The Robbing of Mrs. Lee

Mrs. Lee has something that I want.

When I say "want", I don't just mean want, like "I want a cup of coffee", or "I want to get off work ten minutes early". I mean "want" l like a guy twenty feet under water with a cement block chained to his ankles wants air. I mean "want" like a mainline heroin junky who's twelve hours into withdrawal wants a fix. I mean "want" like a skydiver who has pulled his ripcord to no effect wants his chute to open. I really, desperately want it.

What, you may be wondering, is it that I so obsessively want? No, it's not a briefcase full of hundred dollar bills hidden behind the furnace in her cellar, if she has a cellar, that is. It's not a handful of krugerrands hidden in a Quaker Oats container on the top shelf of her kitchen cupboard, assuming she's into coin collecting which I doubt. It's not the payout on her multimillion dollar life insurance, if she bothers with trivia like that. There's no bank in all the world with enough money in its vaults that could buy what I long for. You're probably wondering what it is that I want.

I want Mrs. Lee's daughter.

Mrs. Lee, of course, doesn't know that I want her daughter. Mrs. Lee, like any responsible parent, is protective of her daughter, because she's aware that her daughter is vulnerable and innocent and naïve, and still a child. She's also likely to be aware that her daughter is achingly beautiful, that her smile makes the Mona Lisa look like she's smirking at a dirty postcard, and she knows that her daughter's cuteness makes the average Koala bear looks like a warthog. On the other hand she may not be conscious of the fact that her daughter radiates sex appeal like a six burner range during the rush in your favorite restaurant radiates heat, or she may not be sensitive to her child's sex appeal beside which all the sex sirens from Marilyn Monroe to Hannah Montana look like burned out crack whores.

Mrs. Lee, whose first name is Joy, is an Asian widow of thirty something years who, in the looks department, is no slouch herself. Petite, slender, poised, she could put many an Asian beauty shame. In her business suit, she's actually pretty hot, but her daughter leaves her in the dust. And get this:

Her daughter is only eleven years old.

Joy Lee is an aspiring partner in a busy law firm. She's required to bill an impossible number of hours every week, which keeps her working until late every day except Sunday, and so she has a problem. There's no briefcase full of cash or krugerrands or life insurance to protect. During all the hours that she should be home and isn't, protection is required for her daughter.

So, imagine you're a caring, responsible parent looking for someone to take care of your preteen daughter while you're grinding your way to your first million. Would you use the teenage girl down the street who would sit around all evening painting her nails, with her ipod buds turned up so loud she wouldn't hear an aircraft crashing on the roof? No. Would you use a nun? They have those knuckle cracking rulers and then there's the religious thing and you wouldn't want your daughter suddenly finding Jesus, even though I wasn't aware that he's lost. A priest? You're joking. Most of them like boys, but they're quite capable of switching, and there's that religious angle again. A relative? Probably the worst of all. In most of the molestation cases you read about, the victim was related to the accused. How about a professional, like a girl guide counselor? Not unless you want your daughter to become a lesbian (which on reflection seems like a good idea to me). Maybe an eighty year old, arthritic female retired librarian, but they don't list them in yellow pages. A eunuch? Not many around since Roman times.

So what does that leave you? Come on, guys, you know! Think about it.

A gay guy, of course.

A gay guy, one who'll look past your daughter at the hunk down the block running a comb through his hair. A man who scans the help-wanted ads looking for a position as a hairdresser. A fellow who sees a hot chick walking her dog, and says "Hello, Cutie" to the dog.

So, I'm gonna have to be gay.

You're not already?, I hear you ask, incredulously. Well, unless you count the times at school when a few of us would sneak a smoke in a stall in the boys' bathroom and get into a little mutual masturbation, or that other time when I got drunk at a party and . . . well, I'll spare you the details. O.K., I gotta confess, I've had a few encounters with guys in my day, let's face it, who's gonna say "no" to a blow job, especially when we all know that guys really know how to suck dicks much better than chicks. And with a guy, you don't have to bother with dinner and flowers, all you have to do is show up. Technically, I guess I'm bisexual, though when people as, I tell 'em I'm trisexual, I'll try anything. But I'm not a pillow biter, a shirt lifter, fudge packer, nor do I answer to any other derogatory name you like to use.

