Chapter 4
STELLA'S THEME
As I searched through the papers to find Candy's and Stella's, a knock on the door interrupted me. I had showered earlier and only had on my terrycloth robe and slippers, so I tightened the belt around the robe and answered the summons. Before I had a chance to halt them, Stella and Candy rushed past me into the room.
"What the hell....!" I stammered.
"Hurry up and close the door before someone sees us," Candy whispered. "We sneaked up the back way to make sure you wouldn't get into any trouble."
"ShiW" I exclaimed. "I'm in trouble already just by you kids coming herer" I hurriedly closed the door and turned to face them. "Now, what in hell do you girls want?"
"See, I told you he would be reading the themes tonight." Candy pointed to the pile of papers on the foot of my bed. "Did you read ours yet?" she asked, starting to finger through the papers.
"You leave those papers alone and get the hell out of here!" I almost shouted. "Those papers aren't supposed to be read by anyone else but me!"
"Have you read ours yet?" Candy insisted, ignoring my command to leave.
"How in hell would I know if I read yours?" I was getting impatient. "The themes are all unsigned and are typed."
"No, he hasn't read ours yet, Stella," she winked at her buddy. "He'd know it if he'd read ours! Here, let's try and find them for him," she went on, shuffling through the stack of themes.
I started to interfere, but my robe began to fall open and I became too busy with the belt to stop them.
"Here's mine," Candy exclaimed. "Now let's see if we can find yours, Stella." They rummaged through the pile and then turned to me triumphantly with two of the themes in their hands.
"Okay, okay, you win," I said resignedly. "I'll read them next. Now will you two demons get out of here before someone finds out I have two adolescent nymphomaniacs in my room ... please?"
"Oh, no," Candy insisted, sitting on the bed. "We're not leaving until you've read both our stories, are we, Stella?" She patted the bed next to her hips and Stella sat down beside her, both girls grinning triumphantly.
They knew I could not make a fuss, because they were wise enough to realize that no one would believe my story. Just being dressed the way I was could have convinced anyone that I was lying if I said the girls forced their way in. I consented to read the themes, provided both girls would stay seated where they were and be absolutely quiet. I took up Stella's to read first. It was quite a theme. It read like this:
When I was ten years old, I raped our family dog. Well, I guess I really didn't rape him because he was sure willing, but we did have intercourse. This is what happened.
Our dog Butch, like all male dogs, always kept putting his nose in between my legs and trying to smell my crotch. One afternoon while I was home alone reading on my bed, Butch jumped up on the bed and started to sniff around my crotch as usual. Usually I would have pushed him away and scolded him, but this time I happened to be in the middle of a very hot love-story in a teenage lovers' magazine.
When Butch put his nose to my crotch and sniffed, it felt good and I sort of rubbed my legs together. I was lying there in just my panties, and Butch started to lick the place between my legs. I guess he smelled the juice or something. Anyway, it felt so good that I put the magazine down and closed my eyes and just let him go ahead and lick. Pretty soon I head him panting as though he needed a drink of water, and he had stopped his licking.
I looked down at him and he was sitting there just staring at my crotch-and that's when I saw it? Coming out of the fur on his belly was a long, skinny, pinkish cock! I couldn't help it ... I reached down and felt of it and soon Butch was riding my arm while my hand played with his stick. Some stuff came out of it and I wiped it off of my hand and wrist and then lay back to read some more, still hot and bothered although I was only ten.
But Butch started to sniff at my little pussy again and this time I really went ape. I pulled the crotch of the panties aside and let him get his tongue into the real thing. It really shook me up-his cold nose against my leg and his long, rough tongue snaking into my slit.
Pretty soon I noticed his dong sliding out again, and this time I lifted him up and shoved his lower end against me. It was a weird feeling, having that slimy thing pressed against my belly, sliding up and down. Suddenly I reached down and took hold of it and put the pointed tip of it against my small snatch. Butch grunted and then gave his rump one good shove. It was a good thing I was home alone, because I screamed bloody murder!
I'm still not sure whether the pain was worse for me than it was for Butch because he let out a howl at the same time I yelled. I grabbed hold of his neck and just about threw him out the door. I must have hurt him, because he went out after my folks came home and he never came home again.
My poor little pussy was so sore after that prong of Butch's got inside of it, that I sneaked some vaseline into my room at night and very gently massaged the rim of it and even inside the slit. It got better very soon, but I liked the feel of the massage so much that I kept on doing it, only without the vaseline.
