study at my place

She was nine when I moved in, a spidery little kid, all gawky and
self-conscious as only a city kid can be. And she was bright and sweet
and unaffected. She was the landlord’s daughter, and the fact that such
a neat kid would be in my new apartment building was one reason I took
the place.
The trouble started three years later.

“Hi. This is Angie.”
(As if I might not recognize her voice. Sure, she’d been less
likely to spend time chatting with the guy on the fourth floor in
the last year — especially the last few months — but that was okay.
And her voice was immediately recognizable, nonetheless.)
“I have to do this paper for school on volcanoes and I was
wondering if it would be okay if I looked at some of the books you have.”
(She knew about the book collection, because she’d seen it.)
“So, like, if it’s no hassle, let me know when you get a chance,
okay? The paper is due Monday. Thanks.”
(I was listening to the recording on my answering machine on
Thursday night.)
On my way out the next morning, I slid a note under the door of the
owner’s apartment saying Saturday, around noon, would be fine. My main
squeeze was out of the country on vacation and if Angie needed more time
or help, Saturday would be no problem.
I made a mental note to clean up the place when I got home from
work Friday night — I like to sleep in on Saturdays — so it would be
presentable when Angie came up to raid the books. I had several books
on volcano logy — it fascinated me when I was in my teens — as well
as the encyclopedia (Britannica).
In truth, I was delighted that I had stuff that could help a good,
bright kids get a solid grade. Really. That was it. I mean — sure, the
baby fat was melting away and a very pretty girl was emerging, but she
was still very much A Kid, so nothing else occurred to me.

Saturday afternoon, 12:10 p.m., there’s a knock at the door. I’m
mostly awake. I’ve had two cups of The Elixir of Life (a.k.a., “coffee”)
and half a Black and Mild (wine flaver o’ course). This is as awake as I
should ever have to be at ten after noon on a Saturday.
Angie. Telling me how much she appreciates my help and many
promises not be a problem and cute as can be in her HUGE oversized
sweatshirt and spray-on Gitanos. I note — not being dead — that she
has a very cute and sexy and well-formed butt inside that denim and tell
myself that somewhere out there in Shelby, Montgomery or the rest of the
south state area, there is an incredibly lucky 12- or
13-year-old boy who doesn’t know that this butt has his name on it — or
will.
I simply smiled and told her of my genuine pleasure at her use of
the books and pointed to the living room, which is where the Library
Wall lives and lived. For myself, I planned to finish that second half of the pack,
drink more coffee. Lots of More Coffee. (This is a prescribed
response to going out for “a couple” of beers with military-friends on
Friday night.) I suggested she open the windows wide, if she liked,
since it was a typical Weird April and the temperature was already near
75 degrees, and the smell of the cigerette might bother her.
(that didn’t happen)

Angie started with the Brit-3 (logical) and soon had four volumes
scattered on the floor. I went on-line and checked my e-mail. more porn spam.great -__-
Carefully deleting it, I refilled my coffee cup. Came
back in and started answering mail, then looked up to find her watching
me. Great big hazel eyes and sun-lightened hair falling in riotous curls
around her rounded, pretty face. Very pretty face.
“What’s up?”
“The encyclopedia is great, but we’re not supposed to just use one
book or encyclopedia.”
“No problem.” I stood and padded, barefoot, behind her into the
living room. Barely 12, Angie was small even for that — maybe 4-foot-6
— and not even the luscious twitching of her butt in the Gitanos could
dispel the awareness that she was a kid. A smart, pretty — maybe even
sexy — kid. But a kid. I kept telling myself that as I stood, towering
behind her, at 5’9, in front of the stacks and pulled books for her. I had
several on volcano logy, tectonic plates and morphology.
In the meantime, volumes of Brit-3 were scattered all over the
living room floor, with a liberal leavening of pages from her notebook
covered with semi-legible scrawls.
Naturally, though she was supposed to do the research and writing
on the paper, it took a good — oh, fifteen minutes before I was
crawling around the living room floor with her, finding and marking
passages that would be useful and relevant.
Crawling around on the floor is precisely when the trouble started.
I was just riffling the pages of THE HOLE IN THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA
(about Project MoHo) for a useful explanatory section when I looked up
and found myself confronted with her jean-clad butt. She was crouched
over something else, reading, but as she read she was moving that cute,
round little ass in small circles.
I was wearing an old sweatshirt and a pair of nine-year-old jeans
and nothing else. Seeing her hard little ass, the way the denim of the
jeans crept between her cheek and the split of her cunt and — oddly,
most of all — the little line of bare flesh just above her waist, where
her shirt had crept up…well, it was instant, embarrassing boner time.
This was a KID, for cryin’ out loud!
