Copyright (c) 2018,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Thursday, January 18, 2018

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.

A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: theking1.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: M/g(6) Man/young girl, cons

story_intro: Having set up permanent camp in the rundown area of a large city park, Jim thinks he has everything he wants. Then one day, he meets a little girl, Kirsty, desperate for affection and he decides he wants more. But he tries to be careful and not force anything on the child yet Kirsty finds innocent delight in sitting in her new friend's lap during story time.



story_language: English




The King of Garrity Park, part 1

Written by madvlad


	Author's Note: The book, "Suzie's Coming of Age" was an "adult novel" (book-length porn fiction, if you will) written back in the 70's. Fast-forward to 1985: It was the first of this genre I ever read and in some sort of way, got me writing these short stories that I do. Whether that's a good or a bad thing is up to you, but I decided to mention it by name here as my own little perverted homage. Happy & Sticky Reading! - mv

---

	It was good to be the king.

	Covering more than a dozen city blocks, Garrity Park was a reflection of the city that surrounded it. The west end was newer, carefully planned, and laden with reflecting pools, a fountain, manicured gardens and curving walking paths. Residents from that area found it quite in keeping with their gentrified neighborhoods.

	Like the crumbling and disregarded streets to the east, the eastern branch of the park had grown rather shabby with minimal attention from the city park's department. There had once been a working fountain there but now it sat holding only stagnant rainwater in its grimy bowl. There were paths among the trees but walkers had to duck under the branches that had not been trimmed in years. More often, these areas were used for drug deals and sexual transactions.

	From a small hill that concealed an abandoned utility shed inside, a gray-haired man with a matching, three-day old scruff of beard emerged, surveying his realm with satisfaction.

	It was good to be the king.

	Jim stretched and yawned as he looked about. Sure, there were people who came to this area but they were passersby. It really was all his and he benevolently allowed the trespassers.

	Years before, he had been striving to be somebody, working long hours in a cubicle to make his mark. What he got was divorce papers, a stalled career before his layoff, and a bank account that had been cleaned out while he had been barred from accessing it. 

	People told him to buck up, roll his sleeves up, brush the dirt off and re-build his life. But during what was supposed to be a temporary stay on the streets, Jim learned that he could re-make himself here for his own benefit and not for the approval of others. Especially of those others who would screw him over. 

	Before his gainful employment in the service of other, more successful people, he had learned of the curious fate of Garrity Park's original utility control shed. Decades earlier, planners had fashioned the concrete building on a rise and then covered it with dirt from the grading of the park land around it. After planting grass and shrubs, the utility building was nestled into the hill with only a slab of concrete and a thick, banded door marking its existence. It looked sort of medieval, playing into the fairytale landscape of the original part of Garrity Park. 

	When the west end of the park was developed, a newer utility building was constructed with a wood log exterior to make it appear rustic. Looking for a home, Jim had easily broken the rusty lock of the old place and found a palace inside. There was minimal water and power in there - a single cold water spigot and a single outlet that still tapped into the park's plumbing and power, respectively. At the far end of the interior, there was even a commode - one of those old ones with the elevated water tank and a pull chain. It was an antique from the early days of the park's construction but Jim wasn't choosy. Hey, how many homeless guys had utilities?

	A newer padlock replaced the discarded one and Jim settled in and began to stock his place with items he legally bought. This detail was accomplished by a steady income from the park itself. In the west end, people tossed coins into the huge fountain while making wishes. Signs informed them that coins collected would go to charities in the city. 

	Jim saw himself as a legitimate charity and on rainy nights would raid the fountain while other eyes weren't about. He left most of the money in there but he was amazed at the decent haul he could make on a single trip in the months when the fountain wasn't secured and covered for winter. And it was all tax-free, which stretched his spending power even further. 

	Then there was a the occasional drunkard or drug addict who passed out in his kingdom of the east and was good for a few bucks when Jim scavenged  their pockets. One time, he had seen a young guy running from the cops who tossed a gym bag into the bushes. After the police sped past, Jim went to investigate, funding several large zip-lock bags of white powder and a whole bunch of money in mostly twenties or smaller. 