Masturbating became a regular thing for me after that. I would sneak love-stories into my room at night, get under the covers with a small flashlight, and I would frig myself at the same time as I read about love and passion. I guess this went on for about a year, and then we moved here where I met Candy. After chumming around for a while, we started to tell each other our secrets and I told her of my constant masturbation. She laughed and said she had been doing the same thing for just about as long.
The first night we slept together over at her house, we played with each other and found that this was far more satisfactory. After that, mutual masturbation became almost a daily thing for us.
One day when we were about twelve, we were playing in the park. I had on my real short-shorts and Candy was wearing a very tight and short skirt. We had been fooling around the playground when I saw a man about fifty years old sitting on a bench nearby watching us. His eyes seemed to be glued to our legs and our rumps as we played.
I whispered to Candy about him and she stole a glance in his direction without letting on that we knew he was watching us. It was Candy who noticed that he had his hands in his pockets and was playing with his cock. Candy motioned for me to follow her and we went into the girls' restroom.
"Wanna have some fun?" she asked me.
"Sure," I said. "How?"
"Well, let's shake that old fella up a little. Let's give him something to really get him all hot and bothered!"
"Okay!" I agreed gleefully. "But how do we do it? We can't undress right out on the playground."
"Here, I'll show you," she said, and took her panties off, stuffing them under the used paper towels in the waste-basket. "Now I'm going to give him a sight of my crack every chance I get. The swings are the best way to do it."
"That's fine for you, but how about me? I'm wearing these tight shorts!"
Then Candy told me how to do it. We both went out and sat down on swings facing him. He still had his hands in his pockets, but his thing must have shrunk because he wasn't shoving it around any more. Candy started pumping the swing, keeping her legs wide apart. The wind would catch her skirt and lift it just enough so that the old boy got a good eyeful of her naked cunt! She was having a ball?
I took the opportunity, while his eyes were glued on Candy's snatch, to push my shorts and panties to the side of my slit. I tucked them under so that they would stay, and then I too started pumping with my legs spread wide.
The poor old coot was going crazy, his eyes darting from one bared cunt to the other. We could see his hands working feverishly at his cock and then he suddenly bent over, pulling his hands out of his pockets and grabbing his bulge. He had come and he was trying to hold it back, but it was no use. We watched him, and later when he got up to leave, there was a big wet spot on the front of his pants.
Candy and I had a good laugh over the old man, and then the thought struck us that it would be fun to get men all shook up over us. We had both started to blossom out in the titty department and we had a bit of hair around our slits. We took every opportunity to display our wares to any man who would look, and soon we figured we had caused at least a hundred hard-ons for perfect strangers. If we count YOU, Mr. Norman, we'd have to say a hundred and one!
It was fun, but it was not satisfying enough. We wanted more, but we didn't know how to go about getting it. Then one day the playground supervisor called us into her office. She closed the door and windows, sat behind her desk and looked at the two of us very sternly.
"I've been observing you two girls for a couple of weeks now," she began, "and I've never seen anyone so adept in the art of prick-teasing as you two!"
We both protested that we were innocent, but to no avail. She went into detail about our methods of operation, and we knew we had really had it!
"What are you going to do?" Candy asked. "Turn us over to the cops or to our parents, or what?"
"I could, you know." She never smiled or anything, just sat there looking at us. "If I report your actions to the authorities or even your parents, do you know what they will do to you?"
Not waiting for a reply, she went on: "They would probably put you both in a home for wayward girls until you were eighteen." She let the thought of six years of confinement sink in before she spoke again.
"I think I do know of a solution, however," she said, standing and coming over and putting her arms around both of us.
We begged her to tell us, promising that we would do anything to keep from going to a reform school. She went to her desk and wrote on a piece of paper, handing it to Candy.
"This is my address. You both come to see me tonight at seven o'clock. Be sure and take a bath when you get home this afternoon, so that you'll be nice and clean and pretty-smelling tonight!"
With that she gently pushed us out of her office, leaving two grateful but puzzled girls standing on the asphalt of the playground.
We both told our folks we were going to the library and we met about a block from Mrs. Weber's address. There were several cars parked out in front of her house and in her driveway. I don't know what we thought, but I do know we were scared. I rang the bell and then we waited, both of us nervous as hell!
Mrs. Weber greeted us and escorted us into the kitchen. We could see four or five men sitting in the living room smoking and drinking, but even this gave us no inkling of the events to follow. When we were behind the closed kitchen door, we sat down at the table and Mrs. Weber opened two cokes for us. Then she sat down across from us.
