Homeschooled - Part 1 (M/g, reluc, oral, anilingus, ws)
by Coproman


Being a truancy officer can have its perks, especially if you
also happen to be a pedophile.  I discovered that delightful
little truth within the first few months of my career with the
New York City Board of Education, where I worked for a number of
years until circumstances beyond my control forced me to move to
another state and change my name.  Fortunately the school system
in my new town recently hired me to assist the guidance counselor
responsible for at-risk children, so very soon now I will once
again have access to those special files that, back in the Big
Apple, enabled me to indulge my pedo fantasies by blackmailing
neglectful parents.

Don't get me wrong--I usually walk the straight and narrow when
it comes to doing my job.  Back in New York, for example, I was
one of the youngest African-Americans at the Bureau of
Attendance, so I had to prove to my older Baby-Boomer co-workers
that I was capable of being responsible.  But that didn't stop me
from also taking a number of detours--I preferred to call them
"arrangements"--with cute single mothers whose cute children
weren't going to school.  I would let those mothers know that
unless they gave me what I wanted, I intended to embark on a
crusade to get them in all kinds of trouble. Of course, they all
gave in--What else could they do?--and I would end up with a
pissy pre-teen pussy or dick to suck, a shitty elementary-school
asshole to lick, or a spitty prepubescent mouth to ejaculate in.
Usually it was just a kid or two here and there every now and
then.  But on one very special occasion I hit the jackpot,
unexpectedly encountering a whole houseful of children, none of
whom was attending school and all of whom became immediate
objects of my sexual desire.

It began with a girl named Lakisha Thompson and her brother
Darnell.  Neither of them had been seen since the middle of the
previous school year, when she'd disappeared from the fourth
grade and he'd dropped out of the third.  Letters had been sent
home but there had been no responses, and phone calls had been
made but the number was no longer in service.  That left me to
check things out in person.  These kids were supposed to be in
school and I was going to find out why they weren't.

So on Monday I made my way to the West Harlem Houses, a complex
of run-down projects.  Bypassing the people waiting for the one
working elevator in Building 3, I walked up the stairs and down
the corridor until I came to #4-A.  Using the rapper, I knocked
as hard as I could to make sure it would be heard above the din
of the TV inside.

"Who?!" a small voice cried out.  I couldn't tell if it was a
girl or a boy.

"I need to see your mother!" I hollered without identifying
myself.  "It's important!"

To my surprise, someone hurried to the door and immediately began
to unlock it, as though a strange man yelling to see Miss
Thompson wasn't all that unusual.  When the door opened, an
attractive dark-skinned girl, who looked to be about ten years
old, stuck her cornrowed head out.  I knew right away that this
was Lakisha, the missing fourth-grader.

"Yeah?" she asked, looking me up and down.

"I need to see your mother.  I have to talk to her about
something very important."

Without asking me any further questions, she swung the door open.

"MA-ah!" she yelled over the TV.  "Somebody wanna see you!" Then
she looked at me again and pointed down the short hall.  "She
back there."

"Thank you."

As I stepped inside, the first thing that struck me was the
smell.  It wasn't so much foul as it was stale, as if things that
needed to be washed or aired out hadn't been in months.  This was
accompanied by the gymnasium-like odor of a bunch of human beings
living and sweating together in close quarters, a smell that
probably no one inside even noticed since it was so pervasive it
had become a part of them.  Then there were the sights--empty
food containers and soda cans all over the floor, grease and dust
on the walls, and clothes and toys, both old and new, strewn all
along the hallway and in every room I passed by.

In short, this was a nasty household that offended not only my
nose but every sense of cleanliness and neatness that I had
embraced all my life.  Just because you lived in the projects
didn't mean you had to be a fucking pig.  I'd visited project
apartments that, while small, were as elegantly furnished as any
condo.  Miss Thompson obviously just didn't give a shit.

As I walked through the apartment, I counted five other children,
two more girls and three boys (the oldest of whom I was sure was
Darnell).  Including Lakisha,  their ages appeared to range in
elementary-school "steps" from five to about ten, and their
complexions varied from light-skinned to dark-skinned; and while
I exchanged only a glance with each of them, it was obvious that
they were all brothers and sisters.  The three youngest kids were
wearing only dirty drooping underpants, the pee and poop stains
in them clearly visible, and the rankness that caught my nose
told me that many of those stains were fresh.  The three oldest
kids wore shorts and tee-shirts, but these clothes were either
dirty or faded or worn.

