Chapter 6

"Just a minute," she said to him. "My darn bra strap's tangled behind my back."

Mr. Jackson felt his cock grow. "That's okay," he answered, his voice quavering a little, "you just go right ahead and tend to it." He tried to make a joke. "Some of you young girls don't wear those things anymore these days, do you? Ha ha ... guess it's a little easier to get in and out of your clothes when you don't have to worry about things like bra straps, huh?"

"Oh, it's not too much trouble," she answered. "Mon. ... uh, my mother, Mrs. Lester ... she says unless I wear one all the time it'll make 'em ... er ... that it'll make me sag before my time. I guess it's worth it if it'll keep me in better shape as I grow up."

Mr. Jackson tugged at his pants. They were getting awfully tight at the crotch. "Yes, well ... I'm sure your mother's giving you good advice," he agreed. "Since I only have your name and telephone number there's quite a bit I need to know about you. Your height, weight, color of your hair ... things like that."

She tossed the bra on the bed. "Whew ... there," she said. "Now I can be comfortable enough to tell you what you want to know about me."

"Your brassiere," he said weakly. "Is ... is it off now?"

"Yeah, but that's okay," she cordially told him. "It's not cold here, so it won't hurt to just sit here with 'em ... er--with my top naked."

Oh, Jesus, Mr. Jackson thought to himself. He nervously unzipped his fly. He had to maintain his composure, he reminded himself, no matter how sexed up the little minx got him.

"Hmmm ... yes ... well, you might start with your measurements then," he rasped.

"Don't you want to know about my hair and height and-" she broke in enthusiastically.

"Oh, yes ... heh heh ... tell me that first," he said.

"I have long blonde hair," she began, "and I'm five foot four ... I weigh a hundred and ten pounds. I know that's not very tall, but I'm just thirteen. Mom says I'll grow a lot more."

"Yes ... yes, I'm sure you will," Mr. Jackson said. "Now about your hair. How long is it? Does it come down below your... uh-"

"It's real long, sir," she said, remembering to be very courteous. "It's just below my titties-oh I'm sorry!-I... I mean it comes below my ... my bust line."

"Ha ha," he laughed nervously. "Don't worry, Miss Lester. I've heard that word a few times in my life. All right, I'm jotting that information down now." He stuck his trembling fingers into the open fly of his pants and removed the heavy, pulsing organ that was fairly bursting out. This is sick, he thought to himself, but that little sexpot's got me so damned hot I've just gotta get my hands on myself. "Don't worry about any little slips with your language, Miss Lester," he offered, grasping at straws. "A ... a good actress sometimes needs to use common words like that. An actress needs to be familiar with the ... uh ... with the more -with talking dirty."

It impressed the hell out of her for him to call her "Miss Lester." It was the first time in her life anyone had called her that and it made her feel terribly grown up. She had to do all she could to impress the man with her maturity, she was convinced.

"Oh, well, that won't be any trouble for me," she giggled. "Heck, it doesn't bother me a bit to say words like titties--er, I mean 'tits'-only little girls call 'em titties. I mean I may be only thirteen, but I know all the words, you know."

"And are yours ... uh ... are yours developed yet?" he asked. "I suppose if you're just thirteen years old-"

"They're developed plenty!" she broke in proudly. It was a pleasant change to speak proudly of them instead of being ashamed of them like she had to feel at school. "How does thirty-five sound? That's what they are. They started growing when I wasn't even quite eleven years old. You might think I'm kidding you, but it's true."

Mr. Jackson ran his hand up and down his prick slowly and purposefully, his forehead sweating. "Hmmm ... thirty-five, huh?" he mused. "You're right, Miss Lester, those are awfully nice-sized tits for your age. Let me make a special note of that."

He jerked his hand faster. "How about experiences, now?" he went on. "Actresses often have to portray roles of girls who do ... you know, rather bad things ... especially in the newer movies they make today. I don't suppose you've had much experience with the opposite sex yet, have you? Even a kiss or two from one of your boyfriends, or maybe a hug?"