	He had no use for the powder - drugs never had much appeal although he did favor his alcohol. But the money was convenient. He felt kind of ridiculous tossing the fifties and hundred-dollar bills but he knew that someone like him paying with something like that might result in questions he didn't want.

	All the same, his home was now quite comfortable. Well-insulated, it never got unbearably hot in the summer (and he did have a battered old box fan to help) and never abysmally cold in the winter. And so he stocked it with thrift store furniture - a card table and mismatched chairs and a blood-stained, queen-sized mattress he had found on the sidewalk across from the east entrance to the park. He had it turned with the stains on the bottom and, with some old blankets, had a decent bed that beat the hell out of a park bench.

	The area outside of his end of the park was home to a few seedy, second rate porn shops. Jim didn't mind the older stuff as the photo models never aged and the girls in the novels never did, either. The books were the best part. Some of the old mags had very young-looking older teens and young women with their hair in pigtails and dressed to emulate little girls. But the girls in the books were genuinely young. He loved the pre-teens best and had several books with girls as young as nine in them. 

	The other nice thing about his perpetual girlfriends was that they didn't mind the undersized penis he had. His ex-wife had been rather cruel about it during the divorce (not that he heard it anymore once he stopped showing up for the legal appointments with the lawyers). He was too short and too thin but those models and characters always moaned about the feel of his huge, throbbing dick as he rammed it into them. Who needed HD TV when he had his theater of the mind?

	Feeling the bite in the late autumn air, Bill shivered a bit. In one hand hung a sodden wool hat and scarf. He had washed them in a bucket and chose a tree branch on which to let them dry. While not a cleanliness fanatic, they were kind of nasty and he didn't want to look or smell like a walking garbage pit. After all, he had his standards, too.

	Back in his home, he let hours slip by as he studied a new version of solitaire from a book. He loved playing the game in all of its variations and he was surprised by the hour as he looked at the old wind-up clock on the shelf that had originally been built to house tools. It wasn't a good idea to let his stuff hang out there for too long and he hurriedly went back out. Then he discovered he was a few minutes too late.

	There were four of them - punk teens from the area. One was capering about in his hat while two others were playing tug-of-war with his scarf. Jim hollered, hoping to startle them so they would drop his stuff and bolt. They ran - but also with his winter accessories.

	Jim hurled abuses after them - not to cow them but to vent his anger at his own stupidity. After several phrases that would have drawn rave reviews from his career-Navy uncle, he noticed someone else was nearby and headed his way.

	For the want of a nail, a kingdom was lost. But for the want of a scarf, a kingdom was forever changed.

	As she finished her climb up the stairs, Kirsty's pulse was quickening. It wasn't from the walk of four stories but from nervous anticipation. In a re-used grocery plastic bag, a cheap scarf was rolled. They were available at the after-school program a nearby church held for disadvantaged children. 

	Kirsty had drawn on it with colored laundry markers and then selected several iron-on images that an adult volunteer pressed into the material. Examining the finished project, the six year-old had been quite pleased. Now she hoped her mother would be as well since it had been made just for her.

	As she approached the apartment door, Kirsty swallowed hard. Her mother was hard to please. The woman was often cross with Kirsty and her little sister, Lilly. The girls were a burden to her, as she often told them, explaining that too much of her hard-earned money went to support them. 

	From other kids at school, Kirsty had learned that many parents went to work to make money. Kirsty's mother got checks and the mail and letters that told her how much had been added to the account on the plastic card her mother used. Although the little girl didn't understand how that was hard work, she knew better than to ask.

	Kirsty knocked carefully - just loud enough to be heard and not loud enough to irritate her mother. The door opened and the unshaven face of Wyatt, her mother's current boyfriend sneered down at her. With a roll of his eyes, he opened the door wider to let her in before closing and locking it behind her. Her mother was on the couch, lighting a cigarette while Lilly was in the corner with a cheap plastic doll and her thumb in her mouth. The four year-old waved with her free hand, opening and closing her fingers. 

