Tales from the Caribbean

Shanita

First an Overview, then the Story

Having spent fifteen years in the enveloping warmth of the
Caribbean, I have come to understand and love the people. I have
travelled extensively throughout the islands and talked at length
with the locals.

Gradually, I have become aware of a trend that had been alien to
me and, to begin with, was a little shocking. I found that many
of the women who confided in me, confessed to having had very
early sexual experiences. They told me that, almost exclusively,
they had been happy experiences and ones that they would never
regret; but also, they revealed that they would usually recommend
their own children to undergo similar experiences providing the
man was caring and considerate.

A simple example of this was given to me by my maid who had been
reporting to me that one of her neighbour’s children – I later
met her: a pretty, sleight little girl of eleven – had been
visiting the home of another neighbour; a man in his sixties. My
maid discovered this through confession given by the child to her
own (my maid’s) daughter. Apparently, for over three years, she
had been visiting the old man daily, after school, to administer
oral sex to him, and to receive it. The girl claimed to enjoy it
and was happy to receive her little bag of sweets at the end of
the week as her reward. However, the girl confessed that for the
last year or so, she had been having full, penetrative sex with
the old man, and this caused my maid a little concern. So she had
approached the child’s mother and revealed all. The mother’s
response seemed to me to epitomise the prevailing philosophy, for
she had said:

“It’s her cunt; she can do what she likes with it!”

My series of stories – all prefixed with Tales from the Caribbean
– are dramatisations of true stories as revealed to me over my
time here. They were ALL told to me by the, now adult,
girl-children who experienced the episodes. You may find some
stories disturbing because it is clear that the child was the
instigator at a very young age, or because the child was
indisputably coerced or tricked; or maybe you will be shocked at
how girls can be so driven – almost crazed – by their sexual
desires at ages as young as six. If any of these are the case,
you must bear in mind that this is the culture that pervades
after generations of similar experiences and perhaps it is the
overriding sexuality of the Caribbean female that is at fault.

Above all, two things should be remembered. First, they are all
based on true experiences as revealed to me by the girls
themselves; and, second, you do not have to read them.