Her voice was breathy. "I can't ... I mean I shouldn't tell you everything I've done with boys," she said. "Even Mom doesn't know that-boy, if she only did-but I've done more than you probably think."

"You mean like letting them feel you up a little?" he asked, his heart pounding. "You mean like ... having their hands under your clothes, maybe inside your underwear? Things like that?"

She giggled. "Uh huh," she admitted. "And more. Plenty of girls in my class have had boys' fingers in their panties but I don't think any of them have done as much as me."

The little slut! he thought to himself. And she walks by here every day looking so prissy and pure, with those big knockers jumping around in her bra. "In your panties, I guess, huh?" he pressed. "You know what it's like to have a boy grab a handful of your little cunt, then, don't you? You know how it feels to have fingers busy on it, right?"

The tone of his voice had changed a lot. She wondered for the first time if she should be telling him this much. His voice sounded deeper and kind of trembling like the old guy in the park that day when she lost her cherry. She felt herself getting a little warm in the pussy. She shifted on the bed.

"Sure, I do," she finally replied. "If I've got the equipment, why shouldn't I use it? Most of the girls in my class don't even have hairs on their pussies yet, much less any tits on their chests. I'm sure not gonna wait around till they start growing up when I've already got what it takes."

"You still got your bra off?" he asked pointedly. "You standing there half naked?"

It was obvious to her by now, although she had been slow to realize it, that the man was getting worked up sexually from talking to her. She found that she enjoyed it in some naughty, perverse way.

"No," she said slowly, "I'm sitting here half naked. I'm on my bed. Why?"

"I'll tell you why I want to know, sweetie," he said, dropping for the first time the formality of using her last name. "I went to know because I'm thinking about what you look like right now. I'm thinking about how those big juicy tits of yours must look sticking out there on your naked chest and how I'd like to get my hands on 'em. What do you think about that? And I'm not any fucking movie representative, either-I'm just a guy that likes to talk dirty to you and have you tell me about all those pretty little things you keep hidden under your clothes. How do you like that, sweetie!"

She knew she should just hang up on him, but something fascinated her about the dirty way he was talking to her. She felt red in the face to find she wanted to hear more of the filth he was saying to her, but she had to admit it was true.

"I think you're an old creep," she retorted. "That's what I think. You're probably getting your thing hard from doing this, aren't you? I bet you'd love to see what I look like instead of just having me tell you about it, wouldn't you? It's not just my tits you'd get to see if you were here, you know-my skirt's so short you could see a long way up it. I'm glad you can't see me, you dirty old man!"

Mr. Jackson tore his pants open wide and went to work on himself in earnest. His hand slid up and down the reddened shaft of his straining cock with greater speed. "I don't need to see you, sweetie," he shot back. "I've got a damned good picture of how you look there. Why don't you strip off your skirt and panties so you can get your hands on yourself? You dirty little bitch, you can't fool me-I bet that little cunt of yours is hot as a pistol and is so wet it's got the crotch of your panties wet. Ain't that right, now ... ain't that right?"

"No," she blurted out. "That's not true!"

But even as she said the words she felt the sensual sensation of warm love juice running through her pussy hairs and dripping past the tight leg-bands of her panties onto her thighs.

"Admit it," he cried, his voice rising. "You're thinking about having me see you naked and how it'd feel for me to have my hands on you, aren't you?"

"No, no!" she cried.

It was obvious from her voice she was much more excited than she was angry.

"Listen, you sweet little cunt," he went on. "You oughta see what I've got here in my hand. I've been jacking myself off ever since I first started saying this shit to you. My cock's big and red and hot and just what you need. If you could see me working on it, you'd want it sticking up your fuck hole!"

"Oh, my gosh," she yelled, "shut your mouth, you filthy pervert! I wouldn't want anything of the kind!"

