seemed to go on forever. I looked at Brit, and she looked at me… and we both broke down into a series of giggles. “Okay, I’m starving!” I admitted.
“Yeah. Maybe dip into your Earthquake Kit?” she suggested. “You’ve got one, right?” At my guilty look she sighed. “Lemme guess… You just didn’t get around to putting one together.”
“I did,” I insisted. “It was in my car. Which is now on its roof in a canyon somewhere.”
“Well, fuck. What do we do now?”
I wasn’t sure. My old life hadn’t exactly been given to home life… In truth the living room and the bedroom (and bathroom) were pretty much the only places in my house that I actually used on a regular basis. There was a spare bedroom that I literally used for nothing more that storage, a kitchen that acted more as a ‘fly over’ room between the garage and the living room, and a full basement that I hadn’t been down to in over a year. I had shelves down there, big, heavy industrial things that I had a bunch of workmen install back about eight years ago that I intended to use, but life had simply gotten in the way and to the best of my knowledge they were empty. The complete lack of options led me to the last one left, and I grimaced a bit as I shook my head. “We… might not have any choice,” I decided. “We’ll have to hit up one of the neighbors’ houses, see if they’ve got anything.”
“Oh, I don’t fucking think so,” Brit declared emphatically as she made a face. “I am so not leaving this place!”
“I don’t think we have any choice,” I pointed out. “We need food.”
She looked like she wanted to fight, but instead she merely sighed a world-weary sigh and seemed to sag even limper. “I know. I fucking hate it, but I know.” The blonde sighed again and flipped her ponytail over her shoulder as she glared at the kitchen, and then returned her sulking gaze to me. “I wish I had a gun or something,” she declared. “I probably wouldn’t hit anything, but it would make me feel better if I have to go panhandling door-to-door.”
“Me too. But we don’t have one,” I explained. “But on the other hand, I do have some pretty big knives over there,” I added as I half-nodded towards the kitchen. “We could probably fuck something up pretty good with them.”
“There’s that!” she replied, her tone a bit brighter. She glanced at the curtain screening the window behind the mostly dead television, over at the larger curtain concealing the plate-glass door to the porch, and then sighed again. “I also wish I knew what the fuck was happening!” she declared.
“You couldn’t see anything from the bedroom window?” I asked.
“Nothing but trees. Besides, I was too busy dealing with some other stuff to think much about looking outside. As I’m sure you were too,” she added as she gave me a teasing smile. Her grin grew wider as I blushed and looked away, and she laced her fingers behind her head with a self-satisfied smirk. “Nailed it,” she snickered.
“You said you’d stop being a bitch,” I teased back… and then tried to think, if for no other reason than to take my mind off my day so far. The television had been out since this morning, everyone I tried calling never answered their phones (when I was lucky enough to get a clear enough signal that would allow me to connect, that is), and the internet was simply not working. I glanced at the curtains across from us, debated some more, and finally decided. “Let’s…” I swallowed as a sudden spike of fear flashed through me, and worked to push it down. “We might be able to see what’s happening from the porch, at least down in the city,” I suggested.
The look on her face told me what she thought of that particular idea. “But… that’s outside!” she pointed out. “What if… he’s still out there?”
“We should be safe,” I countered. “There’s no easy way to get onto the porch from outside, that’s the way the builder designed it. If he wanted to get up there he’d have to be able to jump, like, fifteen feet straight up to get to us.”
She thought about it – really, really thought about it, trying to come up with anything idea that didn’t involve going outside. But ultimately she ended up coming to the same conclusion as I did, and gave up searching for an alternative. “I think it’s a fucking retarded idea,” Brit finally said with a sigh and a grimace. “But okay, you’re right. Let’s do it.”
We levered ourselves up and off the couch, padded over to the curtain… and, after a minute or two to steel our nerves, I pulled it open. Almost instantly I regretted the action, because outside was a vision of Hell on Earth. Fires were burning everywhere across the city landscape, from the gentrified boutique stores at the bottom of the hill to the ghettofied slums to the east. Everything looked dim and dark even though it wasn’t even evening yet, but that was probably because the sky was a solid sheet of roiling black smoke, thick and oily and evil-looking, a sooty blanket that covered everything from horizon to horizon. From where we stood we could just see the skyscrapers of downtown, and my eyes picked out the U.S. Bank Tower, the Bank of America Center, and Two California Plaza, the three flickering like birthday candles as flames licked up through them and turned their roofs into burning torches. A little closer to us our view of the streets below were largely hidden by the thick, lush green trees that we Californios seemed to plant everywhere we go, but every so often we could catch movement as a tiny, ant-sized figure dashed between us and a burning building. “Oh, fuck,” I whispered as a cold chill settled in my soul.