	Smiling at her little sister, Kirsty took a breath and then turned to her mother.

	"Mommy, I made you this," she said as she fumbled with the bag.

	Martha squinted as her older daughter pulled the scarf out. 

	"What the fuck did you put that shit on there, for?" she shouted. "Fuck! Do you thing I'd wear something like that? If you had just left it alone, I might have picked up a couple of bucks for it. Take that shit out of here and put it in the goddamn dumpster so I don't have to see it again!"

	Kristy's eyes brimmed with tears. She had really done her best and the nice people at the church said she had done well. But crying would make her mother even more cross and Kirsty drew the sleeve of her dirty jacket across her eyes to kill the evidence. Lilly's dark eyes were huge above the curled fingers of her thumb-sucking hand as she scuttled on her rear more tightly into the corner so she wouldn't be noticed by the grown-ups. 

	Speeding through the door that Wyatt had re-opened, Kirsty stumbled when the man's foot connected with her rear. Wyatt snickered but was slightly disappointed when the stupid little cunt didn't fall on her face. Then he closed the door and went to the couch, carrying two cans of beer with him. Wordlessly, he handed one can to Martha.

	"It's a good thing someone knows what to get me," she grumbled as Wyatt sat next to her. 

	A moment later, Wyatt planted his hand in her crotch with the unspoken promise of giving her something else she wanted. Neither one gave a thought to the child huddled in the corner. And that suited Lilly just fine.

	It really was a nice scarf. Kirsty though about keeping it for herself but was afraid it might be discovered by her mother or Wyatt. Heartbroken, the little girl crossed the street from her apartment and into the park. She didn't know what to do but was afraid she might cry so at least she could do it with no one around out here.

	She wasn't paying attention to anything around her as she quietly wept and walked along a path packed with dead weeds. It wasn't until she heard a man's angry voice, bellowing words she was quite familiar with. Looking up, she saw a man yelling at a bunch of teens who apparently had his hat and scarf. When they ran off, the man seemed to deflate.

	Kirsty didn't have a hat for him, but maybe he'd like the pretty scarf she had made. Treading carefully, she approached the man and held out her offering.

	Jim vaguely recognized the little girl - one of the local kids. Her brown hair hung loosely down her back and the redness in her soft brown eyes told him she had been crying. Yet she held up some cloth with a gaudy array of shapes and colors that took him a moment to recognize as a scarf. The man and girl stared at each other for a minute until the girl lifted the thing in her hands a little higher.

	"For me?" Jim asked.

	The girl nodded.

	"I made it," she said in a voice scarcely above a whisper. 

	Jim was genuinely touched. Sure he had seen the girl before and had a few lurid fantasies about her. But this was innocent kindness - a nearly mythological commodity in his world. Dropping to one knee, he reached out and tentatively accepted the gift.

	"Why, it's very nice. But are you sure you should give this to me?"

	The girl nodded again.

	"Thank you," Jim replied, his weathered face cracking into a genuine smile.

	The girl responded with a smile of her own. Then she looked around him and saw the open door in the hill.

	"Is that where you live?" she asked.

	"Yep."

	"Is it a castle? That's what the door looks like. It's a castle under the ground, right?"

	Jim chuckled.

	"No, just a little place I call my own. But a man's home is his castle."

	"Could I see it? Please?"

	Said the fly to the spider, Jim thought. On instinct, his eyes darted about. No one else was in sight. To have a little girl inside...no one would know.

	Jim mentally shivered. The kid was being nice and what was he thinking - rape? He had heard rumors of a bunch of guys living under the Fourth Street Bridge who had managed to trick a little girl into giving up her goodies and now had her down there on a regular basis. Looking at the little girl in front of him, Jim saw that she had enough roughness in her life without having some man force himself into her.

	The kid was really eager to see his place, but...

	Jim scratched the three-day old whiskers on his face. 

	"Um, I'm a little behind on my weekly cleaning," he began, equating about two decades to "little". "But if you want to visit tomorrow, I'll be happy to show you around the place."

	The girl's face lit up and she nodded eagerly. Jim stuck out his hand.