I cleared my throat and said, “Angie, please sit on the couch or
something.”
“Huh?”
“Waving your butt in front of my face is a bit awkward for me.”
(Yes, I really do talk that. Sue me.)
Now she leaned her head back and turned to look at me over her
shoulders, hazel eyes bright with mischief and mirth. “What’s the matter,
Mike? Too hot for ya?” She wiggled for effect.
“That — and too young. Stop it.”
She arched her back and swiveled her butt still more. “You mean
this? Or what?”
“Or I’ll take a great big bite out of your ass.”
She giggled and flashed me a Dare You look and thrust her butt back
at me.
I reached out with both hands, grabbed her denim-clad hips, leaned
forward and bit lightly on her right cheek. Very lightly, since the
denim was tight and her ass flesh was tighter, leaving no excess to grip.
Angie squealed and shivered slightly, so I bit the other butt-cheek.
“Ooooh — you’ll never get me to stop that way!”
I squeezed her hips and she shivered again. “Maybe the jeans are
too tight,” she said and I heard a click — followed by a zzzzzip! The
jeans loosened. Then they began to slide down.
“What the hell — stop it, Angie!”
“Uh-uh. I know what I’m doing and I know what I want.” Jeans still
sliding — pink rayon was coming into view — and her voice suddenly
softer and huskier.
“What do you want?”
“What your girlfriends get that makes them moan and scream so loud
that I can hear them down in my bedroom.”
Shit. I’d thought that with the window and drapes closed and the
pillow as a muffler, the cries wouldn’t be audible — certainly not all
the way down the airshaft to the second floor bedroom of an over-sexed,
barely pubescent pre-teen.
“And you think you’re ready for this?”
The jeans reached the back of her thighs. There was a growing wet
spot in the tight crotch of the tight pink panties (which had a little
yellow heart on one side). She was certainly ready physically.
“You bet my ass, I’m ready,” she murmured.
“Convince me.” My hands trembled as I took them off her lithe,
rounded little hips.
“How?”
I knelt up straight and she turned to sit on that cut butt, staring
at me as she skinned the jeans the rest of the way off.
“Go into my bedroom, take off your clothes, lay on the bed and
masterbate.”
She frowned.
“What — “
“I’ll come in and watch you. If you’re ready for this, then you
sure as hell won’t mind me seeing you rub yourself.”
She stood slowly, knees quivering. “Promise?”
I nodded. She nodded back, then stepped around me, shapely young
legs flashing inches from my eyes, and headed for my bedroom.
I stayed there for a long five minutes, contemplating what I was
getting into. Something too young, yet obviously mature enough to know
what she wanted. My cock, however, was contemplating only one thing and
it won the debate.
Slowly, I stood and went into the bedroom. She lay atop the covers,
naked, eyes closed, one hand moving between her rounded thighs, the
other toying with the small mounds of her breasts and the stiff little
spikes of her nipples. Her hips were rocking slightly and the aroma of
her juices was rich in the room.
She opened her eyes and slowly focused on me. “You promised…”
I shucked my clothes quickly. She watched avidly. I stretched out
next to her on the bed. “Have you done this before?”
“With a boy? No.”
“It’ll hurt, the first time.”
“No it won’t. I had an accident on a bike a long time ago.” Her
eyes unfocused and she moaned. Her hand was moving faster between her
legs. “Pleease, don’t make me wait…”
I leaned down and kissed her soft, sweet lips. She may not have
fucked before, but she sure as hell had done some practicing kissing.
Her lips were demanding and her tongue was expert and she savored the
kiss as much as I did. When I finally broke it off, I started kissing
the line of her jaw, then her ears and finally started working down over
her soft throat and chest.
Her hand went to the back of my head, guiding my mouth to her
little tits. They were unbelievably sweet and vulnerable, so small and
fresh. Her skin was smooth and very, very firm. Her nipples were hot and
when she felt me take one into her mouth, gently sucking and then
tonguing, she gasped and pulled my face down fiercely onto her young
boob.
At the same time, I moved one hand down over her belly, caressing
her abdomen and hips and thighs. She was short enough that I could
easily reach all the way down her constantly moving legs to her taut
calves. When my fingertips trailed up the inside of one quivering thigh,
she gasped and hunched down at my hand. I evaded.
“C’mon, c’mon, touch me…” she moaned. “Make me get over!”
My lips followed the trail blazed by my wandering hand. She had
both hands on my head, fingers twined in my hair as my lips descended
first on one hip, then the other. I trailed my tongue down to the
unlined crease of her thigh and traced it almost to her pussy. The
fragrance was incredible — clean and rich and sweet.
She opened her thighs wider and tried to trap my head between them.
I used both hands to hold them apart as I repositioned myself between
her legs, belly down and ready for lunch.
