For a long and happy year thereafter, little Jackie Quigg was my eager and adoring lover. We had luscious nights together, hour after hour of girly-girl endearments. She liked licking me all over, my ears, my neck, even under the arms. And my face, too, my eyelids and chin and nose – getting a bit playful sometimes and actually prodding my nostrils with that inquisitive little tongue of hers. But it was only inside the crack of my ass that we achieved perfection, a thrill that I could prolong indefinitely or build to a quick climax at will, depending on the time, our margin of safety.
That too was a thrill, the sense of authority, of being in complete control, a thrill in itself. Even aside from her worshipful attitude, I had the added advantage of my age and experience, an edge that filled me with a growing appreciation of the uses of power. (All it lacked was the label, the "Morlock" thing in the making!) And what depravity I would wallow in afterward, delicious, smiling angelically and holding out my corrupt paw to collect payment, money for services rendered…
But alas, our beautiful idyll had to end. Mr. Q's step up the corporate ladder was only to groom him for the next higher rung, it appeared, a management position in another branch, grander but far away. Minneapolis. It might as well have been Moscow! And so we said goodbye, my baby-love and I – a little tongue, a few tears – and that sweet segment of my life drew to a close, leaving me sad if not exactly grief-stricken. At least I had gleaned something out of it, a certain wisdom to sustain me in my loneliness; wasn't it nice to know what to look for?
What to look for. Oh sure, that was easy. But where to find it? Well, even the experienced driller doesn't strike oil every time. And I wasn't that experienced, truth to tell. Worse yet, I had lost most of my old contacts and was starting from scratch, practically, a baby-sitter looking for work. Once the word got around I was in demand again, of course, but that only added to the complications. There were too many offers of a steady deal and I had to keep making up excuses to avoid getting tied down, always on the prowl for a new and better prospect. Only the view got less and less prospective as I weeded out the possibilities one by one, overly critical perhaps but determined to go on searching. Somewhere in this town there was bound to be another little girl to suit my tastes, as cute as Jackie and maybe even as docile. Although my hopes did begin to wane eventually, bolstered only by my unflagging need.
That was when I ran across chubby little Trish Sawyer, no beauty, not even pretty, but vaguely responsive to my teasing overtures. And by that time I had become willing to accept whatever fate handed me, forgoing charm for compatibility, having moved into one of the recently constructed apartment houses, a status somewhat lower than the more solidly entrenched residents. So the youngster had no real friends and seemed pathetically eager to form an alliance with a baby-sitter who didn't treat her like a dumb kid. And by the same token, her parents were overjoyed to have such a reliable sitter on tap, never questioning my judgment about the bedtime hour and such – all in all, a rather promising situation.
I made the most of it. We played games of the roughhouse variety, with much wrestling body-contact. Our own version of hide-and-seek, for instance, when I'd end my search with a pounce and a tumble and a roll on the carpet, all accompanied by much shrieking and childish laughter. Trish was a dumpling of a child, soft and plump and cuddly, a pouty-lipped little butterball who seemed to thrive on such treatment. And it wasn't long before I decided she was ready for something more intimate.
The opportunity came shortly. In the middle of a rough-type game I fell and bumped my fanny hard, noticeably harder than usual, hard enough to make me wince and quit playing. The kid was immediately sympathetic, worried about being the cause of such harm. And with a shade of bravado, I forgot my pain in quest of pleasure.
"Oh, it's not so bad. I've got a well-padded tush, remember? Nice and soft…" It did feel pretty solid in my tight jeans and I rolled over to show off a little. "See? Feel how soft, Trish. Yours will grow big and soft too some day."
Her touch was fleeting, a disappointment; then, "I'll bet mine is softer, you know? Feel it. Tell the truth now."
And all of a sudden there I was on my knees, doing it, running my hands over her fat little ass – and it seemed only natural that her pajama pants should get loose and slide down. And even more natural that I should kiss it, kiss those delectable dimples, and I just went ahead without thinking, pressing my lips to one cheek and then the other.
"Oooh, that feels funny. Do it some more."
