He began by pressing his meat against her spindly legs. He worked his thick hog up and down her lean thighs. He made sure that the underside of his sweaty penis got a good workout. He took her little hands in his own clammy fingers and pressed her hands down on the dirt. He had her spread out so that she couldn't move very easily. He then took to touching her pussy with the head of his meat.
"Alright," he said after a stroke or two, "I want you to lick me. If you don't, I'll break your fingers one by one. You understand, little girl?"
"Yes," she nodded, "I understand." She blushed because she had dreamt from time to time, even as a child, about sucking on her father's meat. It wasn't the same to be forced, but it was similar. She looked at his big joint and especially at the heart-shaped tip. "Alright," he said, "you can begin."
She leaned down and licked the tip of his penis. Her tongue had never before tasted cock muscle. She wondered what it would feel like. She pressed her outstretched mouth organ against his prick. At first she did it only lightly. But he told her she had to do it harder. In a way she kind of hoped that he would say that. That way she could find out what it was all about. "I think you want to do it just as much as I want you to do it," said the horny old man. "Just go on and help yourself." He held her by the neck and pressed her face and open mouth against his big juicy boner of hog meat. "Go on and do it hard with your tongue, Sharon. I think you'll like it."
She rubbed her tongue up and down his thick meat. She worked her mouth muscle under his dick stick, too. She rode the stiff ridge with her tip, and then she went and sucked on the thick root. She used her spread lips and open mouth to get a good kissing suck-hold on that meaty rod of his, and she had no intention of stopping until he told her she could. He kept her head down there in his crotch for a full fifteen minutes, and still the lecherous old man hadn't had enough. She breathed around his cock shaft until finally he said that she could come up and get ready for the fucking.
"Oh, God," she moaned at him, "I never did that. Won't you please not make me? Please? Please?!?"
"You never gave a blow-job, either," said the old stranger. "But you seemed to enjoy that a great deal." He pushed her out flat on her back and spread her little legs. "I want to get that twat of yours all full of my penis meat. Once I have my erection inside that little tube of yours, then you can tell me if you really don't want to do it, eh?"
He leaned down, though, and put his tongue there first. He pressed his long splayed mouth muscle up against her little clitoris and her thin little labia leaves. "Oh, God," he drooled, "I really do like the looks of your pretty little pussy, my dear. It's delicious. I'm going to ravish your body because you have so nice a twat…" He continued to eat out the twelve year old little girl's hot little pussy slot. He really enjoyed licking her up like that, and Sharon Pettibone couldn't honestly say that she didn't like the feel of that big old tongue rubbing and sliding against her inside lips the way it was… and to show him that she felt that way, she spread her splendid, thin little legs and lifted them up so that the old man could get his hot wet phallic-like mouth muscle into just about every nook and cranny of her pussy. He rubbed at her lips, at her clit, at the creases inside, at the folds around the mound. He took to licking and slopping, even, at her asshole which was also available. It was clean and fresh, the entrance tight and tapered. He enjoyed sliding his mouth muscle up and down between the child's legs almost as much as she had begun to enjoy having it done.
"Oh, God, Mister," she moaned, "I think something's happening."
"Of course something is happening," he said back between long licks. "You're getting nice and hot and juicy. That's what's happening." He reached up along her smooth little stomach and up to the little nubs of developing breast flesh. "Look at those teats of yours. They're up and willing to go. This nice smooth stomach of yours – it's good and flat and hot for rubbing. And your wet little ass hole? It's practically begging for a good little finger rubbing! Of course things are happening: I'm the Marquis De Dover City, and I'll be giving you all the rubbing and sucking and eating and screwing that any twelve year old little girl ever did get!"
It was then that young Sharon Pettibone, not twelve year old Sharon as in the fantasy, but the teenager who had been imagining herself – it was just then that she came slightly to her numbed senses. "Oh, God," she hummed, "I've become so depraved. So debauched. And? And I love it!" She took the twisting dildo out of her pussy and set it aside. She turned around and started licking her arm. She was crazed with lust. She nibbled at her own fingers, licked between her digits. She was crazed with lust. She nibbled at her own fingers, licked between her digits. She went sliding her tongue up and down on her knuckles. She washed her finger tips by sucking them off in her own pursed lips. She stuck one finger up her ass hole and then put it between her lips and sucked harder than ever before. She took the same finger and slid it along her pussy lips and then rubbed it into her nostril. She had no idea what she was doing. She could feel heat coming out of her twat, but she didn't know what it was. She retrieved the dildo and continued sliding it back and forth on her twat lips. She felt her body become electric, super-charged and chilled. Goosebumps climbed her belly and wrapped their way around her firmed breasts and hot sprung nipples. She was ecstatic with self-abuse and abandon. She pushed the mechanical prick down deep between her pussy leaves and felt herself begin to gush. It didn't stop for a full fifteen minutes.
CHAPTER EIGHT – Finger-Fucking Good
When Mr. and Mrs. Pettibone arrived home on Sunday evening, they found their house pretty much as Sharon had left it after no less than five sessions of extraordinary self-abuse. On the livingroom sofa was a stain, a splotch, the size of a watermelon. In the kitchen was the odor of clit juice. Those two rooms, in fact, smelled like a French whore house after six weeks of defilement. The refrigerator door was open, the food stank. The t.v. was on and blaring, as was the new stereo system. The throw rugs were disheveled and tossed here and there on furniture.
As for their bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Pettibone couldn't believe their eyes. They discovered their daughter Sharon sprawled out nude with a dildo still vibrating, laying by her side. From her twat leaked a trickle of juice, and in her left hand was a puddle of melted lime jello. The sheets to her left were stained with chocolate pudding. The phone was off the hook and the bedspread was tossed halfway out the window. Sharon was half-conscious. "Hi Mom, hi Dad," she mumbled, and she flicked the machine off. "I guess I fell asleep."
The next morning Mr. Pettibone escorted his daughter to a clinical psychologist who gave Sharon both a physical and mental examination. He found nothing wrong with her physically, but he was rather concerned about her sexual attitudes and fantasies: "I don't quite understand," said Dr. Rooker, "how it is that you are so interested in masturbating yourself, Ms. Pettibone."
"Either that or getting it for real," said young Sharon as she buttoned her blouse. She didn't blush. "I mean really, Doctor Rooker, what would you have me do? I'm a young horny adolescent and I like jacking myself off. I don't know any boys that I really like, and I kind of enjoy sex a lot. So I lay back in bed or in the bathroom and I get myself hot and bothered. It's fun. I like to use my fingers on my clit. It gives me thrills and chills. You know what I mean? It makes me so damn fucking hot that I can't tell you about it. You know what I'm saying? I like men. I like the idea of getting hot and getting laid. But I don't have any boyfriends. I don't know any young men from school who I would like to suck and fuck with. So I masturbate. Is that so sick?"