I like girls, though I have to confess my preferred age range is somewhat limited. Say ten, or eleven , just prior to puberty, just before their titties start to grow and they lose their defenselessness and purity. These days, girls are reaching puberty earlier and earlier. You can see nine year olds sporting quite impressive boobs, or maybe they're just adept at stuffing Kleenex into their training bras. This is sad. A girl can go from kiddie to woman without ever being a Lolita. Speaking of which, if you've read Vladimir Nabokov's novel of the same name, one of the closing sentences in the book, slightly paraphrased, reads, "It's not that you grew up that makes me so unhappy. . .it's that when I hear the laughter of children, yours is not among them." By the way, Dominique Swain, playing the title role in the movie, will give you an idea of the sort of girl I lust for. Just knock off a couple of years.

A sexual predator? Come on, folks, I'm really quite a nice guy. I would never do anything that would frighten or even embarrass a child. That would simply ruin everything. I want to make little girls happy, in the only way I know how, by getting them sexually aroused. Did I hear you say that little girls don't get aroused? Grow up! Little Suzy wants to play with little Johnny's dick. She's just too shy to ask.

So, late one afternoon, when I hear the sound of girlish laugher coming through the fence at the end of my back yard, I have to frantically search for a knot hole to look through. That's when it happened. I felt as thought a fist had squeezed my heart. My pulse was racing and I felt like you do when you stand up too quickly. There, sitting on the grass of my neighbor`s back yard, whom I later found was named Joy Lee, was the most incredible vision of preteen loveliness it's possible to imagine. Not just sitting, but sitting in that way that little girls do, oblivious to any spectators, with her legs wide apart, exposing a vast expanse of white cotton. Not ten feet away, I can see the scalloped elastic edge of her panties and that horizontal seam that goes across the crotch.

There ought to be a law. All underwear, male or female, should be white. No other color does it for me. Whatever the age or sex, white underpants are a prerequisite for eroticism. I stand transfixed, my face pressed against the cedar planks, my forehead beaded with sweat, aware that I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. All too soon, she gets up and goes into the house.

My mind is in a whirl. I have to get to know her, and I realize instinctively that the way to do this, like in Nabokov's novel, is through her mother. I begin to plan my strategy, and I'll have to be cunning, like a cheetah approaching a springbok, moving slowly, stealthily and well camouflaged, until I make that final sprint and bring my prey down.

I stake out the front of her house, sitting in my car a few houses down, until in the evening I see an SUV turn into the driveway. Through my binoculars I see an attractive Asian woman go in through the front door. I drive round the block to my own house, and from an upstairs bedroom, with my binoculars, I watch the only lighted window, the kitchen. Asian woman unloads her groceries, mostly frozen dinners it seems, and fixes herself a drink. Then into the kitchen comes my Lolita, clearly visible through my 10 power glasses. I watch for about an hour, unable to tear myself away, as dinner is microwaved and eaten, then the light goes out as they leave. Lights come on upstairs, but all the curtains are closed.

Early next morning, I'm staked out in the car again and follow Asian woman downtown, where she leaves her SUV in the car park of a law firm and goes inside. I drive home and return just before noon to sit in the café opposite her office. After a while she comes out and I throw ten bucks on the table and follow her. After two blocks, she goes into a supermarket and I'm right behind her. It amazing how easy it is to follow someone on foot if they're not looking for a tail. I stick close behind, out of her line of vision, until she's in the produce section, then I pounce.

"You should pick the greenest pineapple," I say to her without preamble, giving my voice the tiniest hint of gayness. She's slightly startled. "The yellower ones aren't any riper, they're just fermenting." I glance at her shopping cart and it's all TV dinners.

"Really? How do you know?"

"I learned it on a plantation in Costa Rica. Hi, I`m Tony." I hold out my hand.