Shanita


“Shanita,” her little high-pitched voice softly uttered from the
back seat.
“That’s a lovely name,” I told her. “How old are you Shanita?”
“Ten,” she said shyly. I turned my head to take another look at
her for, when she climbed into my car, I thought she looked about
eight at the most. My glance confirmed my impression – she did
only look about eight. She was petite, with large bright eyes
that were made to sparkle all the more because of her black skin.
The little pale blue checkered gingham school dress was
excessively small even for her delicate frame. It showed nearly
all of her thighs as she sat deep in the seat. I wished she’d sat
in the front where I could better have enjoyed the sight of her
flesh, but at least she was there.
I had been driving slowly through the hills on my way home after
delivering my kids to school and, as usual ignored the local
people putting their hands out for a lift.
Shanita hadn’t held out her hand, she’d been walking downhill on
the other side of the narrow road and I’d passed her by slowly.
We’d smiled at each and I’d stopped. Without a word, she had
opened the back door and climbed in.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked as I always do
when I meet a new little girl.
“Yes,” she answered unhelpfully. Even that one syllable she
managed to make sing with her small island accent.
“All brothers?” I was used to this kind of conversation to start
with. It would take another meeting with her for her to feel
comfortable with me.
“No. Four brothers and six sisters,” she told me.
“All older or are you in the middle?” This all took time, but I
hoped it would be beneficial in the end. I liked them to feel
relaxed with me.
“My brothers are all big. They don’t live at home any more.
Jenine is twelve, the twins are eleven and my little sisters are
eight and six.” It seemed a lot to remember but I just focussed
my mind on the females.
“Daddy? What about him?” I deliberately left the question
ambiguous. In this Caribbean island, they usually breed from
different men.
“He doesn’t live with us. Only Mummy and my Aunty.” That sounded
encouraging.
“So, you have lots of cousins too,” I suggested.
“Yes. Five, and they are all girls,” she declared proudly, as if
that represented some kind of high score achievement.
My thoughts of all these girls living where she must be, way up
in the hills in some little shack, and probably with two
simplistic and gullible women looking after them, produced a kind
of blood-rush that filled my prick. Naturally, it rose in my
boxers. As usual in this climate, I was wearing shorts – no
underpants – and my prick began to poke out the leg. I had to
re-adjust it, which I did without bothering to consider if she
could see me or not. In fact, the only re-adjustment I could do
comfortably was to pull the damn thing out and let it poke
straight up into the air. Once accomplished, I concentrated more
fully on my driving – these roads were twisting and quite
dangerously precipitous.
“What’s your favourite subject at school, Shanita?”
“Er, Science I think.” Her voice was so sweet.
“That’s a big subject. Is it Astronomy, Biology, Chemistry or
what, you like best?”
“Oh, Biology. Babies and stuff like that.” Like most girls up to
this age, babies feature high on their list of interest. That
blurs into reproduction and sex at some point in time.
“Right,” I said knowingly. “How to feed them, how they grow, how
you make them and that sort of thing.” I suggested.
“Yep.”
“You know how they get made?” I asked trying to sound innocent of
any ulterior motive.
“Sure. We had that last month. Eggs get er,”
“Fertilised,” I offered.
“Yeah, fertilised by them squiggly things.”
“And you know where the squiggly things come from?”
“Sure. A man has to put them there. We did all that,” she
boasted.
I wasn’t sure if she could see my throbbing prick from where she
sat and as we had a way to go yet, through the hills, before we
reached the school I suggested she might like to sit in the front
to save my neck from twisting so much. I pulled over and she
happily clambered between seats to join me in the front. As she
did so, I covered my prick with the cotton shorts but kept an eye
on her at the same time I had a wonderful view of her flimsy
knickers and clearly saw the outline of her hairless pussy and
the divine crack between.
We drove on for a minute or two in silence, but I could see her
staring from time to time, with increasing confidence, at my
tool. My baggy shorts allowed my rampant prick to poke the
material straight up. It was obviously not just bunched up
material but tented like some pole was forcing it up – which it
was. I fidgetted it about a little in an absentminded sort of
way.
“I’m sorry about this,” I told her casually. “It doesn’t usually
go hard like this. It’s a bit uncomfortable.” I tried to
re-arrange my prick in my pants, quite blatantly. She watched
without saying anything.
“I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you,” I added to get some
response.
“That’s okay,’ she said softly. Her voice sounded a little
different. Maybe she was embarrassed.
“You know that this sort of thing can happen sometimes?” I asked
her.
“Sure. I don’t mind, honest,” she smiled. “The wriggly things
come out of one of those, don’t they?” She suddenly asked.
“Yes, they do.” I left my tool alone, allowing it to casually
poke rudely up inside my shorts as if it was of no significance.
“How?” She asked curiously whilst looking studiously at it.
“Well, that’s the thing,” I began. “You have to know how to do
it,” I said vaguely.
“I thought it just went inside the mummy and the wriggly things
swam out.”
“Oh no,” I said. “They can come swimming out any time, but first
this thing has to get hard – like it is now – then, it has to be
rubbed. That can be done in different ways – by hand, inside the
mummy or even by her sucking on it.”
“Er, gross,” she shuddered the word.
“Perhaps, but I know lots of ladies who love sucking on this.” I
gave it another squeeze.
“Why?”
“Because it feels nice for them. It makes them feel sexy inside.
Don’t you ever feel sexy inside?” I asked as if she would be
guilty of failure if she didn’t.
“I dunno, but sometimes I feel kinda itchy down there, like now.”
“That’s because you are thinking about this.” I stroked it again.
“It’s okay for you to feel sexy, Shanita. We all do. It’s a nice
feeling isn’t it?”
“Well, I sometimes want to scratch it, but I scared to ‘cos it
looks rude to do it. Other girls think it ain’t clean down there,
but I wash down there every day, honest,” she told me to reassure
me of her cleanliness.
“So, you never scratch that itch?”
“No, only in bed. Then it feels nice when I play with my button,”
she was totally relaxed with me now. Much sooner than most girls
I’ve had this conversation with.
“You are so sweet, Shanita. If it is itching you lots now, you
can scratch it now if you want, it won’t matter to me, honestly.
Do you want to touch your button now? I won’t mind if you do,