"Yes, you would, baby," he insisted. "You do. Admit it, your pussy's so goddamned hot you need something in it bad. You might as well get them panties off and go to work on yourself right now. I bet if you don't do it now, you'll strip off and frig yourself when I hang up. Come on, get 'em down and start frigging that thing. Lemme hear what it sounds like to hear your fingers slapping that wet little pair of pussy lips, you dirty-talking young tramp!"

"Oh, you're rotten!" she exclaimed. "You're nothing but a rotten old freak to jack yourself and went me to do the same. I'm gonna hang up on you!"

"Listen to this first then, sugar," he croaked. "Listen how it sounds to hear me working on myself. Listen now ... hear it?" He put the phone in his lap and kept beating his fingers up and down the shaft while she listened with hypnotic fascination. Slap slap slap slap, went his excited flesh.

She felt the pussy juice pour from her panties. Beads of sweat broke out on her brow and she licked her tongue across her upper lip, tasting salt. She undid the top of her skirt. I'm not gonna touch it, she frantically thought to herself, but it's getting so darned warm in there I gotta have some air.

Suddenly his voice was on the phone again. "Listen up, sugar," he moaned, "I'm about to get my nuts off. You're gonna hear a big, fat wad splatter right in your ear!"

She felt her heart jump in her chest. The sweat was streaming from her naked tits and from under her arms. She pulled the elastic top of her panties away from her heated lower stomach and felt the cool air rush into the humid confines of the drenched undergarment. Hesitantly, with a deep sense of shame at what she was doing, she let her fingertips slide slowly down inside the front. The panties were damp and tight against her hand even before she reached the place where her cunt hairs began.

In the phone she heard a far-off moan and then the wet, nasty sound of the man's sperm striking the mouthpiece at the other end. Then a loud crash told her he'd dropped the instrument onto the floor. There were more moans and some additional bursts of his dirty laughter, then the line clicked dead. He had hung up.

Maxine rolled onto her side and pressed her thighs together underneath her half-removed skirt. Her hand was still inside her panties. The fingertips were almost touching her first line of cunt hair.

That old creep was horrible, she thought to herself. It's nasty of me to feel this way. What am I doing? I've gotta quit this. Could this be what Trudy was talking about a girl doing the other day? Was she talking about feeling yourself up . . . I don't think she'd know about anything like that. Golly, it feels good, though . . . maybe if I just barely touch myself on the pussy it'll calm me down some. I ... I don't have to jack around down there ... I'll just . . . um . . . there . . . like that.

She eased her fingertips into the moist slit. The fragile curls of her damp blonde pussy hairs tickled her wrist as she did it.

My gosh, she thought, I can feel my pulse in there. It's beating just like it does in my wrist . . . I must be hot as heck! I've gotta stop this .. . I'm wanting to frig myself awful bad ... ooooh.

Letting a man touch her there-even letting him bury his cock in her young twat, that was different somehow. But Maxine couldn't stand the embarrassment of using her own to manipulate the soft, moist folds of her aroused organs. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder at the open door of her bedroom. What if her mother should come home suddenly? But she was much too involved with herself to consider getting up to close the door.

She lay on her side with her skirt askew and her panties down to her lower thighs. Taking them down all the way was too much of an admission to herself about her true intentions. She buried her chin in her soft neck and bent her eyes toward the glistened surface of her swollen breast flesh as she continued to move her fingers.

Wmv, my tits look so groovy, she thought. I don't care what anybody says about 'em, those dumb kids at school don't know a great pair of boobies when they see 'em.

She drew her free hand up the damp front of her stomach and began massaging her tits, kneading the abundant flesh like dough. Her nipples popped up tautly and her fingers flicked across first one and then the other of them. She wiggled her half-naked body against the bed and began rubbing her thighs back and forth. First she did it so slowly that she tried to pretend she was just shifting her position but finally she was doing it with such regularity that she couldn't pretend any longer.

Oh, wow, she thought, that's scrumptious. I can't Stand it. I can't stand how sexed-up my cunt's getting. Her damp lips moved. "I can't help it . . . my gosh, I just can't help it. I've just gotta have some kinda relief. I gotta frig myself. I'll ... oh darn, I'll go crazy if I don't!"