"Joy," she says. I give her the most limp handshake I can manage. She looks me up and down, eyeing my white tank undershirt and tight jeans.

"Delighted to meet you," I say, "and don't bother with the tomatoes. They look nice but they have absolutely no taste at all. You have to put ketchup on them to get the sense of tomato." She has a delightful laugh.

"So what am I gonna use in a salad?"

"I have a load of home-grown, far too many for me to use. Would you like some? I could drop them off for you. Where do you live?"

She hesitates, giving her address to a total stranger is not a good idea, but then I look pretty harmless.

"Juniper Street."

"You're kidding! I'm on the next block, on Cedar, number 328."

"Really ? I'm at 326. Does your back yard have a high wooden fence?"

"Yes, it does. I guess we live back to back. What a coincidence!" Coincidence my ass, lady, you've just been stalked. "I'll drop them off as soon as I get home. Will there be anyone in?"

"No, just leave them on the porch by the front door." Shit, I was hoping my Lolita would be there, but I guess she's at school.

"You should slice them thinly, scatter them with chopped garlic, and drench them in olive oil. Eat them as a separate dish." I give her my card and make my exit, walking away with just a tiny sway of the hips. At her house, I leave four big juicy tomatoes and a couple of bell peppers on her porch.

Late the same evening, around nine, I get a phone call. It's Joy Lee. "Thanks for the tomatoes, we thought they were delicious."

"I'm glad you enjoyed them. If you want any more I can bring them round."

"Come round now and meet my daughter." Oh, this is too good to be true!

Three minutes later I'm in her kitchen, more tomatoes and a lettuce in hand. At last I'm in the same room as the object of my extreme lust. "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Jane. This is our neighbor, Tony."

"Such a plain name, such a lovely girl," I say gallantly and Jane, still dressed in her school uniform, has the grace to blush. I offer her my hand and give her a firm handshake, not the wet-fish one that I gave her mother. I don't want to be gay for this little treasure, no Sir, I want to be the big handsome male who laughs at all her jokes and gives her everything she wants. I steer the conversation to cooking and, as I expected, they seem to live off mac cheese and frozen dinners. I guess Joy has little time to cook. I describe some recipes for quick, easy-to-cook, wholesome dishes and suggest that perhaps Jane might try to cook them, seeing as Mommy always gets home so late. Jane looks a bit doubtful but says perhaps she'll try it.

"I want to thank you for being so kind," says Joy. "Perhaps I can take you to dinner some time. Would tomorrow evening be O.K. for you?" Wow, this is a pushover. Dinner for two and we've only just met. "I'm sure I can get a sitter for Jane."

"Sitter?" I explode in mock outrage. "For Jane? I can't have dinner with you if Jane has to stay at home." I turn to face the focus of all my desires. "You must join us, Jane. The evening would be a disaster without you."

"Oh please yes, Mommy, can I come, too?"

Joy laughs. "O.K., all three of us."

"Have you ever eaten Vietnamese?" I ask.

* * *

We're in the restaurant, eating pork and shrimp wraps and big bowls of soup with noodles and bean sprouts. They're both enthusiastic about the food. Half way through the meal a voice pipes up from the bar. "Hi, Tony." I look over and it's my friend Steve, a guy about as flamingly gay as it's possible to be without getting locked up. His wrist is so limp he can barely pick up his pay check. He's wearing a bright yellow shirt, unbuttoned but tied at the waist and a pair of white skin tight pants. He swishes his way over to our table, stands with his hip against my shoulder and his hand on the back of my neck. I give him a nice smile. The whole charade is, of course, a set up. I'd called him earlier and briefed him on what I needed him to do. Steve gets his dinner on me, but he has to play the part of my very gay friend. I make the introductions and Steve admires Jane's sundress and Joy's little black dress and asks who her hairdresser is. Jane is suppressing a giggle. After a couple of flamboyant minutes, Steve heads back to the bar, blowing us a kiss as he goes.

"A colorful character," says Joy. "Have you known him long?"