I was willing to wager that all six kids had six different
fathers, and I'd risk double or nothing that not one of those men
was contributing a penny to his child's well-being.  Why should
they bother when their mother was on public assistance and
probably prostituting as well?  And what did she do with the
money?  Buy loud big-screen TVs and probably a bunch of expensive
clothes for herself while her kids wore rags and stayed home from
school so the older siblings could parent the younger ones when
Mom wasn't around.  As a black man, I had nothing but contempt
for her and those like her because they gave every decent,
hard-working black woman out there--indeed EVERY woman striving
to make an honest living to take care of her kids--a bad name.

So I could say that what I eventually did was due to my desire to
make women like Miss Thompson pay for forcing taxpayers like me
to support her and her dirty litter of crumb-crunchers.  But that
would be a lie.  The truth was that I was getting terribly turned
on by these filthy little children in this filthy little house. 
They stirred up something deep inside me, something so strong and
so fundamental that it threatened to come bursting through my
super-clean exterior and soil everything about me.  Up till now I
had managed to contain it by allowing myself to stray into the
depths of my pedophilia only occasionally.  But being in this
nasty apartment with these cute children and in a position of
authority all combined to create just the right conditions for
the demon inside me to completely take over.

When I got to the room that Lakisha had pointed out to me, I
tapped on the partially opened door before sticking my head
inside.  "Miss Thompson?"

"Who are you?" she asked, looking alarmed when she didn't
recognize me.

"I'm from the Board of Education," I said, showing her my ID,
"and I need to talk you about your kids not being in school."

Right away she dropped her defenses, shrinking back. 
"Oh...I...uhh...I'm sorry. I just didn't know--"  She stopped
fumbling with her words and forced a smile.  "Come on in and sit
down," she said, grabbing a pile of clothes out of the one chair
in her room and dropping them on the foot of her queen-sized bed.


As I entered the room, I tried not to stare at Miss Thompson, but
I was struck by how attractive she was. In her mid-twenties and
standing about 5'7", she had caramel-colored skin and light-brown
eyes; and her tight red tee-shirt revealed a healthy pair of
breasts. But what really caught my attention was her ass, which
was so full and round, packed inside her blue denim shorts, that
it seemed almost out of place atop her slender thighs.  If I
hadn't been into children, I would already have been fucking the
shit out of her.

Sitting down, I retrieved a folder from my briefcase.  After
browsing through it and pretending to take mental notes for a
minute or so, I closed it and looked over at the anxious young
woman sitting on the bed.

"Let's talk turkey, Miss Thompson"; then I paused and said, "No
bullshit, okay?" She nodded and I looked her straight in the eye.
 "We both know that all your kids belong in school, except maybe
the youngest one, and even he should probably be in preschool or
kindergarten.  As far as I know, only two of them even registered
for school, and they haven't been back since last year.  If I
report this to the Board of Education, the first thing they're
going to do is tell Child Protective Services, and you know what
that means, right?  Is that what you want, for your kids to be
taken away from you?"

"No, Mister," she said, her eyes filling with tears.  "I love my
kids.  And I promise to put 'em all in school tomorrow."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," I lied.  "Since three of
your kids never registered, and Darnell and Lakisha never went
back, CPS won't trust you.  They'll think foster parents would do
a better job of making sure they all got to school."

"So...what can I do?  I don't want nobody takin' my kids."

"Well," I said, trying hard not to smile, "if you're serious
about that, I can make certain arrangements for you."

She looked confused.  "What you mean?  What kind of
'arrangements'?"

I took a deep breath.  "I can arrange for you to KEEP your kids
out of school, at least until next year, maybe longer, without
the Board of Ed or CPS getting on your back."

"But how?  I thought you said--"  But then, through her tears, I
saw her face relax and take on a knowing look followed by a tiny
smile.  "Oh.  I think I know what you mean.  So where are these
'arrangements' gonna be made at?  Your place or a hotel?"

