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F.B.I. NOTICE
Recently it has come to our attention that there are pedophiles on
the Internet. Because of this disturbing development we have devised the
following test. All citizens are required under the new anti-terrorism
laws (which extend to pedophiles, of course) to read the following
passage. Please rub yourself as you do so. If you do not feel any arousal
then call your police department and tell them you are not a child
molester. You have passed the test. If you fail, run through the street
yelling, ÒOsama our hero.Ó This will cure you.
Andrew Roller Presents
CHERRY VALLEY
Chapter Two
I am awake again. My delirium has not passed. IÕm still seeing half
naked little girls. Specifically, the ÒqueenÓ, as she calls herself. She
busies herself in her leaf petal house, unaware that I am awake. Of course
IÕm really not, how can I be? I must be lying in the dirt somewhere, on the
edge of life, breathing my last, filthy with this rotten jungle and beset
with flies. Why do they not crawl in front of my pupils and block my
vision? The queen bends over, as I think longingly of my wife. Her bottom
is not as delicately round, with such high-set cheeks as this little girl,
this nursery school Òqueen.Ó Ah, such perfection! Where do these visions
come from? Why does such luscious beauty beset me in my final
moments? Her skin is like ivory where the bikini panties have been. Her
bending movement has caused them to decline a little, over the curvature
of her girlish ass, showing the orb of it more completely. Her flesh is
sun-kissed but not where her bikini usually covers it. There, upon her
behind, it is white as snow, untouched and virginal.
I remember putting my wife over my knees once and spanking her.
We do not do that anymore. Not since the children arrived. Two boys and a
girl. I love them dearly. My daughter is in grade school, just like these
girls. She has long hair as they do, but she doesnÕt gather water with an
acorn bucket or live in a house made of roses. She plays with
commercially-made dolls, created out of plastic. They come with acetate
gowns and you can buy expensive plastic cars for them to ride in to
imaginary In and Out Burger joints.
The queen has long red hair. Whether she has hair down below I have
yet to determine. She seems not to notice how her teensy bikini has fallen
to show half her ass, revealing the delicate crevice that separates the
halves of her high childÕs bottom. She stands up again, having taken
something out of a drawer. She has a bureau in her home, made of wood.
It has a fragility to it that seems toy-like. I turn my head. I see a table,
chairs, all with the same delicate fragility. She turns. I see that her
panties have fallen a little in front, owing to her bending. They are very
low across her hips now. I do not see any pubic hair. She is too young.
But her breasts press into her top, healthy and growing, firm little apples
to match her buttocks behind her. She is a charming vision, a junior
playmate all decked out in her ruby crown, wearing white gloves and boots
like the other girls, secured beneath her elbows and knees with ribbons.
ÒOh! YouÕre awake!Ó she says to me. I nod. What is the point of
fighting this dream? ItÕs lovely. I never liked pedophiles, in fact I hated
them. But here, in this dream world, surrounded by young lovely things, I
find I can no longer protest. The delicious creature moves toward me. My
cock, previously milked, rises again, excited by the vision of her approach.
I feel her warm hand reach out and touch my belly. I was fat once, but
after days of slogging through the jungle and then dying in it I have finally
become thin. My wife would love me. I am lean and hard, like in my
college days. Obviously on the brink of death but not feeling it at all, just
feeling...
ÒHungry?Ó the red-haired queen asks me. I nod. She turns and calls
out in a musical voice, rather like the girl in Mad Max Beyond
Thunderdome, a movie I never liked. I guess in my death throes all the
things I never liked are crowding in on me, making themselves beautiful in
my demented mind.
One of the girls I met earlier, the brunette with pigtails, enters.
She is still wearing the white bikini I first saw her in. Her little breasts
jut with as much perfection as before, seemingly beckoning my mouth
under her tiny bra. Why do these girls wear such scanty clothes? HavenÕt
they heard of The Gap or LandÕs End? These swimsuits theyÕre wearing,
theyÕre like some manÕs bedroom fantasy. Their charms, if I may call them
that without feeling truly perverted, are barely covered by their little
outfits. When they move their growing teat-like breasts seem to want to
jiggle out of their bras, which cling to them seemingly half-heartedly, as
if disappointed that such succulent young gourds should be covered at all.
Below their trim bellies, well below, their bikini panties ride low on their
hips, seemingly wishing to drop further, to expose, with only the slightest
downward movement, all that these girls have to offer, for what is this
but some bizarre dream of underage cunts?
I seem obscene but IÕm angry at myself. To surround myself with a
prepubescent harem in my final moments! Am I trying to send myself to
Hell?
The girls gaze lovingly at me, but they look with even greater
interest at that which I am valiantly trying not to offer to their view, my
penis. It stands up at the attention. The dratted thing! Why do I find
myself excited by the innocent eyes of grade school girls? Why do I dream
that theyÕre looking at me, inspecting my length, seemingly evaluating it
and finding it beautiful?
I shiver. IÕm not cold. The weather seems perfect. But I am
ashamed, and I move my hands to cover my erection. But the redhead
easily bats my hands away when they come close to my penis.
ÒIt is gorgeous. Please do not cover it,Ó the redhead queen begs. I
let my hands fall to my sides. I am weak from not eating. But now the
brunette with pigtails calls out, musically as the queen had. I see a
shadow in the doorway of the queenÕs petal house and then a moment later
a big cherry is being rolled in. ÒWe will prepare it for you to eat,Ó the
queen says to me. She strokes my hair. No, not the hair on my head, alas.