"We go way back," I say, giving her a meaningful look.

"Are you. . .?" She has her hand open, palm down and rocks it from side to side.

"An item? Oh, no. Steve is with someone else now." Without actually telling a lie I have succeeded in totally convincing her that I'm as queer as a three dollar bill. I change the subject and engage Jane in a conversation about school. It seems she's in the fifth grade, a straight A student, doesn't like boys and doesn't have many girl friends.

"They're all so immature," she says.

"Jane is way ahead of her class," says Joy. "I'm trying to get her moved up a grade, but the school bureaucracy is a nightmare." I call for the check and have the usual argument about who pays. I cave in without a fight, knowing that I can use this to reciprocate and dine with them again. I think her defenses are beginning to crumble. Oh, Mrs. Lee, if only you knew.

* * *

It's Saturday morning and my phone rings. During the previous week, I've had two more restaurant dinners with the Lee family, one Italian, and one Chinese, both wholly enjoyable evenings, and I cooked a dinner at their house, which was a resounding success. At one point during the meal, Joy whispers to me that she thinks Jane has a crush on me. A crush? Oh, how fucking sweet!

But now Mrs. Lee's in a panic. The sitter who was supposed to spent the day with Jane hasn't shown up and doesn't answer her cell. That's what you get when you employ teenagers. Joy explains that although Jane is now a mature 11, she doesn't want her to just sit around listening to her ipod and chatting on the computer with her friends. Could I possible come over?

"I'll try to be back by four or five. Please, Tony? Can you help?" Oh, absolutely I can help, I`m thinking. I can be of the utmost assistance, Joy. I can keep your daughter fully occupied for as long as you like. I've got all fucking day.

I duck through the fence where I've loosened a couple of planks, and enter their kitchen. Joy gives me a lot of do's and don'ts and I tell her I'll take Jane to the library and may be watch a couple of DVD documentaries and if she has any homework I can help with that. "And we can swim in my pool, if that's O.K. with you."

"No diving," she says, "but sure, it's fine as long as you stay with her. She shouldn`t swim on her own. I gotta rush. Thanks, Tony. Bye, Sweetie."

For form's sake, Jane and I hit the library and check out some suitable reading material and a couple of DVD`s, which we watch until lunch. I fix up a pasta salad, and then suggest we go to my place.. We duck through the fence and go into my kitchen, where I fix a coke for Jane and a beer for me. We set up camp under a big umbrella beside the pool. The temperature is in the nineties.

"Let's swim," I say.

"I don't have my bikini," says Jane, and, I think, of course you don't, my darling, and, Oh dear, I forgot to remind you to bring it, how remiss of me.

"No problem," I say. "We can just pretend we're on a beach in Europe where all the girls go topless. You never see a bikini top in France or Spain." Which happens to be true. "Just jump in in your panties. The neighbors can't see anything `cos of the shrubs and trees." She looks a little dubious until I drop my shorts to reveal a pair of white cotton low rise briefs, without a fly, that look just like swimwear.

"Are they underpants, or swimming trunks?" she asks, eyeing them.

"They're whatever you want them to be."

I watch enthralled as she lifts her dress over her head, revealing her white cotton panties and a white cami. She's exquisite, and those panties are going to look a lot better when they're wet. She peels off her cami, goes to the pool, jumps in and I follow. We swim around and play some silly games which involve a lot of body touching, and at one point, she has her arms round my neck and her legs round my hips. My cock, straining against my briefs, is right next to her little girly slit. As I predicted, when she climbs out of the pool, her wet cotton panties cling to her body and I can actually see her sex. My briefs are no better and my cock is entirely visible. We towel off, and I lie down on the chaise lounge, under the umbrella. There's only one lounge and nowhere for Jane to sit, so I pat the lounge beside me, inviting her to sit down. Instead of just sitting, she straddles me, her knees beside my chest, sitting right on top of my cock. It's quite obvious she can feel my erection, restrained though it is. She wiggles around a bit, then looks right into my eyes and says, "Will you be sitting for me again? I hope so 'cos Mommy likes you a lot, Tony, and so do I."