I chuckled.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  You misunderstood me.  I mean, I'm
flattered and all, and you're a very attractive woman.  But I'm
guessing you make THOSE kinds of arrangements for extra cash, and
I wouldn't want to take any money out of your pocket."

Again came the look of confusion.  "So what do you--?"  But she
was interrupted by a knock at the door.  "Who's that?" she
yelled, irritated.

"It's me, Ma," Lakisha answered, and she opened the door and
walked right in before her mother could say it was okay. "Can I
go to the candy store?"

"You got money, Baby?" Miss Thompson asked, her voice having
softened.

"Yeah."

"Okay, then, go ahead.  But come right back, okay?"

Nodding, the girl turned to leave.  I followed her out with my
eyes, focusing on her shapely little ten-year-old butt right up
until she closed the door behind her, and as I did this I heard a
gasp and turned to see a look of both shock and disgust on Miss
Thompson's face.

"Oh, my God!  You want to--"

"Listen," I said, cutting her off and again looking her right in
the eye, "all I'm saying is while you're out doing your thing,
I'll be here doing mine.  That's all.  You just need to tell your
kids to do whatever I say."

"No!  No fuckin' way!" she said, shaking her head vigorously as
she stood up and backed away from me.  "I ain't leavin' my kids
with you!"

I calmly shrugged, put the folder back in my briefcase, and stood
up.  "Okay.  I'll just have to tell the Board what I found when I
came here.  And--oh, yeah--I'll also have to tell them about your
little extracurricular activities.  After that we'll see how long
it takes CPS to declare you an unfit mother and put your kids in
foster care."

I walked over to the door and was about to open it when Miss
Thompson dashed over and squeezed in front of me.

"No, wait," she said, inching forward, backing me up with her
breasts.  "If I do what you want...I mean...you ain't gonna hurt
them or nothin', are you?"

"Of course not.  I'm not into that.  All I'm going to do
is...teach them.  You know."

"Yeah, I know."  She forced a smile.  "But are you SURE I can't
interest you in none of this?" she asked, stroking her crotch.

I smiled.  "Nope.  Sorry."

She stopped walking and slumped as if all the energy had suddenly
drained out of her body.  With a look of resignation, she said,
"Okay.  You win."

"That's a wise decision, Miss Thompson.  You won't regret it."

"Shit, I already regret it.  But what choice do I have?"

I didn't answer her but, oddly, when she gave in to me, my
contempt for her grew.  Of COURSE she had a choice.  She could
fight me, report me for sexual harassment.  And even if I had
been telling the truth about her kids being taken away from her,
wasn't that a better alternative than leaving them in the hands
of a pedophile?  But I knew this woman as well as I knew all
those other women whose children I'd "watched."  Just like them,
she had a personal agenda, one that would be better served by
accepting my under-the-table deal--as abhorrent as it was to
her--than involving the authorities.  When she confirmed this by
giving in, I was able to wash my hands of any physical or
emotional damage her kids might suffer.  Whatever happened, she
would have only herself to blame.

"Listen," I said, "there's something else you need to do. 
Whenever you leave the house, make sure you're gone for at least
an hour.  And before you come back, make sure you call my cell
phone."

She frowned.  "Okay."  Now the tears were back.  "Listen, Mister,
PLEASE promise me you won't hurt none of my kids."

For some reason her fear irritated me.  "I told you I'm not into
that, so don't worry.  Your kids'll be fine."  I smiled behind
this, but I could already feel the demon taking over.  "In fact,
since you're so concerned, I'm going to give you a preview of
exactly how fine they'll be."

Again came the look of confusion.  "What you mean?"

"Your middle girl, the Puerto Rican-looking one.  What's her
name?"

Miss Thompson hesitated before saying, "Trinette."

"How old is she?  About eight?"

"Yeah.  Why?"

"Tell her to come in here," I said, nudging Miss Thompson out of
the way and opening the door.

I could almost hear the woman's heart beating faster and faster
as she stared at me with an I-don't-believe-this-is-happening
look.

"Go ahead.  Call her."