I didn't mind. She was real soft and smooth there, and I opened my mouth and kind of nibbled on the flesh gently, a beginning suck-kiss that soon had her trembling in response. It should have been the other way around, of course, that squealing little pouty-mouth should have been worshipping my own ass – but I figured this was better than nothing, a step in the right direction anyway, the first overt introduction of sex in our noisy fun-games. And besides, her pajama bottom had already been taken care of, slipping down with a lot less fuss than my shrunken denim jeans would have needed. With so much going for us, why change now?
Then too, admittedly, I rather liked doing it. Seen from this particular angle, the kid was really quite cute, just a chubby pair of legs topped by a dimpled young ass, softer and ever so much bigger in close-up. She was jutting it back at me, all bent I over from the waist up. We could have gone on like that, neither of us uttering an intelligible word – just little whimpery noises now – but then I got greedy and began to edge my suck-kisses inward, fascinated by the dark dividing line between those dimples. I ducked low and ran my tongue up through her ass-crack, dipping in and swabbing the length of it delicately. And that brought our little scene to an abrupt end, triggering an immediate climax – or at least a reasonable facsimile! – in that young but apparently not too young body. She pulled away, staggering, and barely managed to reach the bed before collapsing in a heap, all shaky and shuddery.
"Loi? Oooh! Something's happening. Nnngg. What is it, what's happening to me?"
"Hush. It's a grownup thing, isn't it nice?"
"Mmm…"
Wisely, I chose not to pursue the issue, soothing her instead with soft-spoken phrases about how good it felt and how sleepy she was getting – and best of all, how we could have more of this secret grownup fun as long as it remained a secret. Oh yes, I was careful to put that across. And by the time she dozed off, I had her purring contentedly and promising complete and wholehearted cooperation in whatever lay ahead.
It was a week before we saw each other again. I wore a short skirt instead of jeans, showing off my shapely legs – sexy without being too obvious about it. Her parents weren't going out until quite late, though, so Trish was already in bed when I arrived on the job. Not asleep yet, her mother said, just a sleepy little girl waiting to tell me good-night. And just this once, would I please be firm and not let her get up? Not even to wave goodbye from the window – an old family custom – it was too dark outside and they were already behind schedule, some ten minutes tardy for their appointment or reservation or some such.
I headed for her room as soon as they left, pausing only to put on some heavier makeup and douse myself with perfume from my purse, purposely brought along for the occasion. Again, as with the switch from faded denim to a real girl-type outfit, it was to make the kid more conscious of me, conscious of my feminine appeal. How could it miss? Even now, the scent had picked up the heat of my body and was rising rapidly, enveloping me in a fog of fragrance, strong, heady, intoxicating – sexy, obvious or not. A ripple of hot urgency skittered up my spine…
"Loi? Oh, there you are. They're gone, hmm?"
"Uh-huh. Just. You're not supposed to wave, though."
"I know. It's okay, I'm kind of sleepy anyhow. I only stayed awake to see you. I mean, uh, after what happened last week…" A note of distraction sounded in the small voice. Then, sniffing, "Hey, you smell nice. Perfume, huh?"
"Imported. You like it?"
"I'll say. Mmm…"
"Want to try some? Here, let me give you a dab or two."
"Okay. But not just a dab. Unless you don't have enough to spare, of course." She rolled face-down, slipping the loose pajama-top halfway off her shoulders in the same movement. "Smear some on the back of my neck, will you? I just love that."
"Uh-huh. Wait. There. Like this?"
"Oooh, yes. Rub it in, rub it in." Her muffled tone faded to a drowsy murmur. "Hands… feel so good…"
"You falling asleep? Honey?"
"Ummm. Almost. But don't stop."
"Who's stopping? I might as well pamper you a little – all part of my job, you know? The customer is always right."
There was silence then, except for the sound of her breathing, regular and rhythmic, far more so than my own. Even the throb of my heart seemed suddenly erratic. Everything had gotten too still, though; was she dropping off already? Just to check, I ceased my kneading motion temporarily and got an immediate wriggle in reply, a peremptory and highly explicit wriggle of her body, undeniably a request for more. If not an outright demand! But regardless, well, I wasn't exactly averse to fulfilling it. Quite the contrary, in fact, and after a while I dipped inside her pajama-top from below, moving gently but eagerly, my palms and fingers spread wide to take in the most territory.
"How's that feel, sweetie?"