"And I like you, you sweet, adorable girl. You're the best thing that's happened to me in ages. You're so pretty." She blushes. "And you look so sexy in those wet panties I could eat you ."

"Mommy thinks you're gay."

"What do you think?"

"I think you're sexy too, and you're not gay."

"No guy could be gay around you. You`re the most delectable girl I know." She kisses me on the lips, and it's not just a peck. I put my hands on her back, then slide them down until they cup her butt. She let's her body fall so that her chest is against mine. She has no titties yet, but just having her that close to me makes my head spin.

"We ought to take a shower and wash the chlorine off," I say. "Let's go in." I take her by the hand and lead her to the upstairs bathroom. Outside the door, I pause, then take the plunge. "Shall we shower together? You can soap my back." She doesn't hesitate and comes right in with me and I watch as she slides her wet panties down and stands there, not minding that I'm staring at her sex. Of course, she watches me as I drop my briefs, and my half hard dick is revealed.

"Wow, you've got a big dick."

"Compared with whom? How many dicks have you seen?"

"I used to see my daddy's before he died. It wasn't that big."

"I think mine's getting bigger 'cos it likes you." She giggles.

We step into the shower, and she immediately grabs the soap and starts on my back and down to my butt. Then I take the bar from her, soap her back then spin her round so her back is pressing against me, my cock in the crack of her ass. I soap her chest and down to her stomach and she doesn't resist at all.

"Can I go lower?" I ask.

"I'll hate you if you don't." I rub the bar between her legs, then with my other hand, spread it around and rub up and down and then let my finger slip inside her. She's trembling and she start to push her hips forward on to my hand.

"Oh, I love you," she gasps, "I love you." Then she throws her head back and lets out a groan, and I hold her to prevent her from slumping to the floor.

Oh, Tony, you wicked man. Incredibly, you've just made an eleven year old girl cum, and it took less than a minute. Think what you will achieve when you manage to go the whole way, as you undoubtedly will. Your insatiable lust will be satisfied, for a moment, that is. And you will proceed to greater and greater heights as she falls more and more deeply in love with you.

We rinse off and I hand her a big fluffy towel, pick up her wet panties and go to put them in the dryer. Later, I'll take her home to Mommy.

* * *

Monday evening is a disaster. It starts out well enough, but I decide I want to watch a movie on DVD that has a lot of foul language and some heavy sex. Not that I think that Jane shouldn't be exposed to it, but if the news gets back to Mom, I'll be in deep shit. So I say no, she can't watch it with me and doesn't she have some homework to do? She starts whining and I start to get pissed. The whole thing escalates into a shouting match and we both say things that we'll probably regret later. Jane goes up to her bedroom and slams the door. Later, when Joy comes home, I tell her what happened.

"She'll get over it, Tony. Are you good for tomorrow evening?"

"Sure, no problem. Tell her I'm sorry, will you?"

"I will. Goodnight."

* * *

It's early next morning and someone is hammering at my front door. I pull on a pair of pants and go down and open it. There's a guy in a suit and a cop standing behind him. He holds out an I.D. "I'm Detective Wilson and this is Officer Wells. Would you identify yourself, please?" I tell him my name. He grabs me, spins me around and slaps a pair of cuffs on me. "You're under arrest for sexual assault on a person under the age of 18."

Oh, shit! Fuck! Jesus bloody Christ! She's talked! I'm going to do jail time!

"Can I get some shoes, and perhaps a shirt? My wallet might be handy, too." Ten minutes later I'm downtown being booked. I get my phone call and my attorney says he doesn't handle crime but he'll find someone for me. I sit in a cell until about four o'clock when I'm hauled to court for arraignment. There another guy in a suit introduces himself. "John Partridge, attorney at law. I'll be representing you." I plead not guilty and the judge imposes bail of ten grand. I can put that on my credit card, and an hour later I'm processed out and my attorney is driving me home.