Taking a deep breath, she weakly called the girl.  Somehow amid
the noise of the TV the eight-year-old heard her and answered,
and Miss Thompson told her to come to the bedroom.  Seconds later
a very-light-skinned little girl with a round face and long curly
hair pranced into the room, only to freeze when she spotted me
and retreat to the safety of her mother's arms while smiling in
that quasi-flirtatious way that girls her age often do. 
Barefoot, she was wearing a dirty pink tee-shirt and an equally
dirty pair of pink shorts, and the very first thing I noticed was
that while the tee-shirt hung very loosely on her torso, her
shorts clung tightly to a cute little bubble butt that, like her
older sister's, mimicked their mother's.

Trying hard to keep her voice from cracking, Miss Thompson
stooped down and turned Trinette around to face her, putting her
hands on the girl's shoulders.  "Baby, this is Mister...Doctor."
They simultaneously turned their heads to look up at me.  "He
wants to make sure you don't get sick so he's gonna examine you,
okay?"

Right away there was a look of fear on the girl's face.  "Is he
gonna stick me with a needle, Mama?"

"No, Baby," her mother assured her.  "He ain't gonna use nothin'
but his hands on you."  She looked sternly at me.  "Right, Mr.
Doctor?"

"That's right, Trinette," I said, moving over to them and
stroking the girl's soft curls.  "I promise it won't hurt.  In
fact, it might even tickle," I joked, smiling at the two of them,
neither of whom returned my smile.  "Okay, Miss Thompson, if
you'll just step outside for a few minutes, this shouldn't take
long."

Hesitating, the defeated woman reluctantly stood up and backed
out of the bedroom.  With a final wave to Trinette, she closed
the door.  I immediately walked over and pressed the button in
the knob to lock it.  Then I turned back to Trinette.

"Okay, Sweetheart, let's get those clothes off so I can check you
out," I said, taking off my suit jacket and tie and unbuttoning
my shirt collar.

Still apprehensive, the girl eyed me suspiciously as she pulled
off her tee-shirt, revealing two little pink titties on a flat
chest, then began to peel out of her tight shorts.  I wanted to
help her but I didn't want to freak her out any more than she
already was by touching her; and, besides, just watching the
little girl undress was such a major turn-on that I had to focus
instead on repositioning my hard-on so it wouldn't be so obvious.
 Soon she was clad only in her panties (which were supposed to be
white but were so dingy that they were light gray), upon which
she looked up at me with her big light-brown puppy-dog eyes.

"Take these off too?" she asked, looking like a little cherub as
she stood there.

"Mm-hm," I said, hoping the girl wouldn't notice how excited I
was as I ogled her.  "Then give them to me."

"'Kay," she said, and I could feel myself salivating as she
pulled down her panties, stepped out of them, and handed them to
me.

Seeing the yellow stains in the crotch and the brown skid marks
in the seat of her underwear fired up my lust, and before I knew
it I was pressing them to my nose, vigorously sniffing the
pissy/shitty odor.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see
Trinette watching me closely and curiously.

"Why you smellin' 'em?" she finally asked.

Snatching the panties away from my face, I stammered, "Oh,
I...uhh...need to make sure they're made of the right material so
they don't hurt you when they rub up against your...your..."

"My coochie?" the girl asked with a tiny smile.

"Uhh...that's right, your...coochie," I said, smiling back.

"...oh," she replied.

Attempting to avoid further questions, I directed the naked girl
to climb up on the bed and get on her hands and knees so I could
examine her anus. She quietly complied.  In this position, her
long loopy curls nearly covered her face, as if trying to shield
her from what I was about to do.

With trembling fingers, I spread open the little girl's asshole
and was thrilled to see several brown smears on the smooth
pale-pink folds of her anus.  I pressed my nose against the tiny
opening and inhaled, and when the aroma of fresh girlie-shit hit
me, I nearly swooned.  But I recovered enough to pull back and
resume my almost clinical inspection of the eight-year-old's poop
chute.

"Now, Trinette, I want you to push your butthole out like you're
taking a sh...I mean, like you're doing number two, okay?"

"'Kay."

I watched her asshole purse out and was pleasantly surprised when
she farted right in my face.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, Sweetheart," I assured her, and I heartily sniffed
her funky fumes, vacuuming them into my nostrils, filling my head
with the essence of the little girl's gas while totally confusing
her.