"Mmm… nice…"
"Your skin is so soft." I leaned down with bated breath, nuzzling under her hair and pressing a kiss upon the nape of her now-perfumed neck. She allowed it without a sign of either protest or pleasure, and my hands continued their caress, broadening the scope with every stroke. "Is it that soft all over?"
"You ought to know."
"Oh. But that was just a touch. And so long ago. How can I even remember? Ill just have to…"
"Hey! What are you doing?"
"Let me. Let me love you."
"Well…" Then, with a shiver, "Loi!"
"See? Ill be good to you. Darling, let me. You'll like it, you really will. Let me make you happy."
"I-I'm not sure what you mean. I won't know how to…"
"Angel, you don't have to, you don't have to know anything. I'll do it all. I know enough for both of us. I'll kiss you and kiss you and kiss you." Desire turned my voice to a throaty whisper. "Please let me. I'll do everything for you. You'll love it."
"That's all you want? Just to kiss me?"
I trembled, unable to say any more, painfully aware of how self-demeaning my outburst had been. And she wasn't even pretty! How could I have vacated my position of power so thoughtlessly, betrayed by my own emotional instability, and for a fat-assed little mooncalf of a child who lacked even the basic physical attractions? It seemed like a bad dream. Only it was still going on, of course – there were impassioned words on the tip of my tongue, but I had already uttered similar ones. I had begged. On impulse, I had laid bare my lecherous ardor, goaded out of control by the blind frenzy of need. And now, limp and unnerved, I could only hang on and hope for some sign of encouragement.
"Well, if you just want to kiss me…" She reached back, pushing at the waistband of her pajama pants. "Come on, then do it. What are you waiting for?"
Dazed by the unexpected gesture, I stared, gasping, almost unconscious of my already active hands, mechanical hands that raced deftly to make short work of the clinging garment. Then, glowly, like some creature in a trance, I lowered my head. The first touch of my lips on her flesh brought a swift reaction, a lurch of her body that pretty much ended my trancelike state. Her middle came up off the mattress, ramming those plump buttocks against my face. And once again I dallied over the cute dimples, one ass-cheeks, then the other, evidently an appreciative caress that she too appreciated. At least she mentioned it, and that was appreciation of a sort, a compliment for me as well as herself:
"Hey, you do that as if you really like it! I guess you know a good thing, huh? Nice and soft…"
"Ummm. Soft. Kiss it all night." I managed to enunciate my grateful mumble quite clearly, anxious to deliver the flattery intact. "Softest little tush in the world."
"That sounds silly."
"Hmm? Silly?"
"Tush. That's for kids. Or maybe you think I'm still just a baby, huh? Silly. If I'm old enough to get kissed…" Then, almost angrily, "Never mind the kid stuff – that's my ass you're kissing, not my tush. You hear me? Loi? You're kissing my nice soft ass, right? Okay, so kiss it, kiss it, kiss my ass!"
Jolted by her words, I forgot the dimples and licked feverishly, plunging my tongue into the dark furrow and seeking to mire myself in its lewdness. It was lewd, sure as hell, and I felt the same Goddamn way – lewd as that lewd little speech of hers, the lewder the better for both of us; oh shit, what a rush of excitement! She was all humped up high now, knees bent and tucked under her, opening the depths wide to my laving tongue, all but putting the tiny puckered hole on display for me. Not that I needed to be shown where it was, not with that versatile tongue of mine already tensing at the tip and squirming in lewdly…
"Oooh!"
Her childish cry was like a commendation. I fluttered my hot tongue-tip around and around inside the equally hot ring of muscle tissue, intent on overcoming its instinctive shyness, its innate tendency to snap shut against any invader, even a welcome one. And then at last, after another minute or so of moistening and stretching, I squeezed through and took the final plunge, gliding in like the oil-slick piston of an internal combustion cylinder. Just like that, oil-snug now, a fitting climax.
Only it couldn't end there, naturally, that was only a kind of preliminary heat. Talk about internal combustion! It was a wonder we both didn't go up in flame. I had to encircle the kid's ass with my arms and hold on for dear life, otherwise she would have waltzed us right off the bed. Luckily we did more bouncing than waltzing though, all safely within the boundaries of our cozy little playpen, while I licked and sucked and fucked, fuck-fuck-fuck, ravaging that cherubic cherry asshole with my dirty old lesbian tongue…