promise” Well, she could always say no. To reassure her that it
was okay, I began to lasciviously play with my prick as I pulled
the car over to the side and stopped. She watched me for a while
and tentatively slid her hand under her skirt, seemingly unaware
– or unconcerned – that we were parked. She paused for a moment
and looked at me, perhaps for assurance.
“Go head. It’s okay honestly. I won’t tell anyone. You’ll feel
much better for it. Unless you want me to do it for you?” I
offered magnanimously.
‘No. It’s okay, thanks,” she declined politely. Apparently that
decided it for her. She seemed to think that her choices were
that either she do it for herself, or she let me do it to her. It
didn’t seem to occur to her that she could merely say that she
didn’t want to do anything at all.
Her mind made up, she slid her hand up to her tummy and down the
top of her pants with renewed boldness that showed that she
didn’t want me to do it for her. Once there, she settled her tiny
bottom into the seat and slid down a little, parting her legs at
the same time. The moment her finger found her button, she
emitted a small sigh.
“Good girl. That feels so much nicer doesn’t it?”
“Mmm,” she moaned, eyes fixed on my prick.
“If I get this out for you to look at, that might make you feel
even nicer, yes?”
“Okay,” she responded softly. I needed no second invitation. In a
show of dexterity that surprised even me, I had my full erection
in her view as I studied the look on her face. It was a look of
wanton wonder and awe. I left my dick poking in the air without
touching it.
“So, how do the wriggly things come out?” She asked, slightly
breathless as she frigged her little virgin pussy.
“You have to do this. It’s quite easy,” I tempted her by rubbing
my prick.
“What do I have to do?” she asked as if she was seeking
permission rather than clarifying the instructions.
“Hold it, to start with, then rub it up and down. It’s very
simple really.” I turned my body a little so the head was
pointing straight at her lovely face.
Shanita, being right-handed, clearly had some difficulty now. I
could see she wanted to get her little fingers around my tool,
but equally, she didn’t want to leave off rubbing her clit. She
tried to stretch her left hand across to my prick (remember, we
drive on the left in this Country so she was sitting on my left),
but couldn’t quite reach without major shifting of her tiny body.
“I tell you what, Shanita. As a special treat, I will fix your
little itch for you so you can use your hand to rub my thingy,” I
suggested. She looked puzzled to begin with, but as my left hand
joined hers inside her knickers, she realised what I meant and
withdrew her right hand – her previous refusal forgotten. Of
course, she had to open her legs wider for my large hand, but
that was easy to do. Her hand, now free, shot across quickly to
grab my prick.
“Oh God,” she cried.
“What’s up?” I asked with concern.
“It feels so much nicer when you do it,” she whispered.
“That’s because I’ve had lots of experience with little girls’
buttons,” I lied. She threw her head back in abandonment, eyes
shut tight, as she held my prick and I frigged her tiny clit.
She felt really warm and soft and I relished the feel of her
silky-smooth cunt-lips as I stroked around her pussy. With her
eyes shut, I was able to freely study her pretty face, even
though she had it a little screwed up with the lovely sensations
I was giving her. Her lips parted and she rested her head back
and let herself go with the feelings. Shanita seemed happy enough
just to hold my dick without doing very much with it. Just the
occasional tighter squeeze and  moving her little hand and down,
but mostly with allowing her fingers to roll over the surface and
onto the smooth head.
I concentrated on rubbing her clitoris as gently but as fast as I
could, speeding up as I sensed her getting more and more worked
up.
Shanita came moments later. Her legs stiffened out in front,
almost crushing my hand. Her grip was vice-like on my dick, but
she had stopped rubbing it for me.
After a few seconds, she fell limp in the seat.
“That was great,” she said. “I never knew it could feel so good.”
Her big eyes were all watery as she looked gratefully into mine.
“You see, I told you it would be alright. Now all you need is to
see how those wriggly things come out.”
“Oh yeah,” she said like she’d forgotten about them. She
re-gripped my prick and sat up more attentively in the seat.
“What do I do?” I held her small hand in mine and began a slow
rhythmic up and down motion.
“Just rub like this.”
“Is that all?” She seemed disappointed. “Doesn’t it have to go
inside me?” Clearly, she had been distracted enough earlier not
to understand what I’d told her – so like modern youngsters
today.
“Inside? No, not yet. When you are bigger, unless you want to put
it in your mouth,” I offered.
“No, it’s okay,” she said definitively. She began to rub more
steadily now as I settled back in my seat to enjoy a little
ten-year-old masturbation.
“Oh, Shanita, you’re so good at this. Wouldn’t it be good to do
this again?” I asked.
“Sure. Pick me up tomorrow if you like. But Thursday, I don’t
have to go to school so I wouldn’t be here,” she told me, not
realising the possibilities that that presented.
“Okay, but for now, get ready for the little things to come out.
You can’t see them because they are so small, but they are inside
a white liquid called sperm,” I prepared her.
“I know about that stuff, but I didn’t know it was white. Them
things is all black, so I thought it would be black stuff as wot
come out.”
“Here it is. Look for yourself,” I suggested as my hips rose off
the seat and spunk shot into the air and all over her small hand.
“Keep rubbing,” I had to remind her. “There’s lots more.” Bless
her, she rubbed even harder and loads more of my jizm flew out
across her fingers. “God that feels good, Shanita. I told you you
were good at this. It’s never felt so nice before.” Which was
true, especially as I’d never been masturbated by a ten-year-old
before.
“Me too,” she declared enigmatically.
“What?” I asked, strain apparent in my voice.
“It never felt so nice for me as when you done it to me,” she
clarified. “I want to do it again tomorrow.”
Once we’d cleaned up, I continued the journey to her school and,
on the way, we made each other promise to keep this our own big
secret. She couldn’t wait until the next day, she said. I
suggested that on Thursday, if she wanted, she could come to my
house and I would teach her how to do lots more and I would make
her feel even nicer.
“Whah?” She exclaimed. “Even better?”
“Sure,” I confirmed confidently, as one who was well experienced
in such matters.
“Great. Tomorrow we can do what we just did, again, and Thursday,
you’ll teach me more?”
“That’s right.”
“Can’t wait,” she said, and skipped off to school, a much
relieved little girl.
I drove off thinking about her eleven little sisters and cousins.



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