She slipped her fingers shamelessly into the moist crevice of her tight pussy and began massaging it with abandon. The obstacles were down now, she knew what she wanted and was determined to make herself have it. She stretched and strained her lovely, curvy torso and spread open her thighs as wide as they would go. She peered between her legs and saw the slick sheen of her exposed pussy lips protruding fat and saucy from the golden triangle of her silky-haired "V."

"Ungh ... ungh," she moaned, frigging her fingers as she looked on with sweat streaming off her face, "I'm gonna make myself come just like I do when a man has his cock in there."

Her eyes were fastened onto the sight like rivets. What a pretty little cunt I have, she thought to herself. Her narcissistic brain was fairly burning with excitement. What a sweet, juicy little pussy . . . no wonder men always try to see up my dress-that's what they're wishing they could see for themselves.

She raced her fingertips across the wet surfaces of her sex flesh and grazed the swollen bulb of her clit with every stroke. "I'm gonna come so good," she whispered to herself, her hot breath on her naked tits, "I'm gonna bring myself off good ... oh, .so good."

She rocked her ass back and forth and drove her pussy forward against the tips of her rushing fingers. "It's just like getting fucked," she wheezed aloud. "Oh, wow, it's just like fucking ... oh, my gosh, like fucking ... oh, fuck fuck fuck me, fuck fuck fuck me, fuck me, fuck me-aiiiiiiieee!"

Maxine lay for a long time after it was over with her fingers still tight inside the engorged folds of her wet pussy. Waves of hot satisfaction washed over her body like heat waves off a blacktopped pavement. The smell of her sex wafted up and filled her nose with the sweet, musky odor she had come to recognize as another sign of her new womanhood. She snuggled her nose into the resilient flesh of her still-damp tits and hugged the big twins tightly in her arms. After several minutes, she stretched her lithe limbs and yawned.

She didn't know who the creepy pervert was that had called her, but whoever he was, he had certainly started something. She smiled to herself. What would the old bastard have done if only he'd been able to watch what she did to herself just now, she wondered? Then she remembered how he told her she might as well go ahead and frig herself then like he was doing -that if she didn't do it then, he was willing to bet she'd frig herself afterwards. He had been right, she realized shamefully.

He sure was wise ass, she thought to herself. If it wasn't for getting herself in trouble she would have told her mother about the call. But she knew her mom would want to know why she didn't just hang up the phone at his first utterance of a dirty word. Maxine didn't have any answer for that one, she knew.

That night when Mildred came home, Maxine had already been asleep for hours. The satisfaction from masturbating herself had made her fall asleep like a log as soon as she hit the sheets. Mildred peered through the door. Her daughter was lying on her back presenting an unobstructed view of her naked mammaries. She was peeved that Maxine wasn't wearing her nightie like she always told her to do. She kept looking at the girl's tits. Hmmm, she mused to herself, she really does need new bras; I guess. She wasn't just kidding me. That little pair look bigger than the last time I saw them naked.

She laid down the package of new bras she'd brought from work with her and went to bed herself. As she coasted off to sleep she thought about the modeling job Mr. Blevins had mentioned. If only that worked out satisfactorily, Maxine would be making enough money to buy plenty of her own clothes with some left over for general family expenses. Well, on Friday she would drop her off and let Mr. Blevins do the photo tests to see if she'd do for the job. Until then she would just cross her fingers and hope for the best. The next morning she told Maxine about it and she was excited. She thanked her mother for arranging the test and told her she'd do the best she could on it.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, dear," Mildred said. "You are a very attractive young girl, you know. And Mr. Blevins says he needs a model just about your size."

Friday was still a few days away. After school was out, Maxine hurried home. She got into her mother's clothes again, took great pains to fix her face up, then sneaked downtown. She was filled with the same old desire to prove that her tits didn't make her some kind of freak. She thought of how one of the boys in her class had sent her a dirty note saying, "How's your boobies, Miss Cow Tits?"