“I think fuck is too light a word,” Brittany opined from beside me as she leaned a bit closer.
Even though I had pleasured myself with Mister Pinot just over an hour before I felt a vague stirring deep in my tummy as my sex-crazed womb realized that there was another human being nearby, and I scowled faintly as I shoved the feelings aside. With one trembling hand I unlocked the sliding door and opened the glass pane, taking an almost hesitant step out onto the porch. The heat of the late-afternoon California summer instantly draped over me like a heavy blanket but it was thicker than usual, an almost caustic chemical brew from the fires in the city below that burned my sinuses and tore a tiny little hacking cough from the back of my throat. “Jesus,” I muttered as I slipped the collar of my pink tee up over the lower half of my face and took another cautious step outside. The way the patio had been designed there was almost no way to get onto it from outside the house – part of the whole ‘Fear of Hippie Psycho Murderers’ motif that governed the rest of the place – unless one was willing to perform some complicated gymnastics and trust in luck not to tumble down the embankment below, but I was still careful enough to glance to either side just to be sure. To the left, nothing but treetops… To the right, the same. Another cautious step (to one side to avoid my hot tub), and then I moved on over to the railing.
Los Angeles was… Well, the city was dying a slow, agonizing death. Downtown was dark in the gloom of the early evening, smoke-choked air, the only illumination coming from the hundreds of fires that seemed to burn everywhere I looked. From the railing I could see that the rest of the city was falling apart as well – almost immediately below it seemed like Hollywood was burning as buildings were reduced to charred rubble, while to the east I could see flames rising as a series of studio warehouses were consumed. The sight of the plane crash early that morning stood like an angry, smoking scar across the face of the city, while hazy smoke made everything seem like it was in a fog. The sights were bad enough, but it was the sounds that got to me… There seemed to be a dull rushing like a sullen wind that was being pulled over the house and sent the treetops whipping around, while this almost angry snarl fought with the near-constant sound of gunfire and explosions to see which could be more disturbing. “Holy fuck,” I whispered as I fought to keep my trembling legs standing upright.
“Oh my God…” She had been so quiet – or I had been so enthralled at the burning city laid out before me that I hadn’t noticed her arrival – but as she joined me at the wooden railing she couldn’t help but blurt out her horror that was laid out before us. “It’s all… burning,” she whispered. We watched, helpless to do anything at all, as in the distance yet another fireball, likely from a gas station or something similar, whoomfed into existence and went skyward, trailing a column of inky black smoke that reached for its home in the sky. “Is the door locked?” she asked in a nervous voice.
“Yes, definitely,” I replied in an equally fear-filled voice. “I checked, earlier.”
“Good.” We both started and hunched over as a series of gunshots, a sharp and far-too-close-for-comfort string of BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM, rang out on the other side of the house, but when nothing happened we slowly straightened and resumed our death watch. “It’s coming apart,” Brit remarked miserably. “It’s all… It…”
“We… Let’s go back inside,” I suggested. “There’s nothing left.”
I was about ready to tug on her sleeve, to urge her back inside so that we could come up with a Plan B, when the blonde suddenly stiffened. “OhmyGAWD look!” she blurted, thrusting her arm out and pointing with her finger. I followed her line of sight down to West Hollywood, the center of the basin’s LGBT community and home to many prominent landmarks. Through the haze I strained to see dark figures and a couple of vehicles moving down the street, a brilliant flash was followed almost instantly by a loud boom that temporarily drowned out the gunfire and explosions, and during a momentary break in the smoky fog I caught a glimpse of what looked like a tank! “Look!” Brit exclaimed excitedly, almost jumping up and down as she pointed. “Look look look!”
“I see it!” Her happiness was infectious, and I too began to feel positive for the first time since this – thing – happened. “It’s gotta be the government, the military,” I added as I leaned forward and tried to make out more detail. “There’s someone else out there, someone doing something!”