There wasn’t a hair on her mound and the tiny slit, though
glistening, was pink and swollen. Her clitoris, fully engorged, protruded
cleanly above the petite labia.
I blew softly across the tightly pressed lips and she gasped loudly
and tried to drag my mouth onto her. I let her win that one —
gradually. I licked the tip of my tongue around and around the
compressed lips of her fledgling cunt and only slowly drew the spirals
in.
When I pressed my tongue flat against her cunt and licked slowly
up, she began to hump at me and grunt rhythmically. When the tip of my
tongue caught the underside of her swollen clit, she began to moan —
loudly. And when I finally flicked over her tiny trigger. She whined and
came. And she came hard, grinding her cunt down on my mouth so I could
feel her pulsing.
I worked my hands under butt and grabbed — and covered — one
perfect cheek with each hand. I held her up to my mouth and let my
tongue go nuts on her. She came again and then again, her whines getting
louder and more prolonged and sometimes almost intelligible words. I ate
her for as long as I could stand it.
There was one more step to get her completely caught up in her own
lusts, though. I withdrew my hands from under her clenching little ass
and placed one finger at the entrance of her cunt. Slowly, carefully, I
pried open her lips and found the tiny opening. She was unbelievably
wet, but also unbelievably tight. And hot.
As I kept licking at her, I rotated my hand and eased my finger
inside her, palm up. Her cunt clenched on my finger and she emitted a
soft scream of pleasure as she rammed her hips down onto the digit. She
immediately started a fucking motion, pausing ever few seconds to cum
again — holding her self all the way down and contracting her cunt
violently on my finger.
I moved the fingertip inside her and put my other hand on her
abdomen, just above her bare little pubis. I pushed down with the hand
and felt the swollen, pulsing bundle of nerves on the upper part of her
vagina with the inserted finger — and began massaging.
“OH SHIT!” she screamed and then she really began cumming.
Uncontrollable spasms of pleasure wracked her small body. Her scream was
suddenly muffled — she had grabbed a pillow for the purpose — but
intensified in strength and tone as I continued to massage her G-spot
and lick her swollen clitoris. Her belly muscles rippled and her cunt
spasmed wildly, milking the finger, as she came.
I kept it up for a few more minutes and she never so much as paused
in her orgasms. When I finally withdrew the finger and stopped the oral
ministrations, she laid tensed and still cumming on the bed. After a few
seconds, she calmed to an occasional shudder of pleasure and limply
pushed the pillow off her face. Her eyes were wet and her cheeks were
damp. There was a small spot of blood on her lower lip where she had
bitten it.
She managed to focus her open, crazed eyes on me as I knelt between
her legs. Her lips moved, but no words came out at first. She swallowed
loudly and finally whispered, “I never imagined I could get over like
that! I feel like it’s still happening!” She sounded amazed. “How did
you learn to do* that?”
“Extensive research and all the practice I could get. Ready for
part two?”
I shuffled forward on my knees between her shaking thighs, old Mr.
slappy leading the way.
“I don’t want to get pregnant…” she whispered.
“condom.”
“But I don’t want to, you know, catch anything.”
“Tested and cleared for all diseases. Relax, Angie; do you really
think I’d take a chance with either?”
She shook her head slightly. “No, it’s just last-minute jitters.”
I reached down to slide one finger over her tiny pussy and she
shook again.
“Get in me!” she whispered, eyes closing, legs opening and
raising toward me.
I leaned over her and guided my prick to the vulnerable little slit
and was suddenly beset with doubts. She was so small! Even my average-
size cock looked too big for her labia, let alone the tiny opening I
knew was inside.
But as soon as the knob was against her, she began swiveling those
narrow hips, with their meager traces of lingering baby-fat, trying to
screw her cunt onto my dick. Her legs went around my waist and she
started humping herself up at me.
I worked my glands into the grip of her tiny pussy lips, the put my
hand under tautly upturned little ass. I pressed into her gently,
rotating my hips to find the angle and the opening.
Suddenly, she groaned out an “Uh-huh! Uh-huh!” and pulled at me
fiercely. I took this as a hint and pressed harder and felt an unreal
constriction begin at the head of my cock. Bit by tortuous bit, I was
sliding into her, the tiny pussy hard and tight around me. The knob
suddenly was all the way into the miniature opening and we both groaned.
She looked up at me and asked, “Is it all the way in?” Then she
looked down and saw there was plenty more. “Oh, damn, more-more-more…”
She began bucking her hips up at me while her hands came up around my
neck. She was trying to pull me into her and pull her onto me. I did my
best to help.
Slowly, so very damned slowly, I sank into her a little more, then
pulled back and pushed again. I saw her tiny, swollen pussy lips
stretched thin around my shaft.