	"I'm Jim," he said.

	The girl put her small hand in his.

	"I'm Kirsty."

	"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Kirsty. How old are you?"

	"Six."

	Six years old and allowed to go out on her own. Jim inwardly groaned - she was a pedophile's dream. But to take advantage of that...

	"Six, Wow, that's a good age. I'll make sure I have a snack for you. What would you like?"

	"Punch and cookies?" Kirsty asked, letting the words slip before she could stop. Blurting requests to her mother was a good way to get smacked.

	Jim saw her flinch and understood. So he grinned widely to show her that all was well between the two of them.

	"Then I will see you then with a spread laid out."

	Using old newspapers, Jim had swept the dirt (or at least most of it) out and straightened up the place. His porno mags were stacked on a high shelf so she wouldn't see the covers. The sex novels he kept lower, figuring she wouldn't make much of those. On the freshly washed table were a bag of cookies, two plastic cups, and a bottle of fruit punch. 

	Jim nodded at his place as he rubbed his shaven cheek. Then he felt ridiculous.

	It was like he was sixteen and going on a date. But no, he was a middle-aged pervert waiting for a little girl to arrive. Jim sighed and promised himself he would not do anything against her will. Better yet, he would not even make an advance.

	When Kirsty arrived, Jim had the teenage giddiness inside of him again. He laughed at himself for feeling relieved that he hadn't been stood up. Kirsty was amazed at his little place under the hill and was especially pleased when she saw the scarf she had made neatly folded and holding a place of honor on one of the shelves.

	They sat down for a fine dining experience of punch and cookies and chatted. Mostly, it was Kirsty telling him about herself. But then she stopped and looked around the place again.

	"Jim, why do you live here?" she asked with no accusation or condensation in her voice.

	The answer could have been complicated, but Jim simply said," I like a place where I can get away from the rest of the world."

	"Get away from the rest of the world," Kirsty murmured before giving him a look that was far older than her years. "I wish I could do that."

	Jim didn't know what to say, so he simply remained silent while Kirsty looked around the room again.

	"You've got lots of books,' she noted as she stared at the stacks on the shelves.

	"I like to read."

	"Could you read me a story?"

	"Well, I don't know..."

	The girl plucked a paperback with a tattered red and yellow cover from the lowest shelf and handed it to Jim.

	"Let's read this one. Please?"

	His heart hammering as he felt himself riding down a slope he had half-heartedly tried to avoid, Jim looked at the cover, "Suzie's Coming of Age". How appropriate. Kirsty crawled into his lap, leaning back against him with the implicit trust of the very young. A small part of him still tried to figure a way out, but when she looked up at him expectantly, he knew the dice were cast.

	"What's the story about, Jim?"

	"It's about a little girl named Suzie who learns all about doing adult things."

	"Is she six, like me?"

	"No, she's twelve."

	"That's not a little girl. That's a big girl."

	"Well, twelve is still little to an old fart like me."

	Kirsty giggled.

	"You said, 'fart'."

	Jim chuckled at her reaction and flipped through the obligatory forward that tried to make it seem like the tawdry stroke book was an examination of societal norms, blah, blah, blah. They all had them - some little farce to avoid getting ensnared by some obscenity laws back in the day.

	Keeping his voice somewhat even, Jim began to read the tale of prepubescent sex to the first grader, who listened with rapt attention. After he finished the third chapter, Kirsty piped up.

	"I used to call my kitty a pee-pee. But it's also a pussy and a cunt and a cunny?

	Jim's modest penis had already become erect with the child's bottom pressing against it while reading the book. Now it twitched as the nasty words came innocently from Kirsty's mouth. 

	"Yeah, right."

	"What did the book mean when Suzie's kitty came? Came where?"

	"Cumming is what happens when someone's, uh, special parts feel extra good. For you, it's your kitty and for me it's my penis."

	"Is your penis a cock?" she asked, referring to the term used in the pages Jim had just read aloud.

	"Exactly."

	Kirsty was silent as she pondered this new information.

	"I don't think my kitty has ever cum," she remarked. 