“They’re fucking fighting back is what they’re doing!” Brit replied. The tank fired again at a target obscured by buildings, but evidently they hit their target because another loud explosion followed by a massive fireball exploded down the Sunset Strip. “Yeah!” the blond girl cheered, grasping the railing and leaning forward in excitement. “Go Army!”
“Jesus, it’s a fucking war down there!” I commented as another vehicle moved forward slightly and a series of bright flashes were followed almost instantly by the rat-a-tat-tat staccato stutter of a machine gun. “They’re blowing the Strip to pieces!”
“Naw, that just means they’re getting things put back together,” Brit disagreed in a triumphant tone. “Creative destruction, ‘n all that shit!” I opened my mouth to reply but instantly froze as she reached out and grasped my bicep for support as she leaned out even further. Oh my fucking GOD that feels so fucking GOOD… I tore my gaze from the scene below and moved my attention to her, just to see her gazing at me with something like shock in her eyes… and almost instantly the moment was gone. The little girl blushed furious and whipped her head around, tearing her gaze from mine as she slid back down to stand on the deck, yanking her hand away from my arm as if she was afraid of being burned. “If they’re getting shit put back together, we’ll probably be able to get out of here in a few hours, find some sort of relief center or something,” she added as she took a half-step away from me and gripped the railing so tight her knuckles turned white.
That brief, split second moment of skin-on-skin contact caused all my sexual confusion and sheer personal terror to roar back to life in my soul, and I refused to look at her but instead stared out at the city through sightless eyes as a war raged within me. Oh GOD is she coming on to me? I wondered. Is she gay? She did porn, so maybe she’s bi. Or was it lesbian porn? Is she GAY?!? Everything was so confusing, from the feelings coursing through my body to the knowledge of what I had become, what I was becoming, what I wanted, what I needed, I just didn’t know anymore! Am I gay? I asked myself. No, I’m not, I NEVER felt anything for another girl before! My mind flashed back to literally the one and only time I had come close – kissing another girl at a high school party the weekend before I moved out to California. I felt absolutely nothing then, and every offer to join the Sapphic Sisterhood I had received from the Hollywood Power Dyke community had done absolutely nothing to arouse any interest in swinging that way. I’m not gay, I can’t be! I never have been in my life! So why the hell am I feeling all this stuff for her?!? I placed my forearms on the railing and leaned forward slightly, trying not to think about her, about Brit standing right next to me, so close that I could reach out and touch her if I wanted, touch her pre-teen, immature body, a body that was just like mine and probably had the same wants needs desires lusts as I did, would she like it if I put a wine bottle in HER pussy or my fingers… I didn’t know. I couldn’t know! But my confused uncertain lusts were certainly made worse when Brit leaned close, put her hand on the small of my back she’s TOUCHING me oh GOD that feels so good and pointed down into the brush below us. “Oh fuck,” she hissed in a slight panic, “look!”
I glanced down to see one of those – things – in the brush far below us! I hissed in fear as I peered at his naked form and for a moment I felt a flash of fear cut through the sexual fog clouding my mind, and a part of me wanted to run back inside and hide under the covers… but it was just what I needed to get my head back on straight, and I managed to stay where I was. I had no idea if it was the same thing from last night, or this morning – it might have been, but between the dim light of the smoky sky and his distance beneath us I couldn’t be sure. He was impaled on a broken tree, the wood pained a dark color as it thrust up straight through his abdomen, but he was still alive. As I watched he raised his head in our direction and I heard a faint hissing growl, weak and barely audible over the chaos of the city. Slowly, almost painfully slow he reached a hand up towards the pair of us and for a moment I thought he was asking for help, but then his fingers curled into claws and I realized that he was struggling to reach us, to claw at us! “How the Hell is he still alive?” I wondered rhetorically. “With that thing through him, he should be dead!”