"Why you smellin' my poot, Mr. Doctor?"

"'Cause I...uhh...need to see if you've been eating the right
foods."

"...oh."

"Now just stay right there, but put your head down a little bit
lower," I told her, gently pressing her upper back to urge her
into a lower crouch.  "Yeah, that's good."

Trinette's little light-skinned ass was now sticking way up in
the air, and as I framed her palmed-sized cheeks with my fingers,
I used both thumbs to spread her anus open as wide as I could,
exposing the deep-pink of her rectum and revealing more traces of
shit.

"Fuck, that looks good," I murmured.

"Hunh?" the girl asked, turning her head.

"Nothing.  Turn back around and close your eyes, Sweetheart, and
I promise to make you feel real good."

"'Kay," she replied.

With that mass of curly hair again hanging down over her face
like a curtain, I wasted no time diving in and driving my tongue
up the eight-year-old's asshole.  She gasped and flinched in
surprise, her sphincter clutching at my tongue, and when I began
to tongue-fuck her little doo-doo hole, she began to giggle.

"Ooh, Mr. Doctor, that tickles!"

I was sure that wasn't what she really meant, but it was probably
the only word available in her limited vocabulary to describe the
sensation of having her asshole reamed.  It was at that very
moment that I came up with Pedo Proposition #1: Every cute little
girl should get her asshole and pussy sucked before she leaves
elementary school.  In fact, it should be a requirement before
she's allowed to move on to middle or junior high school.  The
plain-looking and ugly girls could wait, but the cute ones should
be allowed the pleasure of oral stimulation as early as possible.
 If that happened, there would far fewer cases of teenaged girls
engaging in such nonsense as "saving" themselves until marriage
to have sex, because they would know as small children exactly
how much fun they'd be missing.

The more I thought about this proposition, the more I wanted to
see Trinette's face, so I could see if she was indeed having fun,
and the more I wanted her to see mine, so she could see how much
fun I was having as well.  So I pulled my tongue out of her
asshole and flipped her onto her back.  Giving the girl a big
smile, I bent her legs back until her knees were touching her
chest, lifting her butt up in the air and putting her hairless
slit and saliva-soaked anus on prominent display.

For several seconds there was absolute silence as my gaze shifted
back and forth from the little girl's immature genitals to her
innocent face.  She just stared at me with one of those
"I-wonder-what-he's-going-to-do-to-me-now?" looks, which turned
me on so much that my dick twitched, and I kept my eyes locked on
hers as I kneeled in front of her, held on to her thighs, and
sealed my lips over her vagina.

"Ooh!" she gasped, again flinching.

My only reaction was to keep staring at her since I was eager to
catch every subtlety of every facial expression the girl made as
I tongued her little box.  And Trinette didn't disappoint me, her
face twisting through a rainbow of emotions as her eight-year-old
body and brain tried to sort out this premature awakening of her
sexuality.  By now, of course, all pretense of this being an
medical examination had vanished.  The full moon was out and I
had morphed completely from pediatrician to pedophile as I
shamelessly sucked the eight-year-old's pussy.

But this wasn't enough for me.  I needed to up the ante.  So,
coming up for air, I told Trinette to hold on to her own legs. 
When she did, I went right back to eating her while using the
thumb of one freed-up hand to diddle her tiny clit.  Then, to top
things off, I slid the middle finger of my other hand into her
spit-lubed shithole, causing her to yelp as her whole body jerked
in surprise.  And when I began to piston my finger in her anus,
which made a succulent squelching sound, the girl began to emit
her own strange sound, something like panting, whimpering, and
moaning all at the same time, turning me on even more.

"Mr. Doctor!  Mr. Doctor!" Trinette suddenly cried out.  "I feel
like I gotta pee-pee!"

I stopped sucking her only long enough to say "go ahead," after
which I began to lap at her slit even more vigorously.  I was
sure that, being so young, she was simply confused and that what
she was really feeling was an oncoming orgasm.

Well, I was right...and wrong.  Two seconds later, the
eight-year-old threw her head back and, with her mouth wide open
and her eyes shut tight, made a noise that sounded like a
repressed squeal, barely audible but coming from deep inside her.
 Then her whole body started convulsing as if she were possessed.
 Locking my lips over her pussy, I thrust my tongue all the way
inside it while jamming my finger all the way up her ass.