	"Do you ever touch it to make it feel good?"

	Kirsty looked up at him curiously.

	"No. I just pee with it. That's what kitties are for."

	"Yes, but Suzie is learning that they are for much more than just peeing. How about if I touch it for you while I read some more? One more chapter and then you have to go home so you won't get in trouble."

	Kirsty looked like she was about to agree but then shook her head.

	"Strangers aren't allowed to touch my private parts," she explained. "I learned that at school."

	"Strangers, yeah...well, aren't I friend instead of a stranger?"

	Kirsty brightened.

	"Oh yeah!"

	The little girl happily opened her legs to allow the man's hand to rest against her crotch. While he read more of the obscene material to her, his fingers worked against the soft flesh protected by the material of her pants and panties.

	Kirsty was wearing a cheap pair of jeans and Jim couldn't feel much in the way of details as he molested the child. Still, the knowledge of what he was doing there was a better hit than a shot of good bourbon. Between two layers of cloth was the bald little snatch for a first grader! Kirsty didn't struggle or try to break contact from him as her cunny was kneaded. Then the chapter was over and with some reluctance, Jim set the book down. He didn't want Kirsty to get a beating for coming home too late, even if her mother usually didn't care where she was.

	"Jim?"

	"Yes."

	"Can you read me more if I come back? Please?"

	Victory trumpets sounded in Jim's head.

	"Of course, I'd really like that."

	Kirsty spun around in his lap and hugged him.

	"I'll be here tomorrow!" she said and then scooted off.

	When the door closed behind her, Jim locked it and immediately dropped his pants. As he grasped his member, his thoughts went back to the vague feel of her crotch, the lewd words carried by her sweet voice, and the pressure of her rear end against his penis.

	When she got home, Kirsty raced to the bathroom and lowered her pants. Tentatively, she felt her panties and confirmed that they were wet in the crotch. Then she slid them down and peered at the puffy bit of flesh with the cleft in it that she had never paid much attention to, before. She was wet there, too, especially at the little slit. 

	Lifting a dampened finger to her nose, she sniffed. She hadn't peed. She had gotten wet just like Suzie did! Kirsty shivered. She could hardly wait for story time with her new friend tomorrow.

	When Kirsty arrived the next day, both she and Jim proceeded to the "story chair". It was a beat-up old upholstered chair which had lost much of its padding via the worn holes in the cloth covering. Jim had stuffed it with rags and had crudely sewed blankets in place to keep his makeshift repairs inside. It was imperfect and lumpy in spots, but it was high living to Jim.

	As Kirsty climbed into his lap, she sat rigidly instead of leaning against him. She had a pensive expression on her face and Jim began to worry. About what, he didn't know, but he worried. 

	"I have to tell you something," the girl whispered.

	"It's okay, there's only us in here," Jim replied.

	Kirsty looked about, confirming that she and Jim were securely tucked away behind the locked door under the hill. Nevertheless, she rose up on her knees to whisper in his ear. Then she imparted her important news.

	"You made my kitty wet when you touched it."

	"That's a good thing, right" he asked aloud.

	"Yes," she whispered, enamored with her juicy little secret. 

	Emboldened by this discovery, Jim tried something he had previously thought should wait.

	"You know, it will feel better if I touch you directly. Without any clothes in the way."

	Kirsty was surprised and she thought about this. Slowly, she pushed her pants off, removing her sneakers so she could get the pants off her feet. Nervously, she looked at Jim.

	Seeing that she was unsure whether to go on, Jim took hold of her shirt and pulled it up. Kirsty raised her arms, allowing him to strip her upper body bare. There was no definition between the lean planes of her chest and tummy. Even her nipples were just light shadowy shapes on her pale skin.

	"Do you want me to help you with these?" he asked as he brushed a finger over her panties.

	When Kirsty nodded, he slid them down. The tot made worried noises in her throat as her undies traveled down her slender legs. Jim laid the tiny panties on arm of the couch. The sight of them, freshly removed from the little girl, was intoxicating. Kirsty kept her legs together as she bent them up at the knees so she could remove her socks. She was slow in doing it and even slower about lowering her legs once her socks were off. Still, she kept her thighs clamped together. Gently, he pulled Kirsty's legs apart, 

	"Jim?" she asked anxiously.