“Oh, that is so fucking gross!” Brit leans forward a bit further, balancing herself on her hands as she lifted her feet off the deck, and I acted without thinking and automatically grabbed her hips to keep her from toppling over the railing… and the result was electric! In less than a second I felt my pussy slick up and my nipples become so hard that they hurt, and I stifled a squeak of surprise as I yanked my hands away. For her part Brit echoed my squeak as she slipped off the railing and back onto the deck again. She twisted in a single motion to face me and the second that our eye meet I feel like I’m falling into her cool blue orbs. I could see that our physical contact had an effect on her as well – her tiny little nubbins poked through the thin fabric of her tee as an obvious testimony to her arousal, and she stared at me with her mouth hanging open in shock as she flushed. Holy fuck, she’s so HOT!!! my animal brain stammered as it washed all other rational thoughts from my mind. “Lei,” she whispered, her melodic little-girl voice turning the shortening of my name into a loving coo.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. Oh my GOD what is wrong with me… “I didn’t mean to grab you like that!” I wanted so much to kiss her, to lean in and just feast on her lips and taste her tongue, to flick her nipples with my fingertips, to just simply do... things, erotic and lewd and perverse and loving things to her six-year-old body, things I wanted her to do to me! “I’m sorry,” I blurted again as I took a step backwards, terrified of the feelings welling up in my heart. “I’m sorry…”
“Leila, I…”
I couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t deal with any of it! “Uhm… I’ve got to go,” I blurted as I took another step back, and then in a single motion I spun and dashed back into the house. Through the living room, down the hall, I slammed the door behind me as I stood panting in the bedroom. Oh God oh GOD oh GOD… My body had devolved into a thing of pure sexual need, my flesh feeling as though it were on fire and my pre-teen slit drooling a steady, slick stream of oils. All I could think about was Brit, of the sexy little six-year-old blonde porn star, of her body and her pussy and her lips and her nubbins, but I was so afraid that I just couldn’t do anything in real life, but I was burning…
Somehow I found myself on my bed, pushing aside the sheets and comforter and simply kneeling with my knees as far apart as I could manage while remaining upright. My left hand yanked up my tee shirt and held it twisted just below my chest and exposed every part of me from the waist-down, while my right hand flashed down between my thighs. My pussy actually clenched as I made contact with my clit, a tiny pre-orgasm orgasm flashing through my womb as the sensations blasting from my cunny tore a gasping moan of pure bliss from between my lips. Everything down there was so wet that my pads slid easily, and I rolled the hard, pencil-eraser-sized lump of glorious pleasure between my twinned index and middle finger. Dimly, distantly, I was aware that I was so wet that I was dribbling onto the sheet below me but I didn’t care in the least – in that moment all I could think about was Brit on the porch, just inches away from me, tiny and adorable and sweet-smelling and soft and young and female and perfect and experienced and Holy God above I wanted her so bad!!!!!
It felt like I had only just started fingering myself but I was close, racing down the track and almost on the cusp of cumming so hard that I would willing die a permanent death if need be, when my concentration was interrupted as something touched my back! I screamed in fear and threw myself backwards, raising my hands to fend off whatever was going to attack me… but it was only Brittany. “Wha…” I blurted, my mind a confused fog of sexual hormones.
“Leila,” she whispered as she looked down at me.
“I… Don’t…” the knowledge of what she had caught me doing, the humiliation that she knew what I had been doing, threatened to overwhelm my rational mind. “Don’t look at me,” I sniff-sobbed as I screwed my eyes shut and turned my head away. “I’m filth, I’m a slut, don’t look, please…”
She didn’t say anything but instead just crawled a few inches closer… and then I tensed as I felt her fingers stroking my pre-teen cunny! “Leila, it’s okay,” she said quietly, her words cutting through my whimpering moan as she flicked my throbbing clit. “I know, I know what it’s like.”
“I’m so dirty, please don’t…”
“No, it’s okay, really,” she replied. I cracked open my tear-flooded eyes and glanced into her blue gaze, trying not to whimper in a confusing blend of shame and desire as she leaned in. “Please, let me do this for you,” she said as she stroked her fingertips just inside my slick hole. “Please, you’ll love it so much…”
I didn’t want to admit it but my resolve was weakening far too quickly for my comfort. “But I’m not gay,” I sniffed. “I’ve only done guys!”
“I’m not gay either,” she replied with a soft, beautiful smile. “But I’ve done girls for work, so trust me.” She leaned even further until she was so close I could feel the heat of her pre-teen body burning into mine, and brought her lips close to my ear. “I can make you cum,” she whispered.
That did it… The last of my resistance vanished in a heartbeat, and with a moan of defeat I let my body relax and my legs splay open as Brit settled in above me. She stroked my clit once, twice, three times, each slip of her pads against my button sending lightning bolts of pleasure through my cunt, through my heart, and straight into my brain. “Please, do it,” I begged as I felt her fingertips glance between my lips once more. “Please make me cum!”