As usual, it had infuriated her, but there was nothing she could do. She wasn't even sure which one did it. She showed the note to Trudy at lunchtime and she was as angry about it as Maxine.

"Listen, Maxine," she had said. "You don't have 'cow tits' at all. You have the grooviest pair in our class--the eighth grade too. I'd love to be able to look down and see some that big and pretty on my chest. I'll sure be glad when mine start growing some." She looked at Maxine with her big brown eyes and added, "It must really feel neat to slip into a bra and feel the cups fill up with as much titty as you've got!"

Maxine walked on down the street with Trudy's words ringing in her ears. Trudy was her best girl friend, no doubt about it. Whenever something like that happened at school, she could always count on Trudy to say something that made her feel better.

She thought of Trudy's small titties and wondered if the size of a girl's knobs had anything to do with how bad she needed sex. If so, Trudy must not need it very bad yet. But on the other hand, she remembered several conversations when her little brunette friend had insinuated some things that were pretty sexy. She even had a sneaking suspicion that Trudy had discovered masturbation before she had. Maybe she would ask her sometime, if she got up the nerve. After all, the two of them were awfully good friends. In the meantime, she hoped Trudy was somehow getting all the sex thrills she was old enough to want.

She rounded a corner and saw a good-looking man about forty paying a taxi in front of a hotel. He was well dressed and had thick brown hair and a tall frame. Maxine was immediately interested in seeing if she could convince such a nice-looking guy that she was older. It would make her feel great to pull her little trick successfully on him. She entered the lobby of the hotel ahead of him and sat down on one of the big green couches along the wall.

It didn't take much action on her part to get his attention as he walked by. Her miniskirt was short enough for him to see plenty as he carried his luggage past. When he stopped at the desk to register, she stepped up and asked the manager the time. She could tell from the way the man glanced at her he recognized her as the girl who had been sitting on the couch as he came in.

When the manager told her the time, the brown-haired man quipped, "Is your boyfriend late? If he doesn't hurry up someone might beat him to you. You go to high school here in town or are you a guest in the hotel like me?"

"Well," she said, as icily as she could manage, "I am waiting for someone but I don't go to high school here. Do I look that young?"

If she hadn't been so firm in the tone of her voice, he might have not believed her at all. But that, combined with the way she was dressed and the way she had cleverly applied her makeup, was enough to make him have second thoughts.

"Oh ... uh ... no, I guess not," he lamely answered. "Most girls these days seem to look older than they really are. I guess you're just the opposite. You'll be glad you look so young when you get to be thirty-five or forty."

He did some quick computing in his head. She did look young, but if it was true she was out of high school then she had to be eighteen or so. Old enough to keep him from getting into trouble with the law, in any case, and that was his primary object. Why would she lie? If she wanted to get rid of him, he reasoned, she would have claimed to be younger-not older. She would know a man his age couldn't afford to fool around with a girl in the jailbait bracket. He let the bellhop take his luggage on up and struck up a conversation with her.

He's going for it, she thought to herself. He believes me.

He told her he was a salesman and was just stopping through town for the night. Just when things started to get interesting between them, the manager suddenly appeared from behind his desk and told the man he had a call. While he was gone he had hard words for Maxine.

"Listen, honey," he said to her, "I don't know what you're trying to pull but you ain't doing it in this hotel. I know damned well you're not waiting for anybody. I've never seen you around here before. You might make that yokel think you're eighteen, but you ain't fooling me any. Now if you know what's good for you, you'll get your little ass out of here. We don't allow no unescorted women around this place." r At first she was scared but she contained herself. She met his eyes boldly and said, "If you don't think I'm eighteen, then what's your guess? Tell me that."

She made sure he got a view of the way her tits stuck out-braless tonight-under the fabric of her close-hugging knit sweater.

Her assurance surprised the hotel manager. "I'm not saying you're a real young kid," he said. "But a gal's age is very important to a guy when it comes to certain, you know? I'd say you're only sixteen or seventeen. That one year makes a lot of difference in this state, honey."