	"Yes," he said, he hand hovering as he sought to feel her.

	"The men in the story liked Suzie's kitty and said it was pretty. Is my kitty pretty like Suzie's?"

	Jim suddenly understood the true source of Kirsty's reluctance to be naked.

	"Even prettier," he said hoarsely as he lowered his hand.

	She was so soft beneath his fingers, both on the feathery smoothness of the skin and in the pliant flesh that created the perfect little female bulge. Kirsty cooed as she lay against his chest, spreading her legs even farther so her dainty pussy could be completely fondled. As Jim read from the book, he explored as much as he could of the six year-old's sex. 

	Her slit was drooling by the time he inserted a finger into it. Finding the tiny entrance, he eased the end of his finger tip through the delicate labia before discovering the obstruction of her hymen. Kirsty didn't know what a virgin was, or that she was one. But she loved the finger that stirred the juices coming from her. She imagined herself as Suzie, being naked and wet while men took pictures of her because she was so pretty. Mommy never said she was pretty.

	Abandoning the thin membrane, Jim led his finger up to the nubbin at the top of Kirsty's slit. He massaged it, feeling it stiffen while the child squirmed. After two chapters, Kirsty was getting pretty heated. Setting the book down, Jim rubbed her chest and belly while he fingered her soupy little cunt. 

	Desperately needful for more of what was happening, Kirsty humped with her slim hips, her natural instincts taking hold as her body responded to its premature arousal. Her head dropped back, her eyes staring up at him and her mouth hanging open while she ground her naked ass against the hard lump in the man's pants. 

	Observing the parted lips and the tiny tongue that played between them, Jim had a sudden urge to taste her mouth.

	"I'm going to kiss you like a lover," he said as he brought his head down.

	Kirsty felt his lips cover hers. She thought she was supposed to close her mouth and purse her lips to kiss. But when she tried, he moved his tongue into her. Feeling suddenly dizzy, the first grader allowed her mouth to be thoroughly tasted. Her dormant nipples came to life as the man's fingers worked against them. The pleasantness between her legs became an ache, growing tighter and tighter until she was abruptly shaken.

	Jim lifted his head as the first convulsion ripped through the girl. With his finger rubbing between the fleshy lips of her bald twatlet, the six year-old became a slave to her first orgasm. Each time she convulsed, Jim could feel a hot little squirt burst from her tiny cunny.

	Kirsty sat slumped against the man. Dazedly, she looked at her glistening quim as Jim dipped his finger into her dewy cleft again. She didn't know why he kept doing that until she saw him sucking it clean. When he noticed her, he grinned and his next moistened finger came up and pressed against her lips. Kirsty let him in, tasting the nectar of her immature pussy.

	When she shifted in his lap, she could feel his hardness digging into one plump buttock. She moved to the side and put a hand on his fly, trying to determine the mystery of the cock that Jim had read about. 

	Jim unzipped his fly and worked his drawers about so that his erection could be freed. Kirsty gasped and stared before turning her fawn-like eyes up to Jim's face.

	"Can I touch it?" she asked sweetly, like a child asking for ice cream.

	And of course Jim let her. When her little fingers closed lightly over the head, he thought he'd let loose right then. But gritting his teeth, he held on. With open wonder on her face, she slid her hands down his four inches of length

	"It's so big," she murmured, which did wonders for Jim.

	He showed her how to grasp him and move her hands up and down. With a first grader in the nude jacking his meat, Jim surrendered. Kirsty exclaimed as the small white fountain erupted. When he was done, she curiously took some of the stuff on her finger to examine it.

	"Is this what Suzie was drinking?" she asked.

	"That's it."

	Kirsty popped her finger in her mouth, her brows knitting with indecision over the odd, salty taste. Then emulating her fictional heroine, she gulped it down. Although his recovery was usually not that quick, Jim began to harden as he gazed at the naked six year-old who looked so innocent with his sperm swimming in her tummy.