"Oo!  Oo!  Oo!" she began to hoot, and with each hoot her cunt
tugged on my tongue and her asshole flexed on my finger. 
Suddenly I felt something squirt into my mouth.  At first I
thought, Shit, this little bitch is actually having a wet come! 
But when I tasted it, I realized that she did indeed have to "pee
pee," and that she was climaxing so intensely that it had simply
gushed out of her.  Of course this only turned me on all the
more, and the little girl's piss quickly drained out of her
bladder, I hummed in satisfaction as I guzzled it down.  When
Trinette finally stopped quivering and pissing, I eased my finger
out of her asshole, taking several seconds to admire and sniff
the coating of shit on it, then carefully inserted it between my
lips and sucked it clean, as she stared at me with a rapturous
smile.

By now my cock was so stiff that it was straining inside my
pants.  I was right on the verge of coming.  Feeling particularly
nasty, I wanted to shoot my load in Trinette's face, directing
the first spurt right in her eye, but I didn't want to freak her
out or spend time cleaning her up afterwards; so, urging the
child to sit up, I quickly unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my
pants.  Then, with Trinette staring directly at my crotch, I
unzipped my pants and pushed both them and my underwear over my
hips, allowing my erection and balls to pop into view.

"Oooooo!" the little girl cooed, her eight-year-old eyes feasting
on my adult genitals.

Moving closer to her, I placed one hand on the back of her head
and grasped my prong with the other.  "Open your mouth."

The eight-year-old was still so lost in the afterglow of her
orgasm that she instantly complied and offered no resistance when
I plunged my cock half way down her throat and began to
mouth-fuck her, my balls bouncing off her chin as I violently
humped her face.  But I was able to last for only a couple of few
strokes before my orgasm overwhelmed me.

"Shit!  I'm coming!" I hissed between clenched teeth.  I pulled
the little girl's head so far forward that I could feel her lips
pressing into my pubic hair, as I forced her to swallow one inch
of cock for every year old she was. "Take it right down your
fucking throat, you little cunt!"

And a cunt was exactly what Trinette's esophagus had become for
me as, trembling, I spurted a shitload of sperm into it, nearly
choking the child as the slimy substance slid down her food tube
and into her stomach.  As I emptied my balls I smiled, thinking
about how I had refused her mother's offer of sex.  And why
wouldn't I?  Planting my seed in a cute little girl's tummy was
SO much more thrilling than squirting it in her whore mother's
cunt.

After feeding Trinette more semen than it probably took to create
not only her but all of her brothers and sisters as well, my cock
finally began to wilt, upon which the girl coughed, sending my
dickhead popping out of her throat and spunk seeping out of her
nose as she continued to hold my shrinking shaft in her mouth.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," I said, stroking the child's head as I
watched my sperm ooze out of both nostrils and onto her top lip.
"You did good.  REAL good.  Now there's just one more thing I
need to give you before I go: some hot tea...so you won't get a
sore throat."

Hearing this, the girl looked up at me.  When she saw that I
wasn't making a move to find the kitchen, her light-brown eyes
pleaded with me not to do what she seemed to know I was going to.
 But seeing her face only hardened my resolve to follow through
with the nasty act, and I smiled lovingly at the eight-year-old
as a tiny stream of piss began to flow out of my dick.

"Nnnnnngghh!" Trinette complained, frowning and pushing against
my thighs to try to escape.  But I quickly clasped both hands
behind her head to keep her where she was.

"Drink it, you little cunt!" I growled.  "You better drink every
fucking drop, or I'll tell your mother you didn't do what I said
and she'll beat the shit out of your little ass!"

Hearing my words, the child stopped fighting me and began to
swallow my piss, which by now was now gushing into her mouth so
fast that she was forced to gulp down a mouthful every few
seconds to keep from choking.  While I'd always fantasized about
going to the bathroom in a little girl's mouth, I had never gone
as far as to act on it.  But I had to remind myself that, right
now, the demon in me was making all of my sexual decisions; I was
just going along for the joyride.