"Now, I know you two girls are about the sexiest young things in town, and I could have you put away for a long time, you understand?" We both nodded fearfully.
"Did you see those men in the living room?" she asked, and we nodded. "Well, those are old friends of mine who like unusual things...."
"What kind of things, Mrs. Weber?" I asked.
"I think I know," Candy interrupted. "They like young girls, don't they, Mrs. Weber?"
"How perceptive of you, Candy, dear! Yes, that's right. Now I realize that both of you sweet young things are probably still virgins. Well, you don't have to worry about being hurt, because these men will be perfectly satisfied just to play around with you and, of course, to have you play around with them. Understand?"
I wasn't sure I really understood, but Candy did, so I went along with her and said yes. Mrs. Weber told us that not only would we be staying out of reform school, but we would also be getting money from her for, as she put it, "playing around".
She escorted us into the room where the men sat and introduced us to them, but not them to us. There were four of them, and none of them looked familiar, at least not to me.
She led me over to one fat red-faced man and told me to sit on his knee. She took Candy's hand and placed it in the hand of a man who must have been seventy years old.
"Now these two gentlemen and I are going upstairs for a few minutes, which will give you four people a chance to really get acquainted," she said, taking the arms of the other two men and leaving the room.
The man whose knee I was sitting on looked like he was about sixty years old and he just looked rich. He asked me how old I was and I told him. Then he told me to just call him Gramps. I said okay and I told him my name.
"Now how about a kiss for Gramps?" he asked.
I reached over and kissed his cheek like I would my own grandfather, but he would have none of this type of kiss. He took my head and pressed his lips to mine. I could taste the stale tobacco and liquor on his breath, but I kept remembering the reform school and the money we were going to get, so I kissed him back.
Soon his gnarled hand was rubbing my legs while his other hand was playing with his bulge. I knew what he wanted so I reached down and pushed his hand away from the front of his pants and I started to squeeze the bulge with my small hand.
"Spread your legs apart a little, will you, Stella?" he asked me.
When I did, his hand crept up my leg and he was soon playing with the elastic of my panties. While he played, he exerted some pressure on my crotch and soon my pussy was lubricating the material of the panties.
I began to get hot and bothered, so I unzipped his pants and reached in to play with his bare cock. He may have been old, but his prick sure wasn't! I pulled it out and looked at it. Measuring about four inches, which I thought was big then, he was hard as a rock. He took my hand and showed me how to frig him, and then his finger crept under the elastic of my panties and started to enter the lips of my creaming pussy. Slowly he edged it in farther and farther until he was all the way in.
He looked at me surprised, but I told him that I had busted my cherry with my own finger about a week ago. I didn't want to tell him about our dog, Butch. The finger-bit was bad enough. I guess 12-year-old girls aren't supposed to be able to come like older girls, but I can tell you, that's a lot of bullshit! I came at least five times while he was finger-fucking me and I'd probably still be coming if he hadn't blown his wad into my hand and practically collapsed afterward.
I tried to keep hold of his dong after he shot, but the damn thing shrunk right up into his fat belly. When I looked down at it, all I could see was a shiny, come-smeared red knob with two wrinkled balls hanging below. He was wheezing so badly I figured that I was too heavy to be sitting on his lap, so I got off and sat in one of the chairs across the room. Then I saw what was happening with Candy and the other old man.
The man was seated upright in a large lounge chair, his feet on the floor. Candy was lying backwards on his lap, with her pussy raised up to his face. Her mouth was covering his cock and she was sucking away on it like there was no tomorrow. Seeing the age of the old guy, maybe there wasn't a tomorrow for him. His two hands were holding Candy's cunt lips apart while his old but practiced tongue slid in and out of her crevice.
I could see she was enjoying every minute of what she was doing. Pretty soon the old boy's head rolled back and he closed his eyes and snorted "enough".
Candy pulled her lips off of his prick, which was about as limber as cooked spaghetti, and she climbed down off his lap.
Thereafter, we became regular visitors to Mrs. Weber's place until we were lucky enough to be late one day and saw a police car and ambulance in front of the house. It came out in the paper the next day that some 72-year-old man had died of a heart-attack in her living room. I guess Mrs. Weber got scared, because she took off with all her clothing and hasn't been heard from since, that we know of.
Both Candy and I miss the action. We enjoyed the sex a lot and we were able to afford to buy a little pot with the money we got for having a ball.
We finally did get our honeypots invaded by some stiff cocks, but I'm going to let Candy tell you about that.
Oh, Mr. Norman, how many times did you come in your pants while you were reading this?