	It was a week later and they were reading another book. By now, they scarcely got through a chapter before busy hands made each other cum. Still, Kirsty often mentioned Suzy.

	Suzy Waters had quite an adventure in the first book, getting her cherry popped by a pornographer, getting fucked by strange men, her father, brother, and a German Shepherd named Blowjob while getting lezzy with her mother and sister. Kirsty had laughed on and on when Suzy got her banana-smeared cunny licked by a monkey.

	Jim could tell she was fascinated by the idea of oral contact but when he suggested going down on her, she became worried.

	"I don't want to get eaten," she whined. "What if you bite me?"

	"I wouldn't do that!"

	While Kirsty didn't argue, she was at the age when small children were terrified of being gobbled up by monsters. Jim jokingly offered to let her do him first. To his surprise and delight, she agreed.

	Holding his erection, the naked little girl gingerly tongued him all over until his dick was covered in spit. Then she opened wide and plopped his glans into her mouth where her little tongue lapped at him while her cheeks hollowed with the force of her suction. Slowly, she bobbed up and down, her damp lips hugging his member as they slid along it. She didn't take much inside her mouth, but Jim had no quarrels as Kirsty concentrated on her oral work.

	When he ejaculated in her mouth, the first grader made small murmuring noises as the semen coated her oral hole. But she swallowed it all just like young girls did in those wonderful books. 

	"See? No biting and I came," Jim remarked as he got out of the chair. 

	Kirsty climbed onto the bed and lay on her back with her legs spread like Jim told her to. The nude child looked so sexy and vulnerable and Jim wondered what that sweet little cunt would feel like stretched around his dick. Perhaps one day, but he didn't want it to be unwanted.

	Putting his face between her legs, he kissed the round lips of the child's cunny. Then he followed with his tongue, heavily swabbing the entire bald vulva. When Kirsty pressed her crotch against his mouth, he knew she was his. He held her hips, occasionally sliding a hand up the side of her smooth body while he dug into her hairless feast. When he sucked the entire plump mound into his mouth, Kirsty squealed and kicked up with her legs. 

	In an effort to keep that sensation against her cunny, the tot wrapped her legs around the man's head, goading him to suck her itching little twat, dab at her hardened clit, and slide his tongue into her slick crevice. With her firm little thighs squeezing the sides of his face, the six year-old came noisily, her tiny pussy pumping miniature bursts of girl juice over his tongue. A minute later, Jim had his tongue in her mouth while she sucked every drop of her essence from him.

	Kirsty developed a taste for cum fluids - both male and female. Having read a chapter involving a lifeguard slamming his wad into the eager cunt hole of a ten year-old that he had deflowered a week earlier, a nude Kirsty was bouncing and wriggling on Jim's lap. His prick was jammed against the child's oozing cunny and trapped between the lusciousness of her small thighs. 

	Kirsty had already cum and Jim's dick was smearing her fluids all over her thighs and pubis. When he came, she cooed as his semen painted the front of her bare torso. She opened her legs to release his penis and promptly smeared her cunny juice all over her belly and chest to mix it with the man's cream. After licking her fingers clean, she kept taking more of it and doing the same until she had a mixture from both of their orgasms warming her tummy.

	Then she went still although by the tilt of her head Jim knew she was thinking heavily.

	"When you squirt," she began. "It's called sperm and semen, and jism and man juice and cream."

	"Yup. More words for the same thing. It keeps the smut writers from getting bored."

	"When Steve the lifeguard squirted in Mandy, it was called baby juice."

	"And there's another name."

	"Why is it called baby juice? Steve's not a baby."

	Jim paused before answering, somewhat amused to have to explain the facts of life to Kirsty at this stage. 

	"When a man cums in a girl's pussy, there's a place a little further inside called the womb. If his sperm gets in there and it's the right time of the month for the girl, a baby is made."

	Kirsty mused over this before she turned sideways in his lap and peered up at him with earnest eyes.

	"Will you please make a baby in me?" the first grader asked.



Copyright (c) 2018 madvlad

madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm























This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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