"You're lucky," he says. "Just one count and I've already got it reduced to lewd and lascivious behavior. You could do time, but it's your first offence and we might get lucky. The bad news is if you're found guilty, you'll be a registered sex offender for the rest of your life."


"The first thing is to depose the girl, maybe shake her story."

"I don't want to do anything to upset her," I say.

"Oh, I can be pretty smooth when I need to be." Of course you can, you're a fucking lawyer.

* * *

Three weeks go by before we get to the deposition. Partridge and I are downtown in the county courthouse in a conference room that the Assistant District Attorneys use for depositions. There's just us, an A.D.A. and a court reporter using one of those keypad things that will record every word. This is backed up by a tape recorder in the middle of the table. Then Joy comes in, leading Jane by the hand. Introductions are made all round but no one shakes hands. My attorney kicks off with the necessary stuff for the record about who and why we're here and starts to question Jane. She's sitting in her school uniform, eyes cast down, not looking at anyone. Joy is avoiding eye contact, too. My guy lobs a lot of soft-ball questions to Jane, about what grade she's in, what subjects she likes, her hobbies, stuff like that. He has a big friendly smile on his face and I know he's softening her up. At one point the A.D.A. chimes in with, "What's the relevance of these questions?"

"We're not in court now, counselor. You can object all you want, but I get to ask anything I like. Your can save your objections for the appeal." Appeal? Is it all going to get that far? He continues his charm offensive and Jane seems to relax a little. Then he comes to the point. "Now, you remember that Monday night when you and Tony had an argument?"


"And you went into your bedroom and slammed the door."


"And when your mother came home you had a conversation with her."

"Yes." She's looking down at the table.

"Now, I want you to think very carefully before you answer my next question." He waits for a beat. My knee is trembling under the table, and I feel a trickle of sweat running down from my armpit.

"Is what you said to your mother absolutely true?"

All eyes are on Jane. She looks up at me, making eye contact. I silently mouth the words, "I love you". There's a pause that last for about a thousand years, then in a tiny voice she says, "No."

There are some things in this world that feel good. Winning the lottery feels good. Getting high on crack feels good. An orgasm feels good. But the feeling that beats anything else is the feeling of intense relief. It washes over me like a wave. It feels better than anything I've ever experienced or could possibly imagine. I'm off the hook, no jail time! No registering as a sex offender! And more than relief, I feel a sense of triumph. Jane can never again make any kind of accusation against me and be believed. No prosecutor would put her on the stand, because her recantation is now part of the public record and any defense attorney would rip her to pieces. I'm fucking bullet proof!

Jane throws her arms round her mom's neck and begins to cry. "I'm sorry, Mommy, I'm so sorry."

"I have no further questions," says my guy. "This deposition is adjourned."

On the way out of the door, Joy takes hold of my arm. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"It's O.K.," I say. It's more than O.K. It's fucking marvelous. The game is on again.

* * *

The same evening I get a call from Joy, inviting my over. I duck through the fence and enter her kitchen to find her alone. "What Jane did is unacceptable," she says. "She's going to have to apologize to you."

"Calm down, Joy, she doesn't have to apologize. All this mess is just as much my fault as hers. We had a fight, I said things that I shouldn't have said and she reacted just as any eleven year old would be expected to: she lashed out and in a moment of anger she just wanted to hurt me, and let's face it, we've all done that at one time or another. But the important thing is that she had the honesty and courage to come clean and tell the truth, even though the easy way out would have been to stick with the lie. I have to admire her."

"I don't understand how you can be so reasonable, given what you've had to go through."

"There's no point in carrying a resentment. We should all just move on."

Joy gives me a quick hug and calls upstairs for Jane to come down. Slowly she descends the stairs, not daring to look at me.

"You must apologize to Tony," says.

"It's not necessary, Jane." I repeat the little speech I just made to Joy, and added, "There's nothing to forgive." Jane runs over to me and throws her arms round my neck.

"I'm so sorry, Tony. I've missed you so much. You don't hate me do you?"

"How could I possibly hate you. I'm proud of you. I guess things haven't been easy for you, either. Let's just forget the whole thing and start over, O.K?"