Maxine was delighted. Even he thought she was three or four years older than her true age. The laugh was on him. She was mad at him for doubting her and wanted to prove herself. She looked at him again. He wasn't bad-looking. Why not have a little fun with him? She felt her tits straining against her bra. It just might turn out to be fun for her too.

"Wrong," she told him. "If you don't think I'm eighteen, step back here and I'll show you proof."

He took her behind the desk. Was she going to show him her driver's license, he wanted to know?

She looked around her. There were no customers in sight. The brown-haired man had evidently overheard some of their conversation and skipped out. She told the manager it wasn't a driver's license she had to show him. The faintest hint of a gloating smile played at the corners of her mouth. If he'd take her into the little room behind the desk where they could be alone, she'd prove she was older than he thought.

"Huh?" he asked, puzzled. "Okay. But I don't see why you have to come back here."

As soon as they entered the room together she turned facing him. She felt powerful inside, confident that her sexy ways would be easily able to accomplish her goals. She'd show him she wasn't a little girl with big tits, but woman enough to handle them.

She smiled up at him. "I've noticed you looking at my tits," she said, carefully enunciating each word so there'd be no mistaking what she'd said to him. "If you think they're fake, you've got another think coming, Mr. Know-It-All!" And she brazenly raised the bottom of her sweater to her collarbone, displaying every rounded inch of her plump tits.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed. "You ain't even wearing a bra . . . shit, baby, if you can show them things off like that I don't care how old you are."

He reached for her but she stepped backward and eluded his outstretched hands.

"Not so fast," she warned him. "I said for you to look at them, not put your dirty hands on them."

"Why you fucking little tease," he burst out, "you ain't gonna show me a sight like that and then leave me swinging. C'mere!"

This time she didn't even step back. She held her ground and said, "Go ahead if you want me to tell the cops how you tried to rape me. Aren't you ashamed of yourself for jerking my sweater up like this and making me show these off to you?"

He stopped and blinked his eyes.

"I may be old enough to not be jailbait anymore," she added, "but a girl can be raped no matter how old she is. If you can't keep control of yourself, I guess I'll just have to tell the cops all the little details of how you tricked me into coming back here with you."

He was boiling mad but he knew she had him. Even on the off chance that the police believed him he'd probably lose his job over the affair. He stood looking down at her tantalizingly naked tits. It was bad enough when some gal checked into the hotel with her knockers bouncing around under her blouse and he had to be nice and businesslike and pretend he didn't see them. But when a young, pretty one stacked like this one came up and bared herself in front of him just to tease him, it was just too much for a man to take.

"Okay, okay," he relented. "It's your ball game, honey. Mind telling me why you're doing this?"

"I just want you to admit how wrong you were when you were so high and mighty about me being underage," Maxine told him. "Maybe you'll think twice before you act so big the next time a girl tells you how old she is. Maybe you'll believe her."

"Look, honey," he said, softening but still not willing to admit he was wrong, "with jugs like them, you don't have to worry about how old you really are. Them things make you look grown, all right."

His answer didn't satisfy her.

"I'm not through," she said. "Remember when you said you wanted me to get my 'little ass' out of this hotel? Take a look at it and see just how little you think it is now!"

She raised her skirt and jutted her butt out, half turning so he wouldn't miss anything. He took a look at the firm thighs and hard, round ass inside her pantyhose and felt sweat ooze from his skin. She grinned up at him with mischief in her eyes.

"Goddamn it," he cursed, "I take back everything I said. You're one fine hunk of woman."

She smiled exultantly. Her bravura had paid off. She had him eating out of her hand now, this man who was old enough to be her father-and she loved it.

He kept his eyes on her raised skirt and the firm mounds on her chest but he wanted to do a lot more than look.

"You're one sweet piece, honey," he said, his voice husky with desire. "If you'd simmer down some and let me put my mouth on you where my eyes are, I'd show you how a woman like you deserves to be loved up."