After almost a full minute of steady pissing, I finally emptied
my bladder into Trinette.  As soon as I let go of the little
girl's head, she pulled away from me, my penis exiting her lips
with a soft pop and a spray of urine.  After burping a long, loud
burp, she glared up at me, her eyes filled with tears.

"That wasn't no tea!  You PEE-PEED in my mouth!"

"Yes, Sweetheart, I did," I conceded.  "But I drank some tea
before I came over here today, so I just gave mine to you."

"But that's NASTY!"

"No, it's not.  It's just a way of passing it on from one person
to another," I explained.  "So now neither one of us will get a
sore throat."

I could tell that she wasn't buying it, so I stooped down,
getting face to face with the humiliated girl, and wiped away her
tears.  Then I surprised her by cupping her chubby cheeks in my
hands and gently kissing her on the lips.  I surprised her
further when I slipped my tongue in her mouth.  Of course her
mouth tasted like piss, but not so much that it overpowered the
sweetness of her saliva, and I sucked up as much of the child's
spit as I could before pulling away from her and pecking her on
the nose.

"You did good again, Sweetheart," I said, stroking her hair and
smiling at her. "Better than a lot of grown-up girls I've
treated.  I'm proud of you."

That last remark produced a smile, and when I gave her another
little smooch on the lips, her smile got even bigger.  I knew
then that all the vile things I'd said to her and forced her to
do had been forgiven.  Even though I'd treated her like shit, the
things she would most likely remember were the gentle kisses and
the words of praise at the end.  Best of all, now that I had
ignited those sexual feelings in the eight-year-old, I knew she
would want more and would be looking for me to provide it.

"So, Trinette, you ready to see your mama again?"

Still smiling, she gave an exaggerated nod.

"And you're going to tell her what a big grown-up girl you were
when I was examining you, right?"

Again came the exaggerated nod.

"Good.  I'm going to tell her too.  But let's not tell her
exactly what we did.  It'll be our secret, okay?"

"'Kay."

"That's a good girl.  And if you keep our secret then the next
time I'm here, I'll let you give me YOUR tea again, but you won't
have to take mine.  Would you like that?"

Once more she nodded, this time blushing as well.

"Okay, Sweetheart," I said, pulling up my pants and underwear,
"let's put your clothes back on so we can see Mama."

As I helped Trinette get dressed, she seemed very relaxed, even
giddy, a stark contrast to the apprehensive little girl who had
first walked into the room with me or the frustrated, crying girl
whose mouth I had pissed in.  And this was exactly what I'd hoped
for, exactly what I wanted Miss Thompson to see when she came
back into the room, so she'd feel a sense of security in leaving
her kids with me...false as it may have been.

Once Trinette was dressed, I put my tie and jacket back on and,
after giving the girl a wink, unlocked and opened the door.  In a
blur, Miss Thompson dashed past me and swept the eight-year-old
into her arms.

"You okay, Baby?"

"Yeah, Mama."

Giving me a look that shot daggers, Miss Thompson turned back to
her daughter and asked, "He didn't hurt you or nothin', did he?"

"No, Mama, he just zammined me so I won't get no cold, and he
said I was a big girl, right Mr. Doctor?"

"That's right, Sweetheart."

Hearing this, Miss Thompson looked at me again, most of the
daggers gone. "Okay, Baby," she said, setting Trinette down and
stroking her hair. "Now you go on back in the room with the
others and play, okay?"

"'Kay," and the girl skipped out of the room.

Since there was only one more thing to do, I didn't bother to sit
down again. I just took out my cell phone.  "Give me the new
phone number here...and your cell number."  (I expected her to
tell me she didn't have a cell phone, but since she knew that I
knew better, she simply rattled off the numbers.)  I inputted the
info and picked up my briefcase. "I'll be back on Wednesday. 
I'll call before I come over."

Miss Thompson silently accompanied me to the front door and let
me out.  When I heard the door lock behind me, I wanted to jump
up, throw my fist in the air and scream "YES!!" as loud as I
could for winning the Pedo Lottery.  But I maintained my
professional demeanor all the way downstairs, out of the
building, across town, and into my apartment before doing a full
cartwheel, something I hadn't done since I was ten years old.


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