Jane is still clinging to me when Joy says, "Can you come over and sit tomorrow evening? I won't be home until late."

Can I? You're asking `can I?' You've gotta be joking. Just try to keep me away.

* * *

Finally, I'm alone again with Jane. We have the whole evening ahead of us. Dinner can wait, I just want to hold this girl, kiss her, touch her, arouse her sexually and bring her to orgasm, then start over and do it all again. I'm sitting on the couch and she's straddling me, giving me long, deep kisses, her mouth open, occasionally coming up for air. My cock is rock hard and she knows it as she moves her hips from side to side.

"I want to undress you," I whisper in her ear. Her face lights up.

"Oh, yes, please. Take my uniform off, all of it. I want to be naked for you." She sits on the couch raising one leg at a time as I kneel in front of her, taking her shoes off. Then I stand her up, sit myself down and lift her skirt and gaze at her white cotton panties. I lean forward and kiss her on her mound, my hands on her buttocks. Then I unfasten the skirt and let it fall. I lean back and gaze at her. O.K., I've seen her in her panties before, but now I know I can do pretty much anything I like to this girl and she won't do anything to stop me. I reach out and slowly unbutton her blouse from the bottom up and slip it off her shoulders. In just her cami and panties, she looks so inviting, I want to burn the memory of this vision into my brain so I can never forget it. She hooks her fingers into the waist of her panties.

"No, let me," I say. "I've wanted to do this since I first spied on you through the fence."

"You bad, bad man."

"You've no idea how bad, Jane." I slide her panties down to mid thigh and gaze at her slit. "You're so fuckin' beautiful. I'm in love with your body." I lift up her cami, exposing her nipples, knowing in just a few short months they'll start to grow into little budding breasts, longing to be kissed and caressed. I take the garment off, drop it on the floor and slide her panties down until they fall of their own accord. She steps out of them.

"Dah dah!" she sings, her arms thrown wide, her legs apart. I pull her to me and clamp my mouth on her slit, kissing it furiously. Then I sit her down on the couch, kneel again and start to take her knee socks off. Her legs are as far apart as they will go, and I have a magnificent view of her little girly slit, moist from her juices. Finally, I bury my face between her thighs, and she grips the back of my head and pulls me into her, her hips thrusting up to meet me. She smells and tastes marvelous.

But I want more than this. I pull away, stand up and ask her to undress me. She reaches eagerly for my belt, unfastens it, unzips my pants and lets them fall. I pull my shirt over my head and stand there in just my low rise white cotton briefs, my erection poking out of the top. As she pulls the briefs down, my cock almost pokes her in the face, and she takes it in her hand and starts to stroke it.

"Oh, you're good at this," I gasp. "Where did you learn?"

"Just by imagining it. I've been fantasizing about it for weeks now." Then she kisses the tip and takes it in her mouth. I resist the urge to thrust it all the way in and let her take the lead. She's doing some interesting things with her tongue, then she takes it out and says, "I like the taste. I thought it would be nasty, but it isn't." She takes it in her mouth again. "Mmmm." I'm close to coming, so I pull my cock out, push her back on the couch, grip her thighs and pull her so that her butt is right on the edge. I kneel between her legs.

"Fuck me, Tony, please fuck me. I love you so much."

"I love you too, my darling, and I am going to fuck you. I'm going to do it now, and then again later, and tomorrow, and all fucking week, and every day, forever!"

My cock slides into her with no resistance whatsoever, right up to the hilt. I'm fucking Mrs. Lee's eleven year old daughter, and she's loving it!

Mrs. Lee has something that I want.

And I've taken it!

The End


Stories from Comments and feedback welcome.

Bisexual -Adult/Youth:

Camilla's Knickers

Preteen Runaway

Little Girl in Love

My Sexy Son

Bisexual - Incest

I Love You, Daddy

His Daughter's Knickers

Babysitting his Daughter

Daddy Likes to Touch Me

Lesbian - Youth

Preteen Jackie and Little Kim