“Yes!” I felt her breath on my face for an instant and then she kissed me, her lips grazing against mine before circling back and connecting, our kiss growing deeper and our mouths opening automatically as our tongues ventured forth to explore each other’s. At the same time I felt her fingers stiffen and push, push forward, push into me, and with a glorious pressure that I welcomed down to my very soul pushed past the opening to my fuck-hole. The walls of my pussy wrapped tightly around her squirming, probing digits, a brand-new wonderful firmness that felt unbelievably good inside of me – and felt even better when she brought her thumb into the game, worrying my clit while slowly pumping in and out of my cunny. Instinctively I raised my hips to give her more access to me, surrendering completely to the deliciously depraved feelings coursing through my six-year-old body. “Yes,” I gasped again when she moved her lips down to nuzzle the side of my neck, “yes, yes, yes!”
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” she whispered temptingly in my ear.
“Yes!”
“Say it!”
“Yes, it feels so good!” My rational mind was almost gone and Leila Morgan was fading, replaced with a creature that existed only to feel these wonderful feelings! “Don’t stop, keep going, keep going, I’m close!”
“I love fingering your cunt,” she purred as she increased her tempo and my world shrank to nothing more than her flowery words and my white-hot sex. “You’re so wet!”
“Yes!”
“Just let go,” she simply advised. “Let go, and cum. Cum for me!”
There was nothing else I could do… I simply let go. All my shame, all my fears vanished as my canal convulsed, and then again, and then it tightened around her fingers as I toppled over the edge and into the chasm of pure orgasmic bliss. It was so much better than the wine bottle, so much hotter and primal and almost animalistic, and as my consciousness fluttered on the edge of non-existence I wished that I could stay there forever, stay right where I was with Brit’s fingers lodged in my clenching pussy as all my doubts were washed away. Our lips met again, and my last rational awareness was of her moaning in my mouth as I surrendered to my need.
I don’t know how long I was a fuzzy mess, but it couldn’t have been for more than a minute. When my rational mind managed to lurch its way back into reality I found that I was in the same position as I had been, laying on my back with my knees thrown wide open and Brit’s fingers inside of me. The blonde had slid to one side and was nestled against my side, kissing the hollow of my throat as she wormed her other arm behind my shoulders to give me a half-hug. Every bit of fear that I had had, every bit of uncertainty and terror and shame and humiliation was gone, and in their place was only happiness and a sense of satisfaction. “Oh, wow,” I murmured weakly, surprised to hear just how hoarse my own voice sounded in my ears.
“Did you like that?” Brit asked with a soft, gentle smile.
“Uh huh!” I was afraid that if I moved too quickly that my head would fall off my neck, so I gave a careful, tiny nod. “It was… incredible!”
“I’m glad.” She kissed my throat again and then moved her lips up to mine, feasting on my kiss with a wild abandon that at the same time made me feel safe and protected. “All you had to do was ask, y’know,” she added teasingly.
I couldn’t help but blush. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I was just so ashamed of… Of…”
“Hey,” she said firmly, and when I met her gaze she was staring intently into my eyes. “We have to kinda be flexible here, I think,” she opined. “We need to do something about these urges, otherwise we won’t be able to think straight.” She kissed me again and took the opportunity to pull her fingers out of me at the same time, and I could hear the wet squishing sound of my happy pussy under the small moan of pleasure emanating from deep in the back of my throat. “My body is yours, if you need it. If you want it,” she explained. “And you can bet that, from now on, I’m so going to use your body!”
“I… I think I’d like that,” I replied. I worried my lips for a second as I stared up into my new lover’s eyes, unsure where to go from here. “So, what is it that you like?” I asked.
She stared at me… and then Brittany Tanner, the hard-bitten, sexually aggressive, over-experienced porn star actually blushed! “We’ll… I’ll let you know later,” she finally said evasively.
I could only stare at her, and then I gave her a small smile. “Well, that doesn’t sound ominous,” I replied with a wicked gleam in my eye.
“You have no idea.” She hesitated for a second, gave me a quick peck, and then smiled her nasty little smile that was full of promise once more. “This is SO not gonna get complicated,” she said with a snicker.
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. But it was okay, everything was now – getting okay. I can survive this, I decided as I kissed her with tears in my eyes – this time of relief and happiness.