My pubic hair. The blonde who I met before, accompanied by the six-year-
old, who is also a blonde, come into the queenÕs petal house. They are
carrying acorns. They lift them up, not without a struggle. Their little
limbs tilt the acorns. A sweet odor comes to my nostrils as I watch the
sides of the big cherry doused with something glossy and flowing. I
realize a moment later itÕs honey. The girls drop their acorns when they
have emptied them and roll the big cherry closer to me. They are beaming
with their effort, a little winded from lifting the buckets. When the
cherry is very close the queen urges me to roll on my side, on her bed of
daisies, and eat the cherry. I move, after a moment. The girls giggle as
my erect cock bumps the cherry. Honey gets on my cock head.
Immediately the queen draws close and begins to lick my penis. She looks
at me, her eyes seemingly asking permission, but I can see in her cupid-
like face a hint of greed. She does not want to let this moment pass.
Neither do the other girls. In my perverted fantasy I suddenly have
four little girls all feasting on my cock, fighting each other a little as
they now all crowd around me, their little hands grasping me, clutching
me, their mouths and tongues laving me, licking the honey from me as I
fight not to spurt into their perfect little faces.
The queen lifts her head, letting the other children have at me a
moment as she opens her mouth and speaks to me.
ÒDo not let us stop you from eating,Ó she tells me. I find this all
horribly strange but my love of assertive women kicks in and I do as the
queen tells me. I lean forward and bite into the cherry, even as the girls
continue to lick my cock. The cherry is big but the skin is not tough. It
accedes easily to my attempt to eat it, letting me chomp into its skin
despite the fact that any cherry this big, in the real world, would be too
wide for me to get my mouth into. I chew and swallow, loving the taste of
this obviously fictitious cherry. I could eat a lot of cherries like this,
especially with four little ones all sucking my cock.
I feel a sudden hunger. Food brings that out when one is alive, which
IÕm obviously not. I bite into the deliciously soft and pliant cherry again,
eating it with relish. At the same time the little ones feast on my cock.
It takes an effort of will for me not to spend in their faces. But, ruddy-
cheeked now, breathing with some effort due to a rising excitement
within me, I feast on the cherry, somehow holding back my sperm from my
little dinner-mates.
I am wishing I would awaken from this marvelous repast, despite its
succulence, when the queen lifts her head and speaks to me again.
ÒWhy do you hold back?Ó she asks me. ÒYou came before.Ó I look
down at her sweet face. It is so delicate, with perfect pink cheeks!
ÒI donÕt want to get you all sticky,Ó I tell the perfect little
apparition.
ÒI wonÕt mind,Ó the queen answers.
ÒI donÕt even know your name,Ó I tell her.
ÒChloe,Ó she whispers. She strokes my cock with one of her little
hands, where the mouths of her compatriots have not attached themselves
to me. Wet little tongues work me avidly, but I manage to offer them
nothing, and the queen frowns. ÒDonÕt you have any more?Ó she asks me,
pumping me like some junior whore eager for payment.
ÒI have plenty,Ó I tell her, and itÕs the truth too, at least in my
delirious state. I dream of bulging balls, newly refilled despite being
pumped only hours earlier. Even my wife couldnÕt get me this hard again,
this fast. IÕm 40, after all. Sex isnÕt exactly new to me. Well, with little
girls it is, but of course this canÕt really be happening.
ÒGirls, stop,Ó the queen commands. At once her fellow apparitions
lift their little mouths from my penis. I relax, slightly. Not my dick,
unfortunately, but the rest of me, relieved not to be so urgently solicited.
ÒWe are expecting too much from him too soon,Ó the queen says.
ÒHas he not come to give us his milk?Ó the six-year-old asks with
guileless eyes. I see other girls now in the doorway, and their mouths
smile with delight at my erection. Only the queenÕs obvious hesitancy,
new-found, holds them back from attacking my cock as the other three
little girls have.
ÒHe is not a beast, as the bees are,Ó the queen says, her voice regal
and fine, musical and yet not singing, merely speaking. ÒHe is a man,Ó she
continues.
IÕm stuck now with blue balls but too embarrassed to admit it, as
the girls rise up, leaving me to my damnable erection, my cock waving like
a flag pole and my balls tight and roiling. The queen pats my belly again
and tells her eager little friends to go back to their play. The eyes and
faces disappear from the doorway. The blonde, the ten-year-old blonde
that is, opens the jar of cream and begins to rub it on my chest, obviously
loving the feel of my hairy skin, so different from her smooth little body.
ÒDo you have any needs?Ó the queen asks me. I shake my head no,
then go back to eating. After many minutes, all the while conscious of the
state of my erection, and wishing my wife were here to relive it, I finally
finish the honey-drenched cherry. It was delicious. The queen takes
something soft from her chest of drawers and hands it to me. It feels like
the petal of a lily, or rather a piece of a petal. I realize after a moment
she intends me to use it as a napkin, for I have gotten rather messy from
the honey and the cherry. I wipe my face and realize this is no ordinary
lily petal. The cherry juice and honey wipe off onto it like magic. I finish
my face and wipe my hands, even one of my shoulders where a little juice
has fallen, and my neck.
ÒThanks,Ó I tell the queen. I hand the lily napkin back to her. ItÕs
soiled. She crumples it and places it outside the doorway to her home.
Immediately I sense someone coming by. The lily napkin is taken.
ÒYour panties are falling down in back,Ó I tell the queen. I had to
speak of it. Her bottom is so perfect, itÕs giving me a desire to see all of
it.
ÒThanks,Ó the queen says. She reaches behind herself and pulls up
her little swimsuit. As she reaches back I find myself terminally tempted
by her small breasts. Her bra stretches, almost losing its grip on her
teats with the backward movement of her arms. The queen notices my
interest and says,
ÒI can take my top off if you wish.Ó
ÒNo!Ó I gasp. To require a young girl to undress in front of me would
be unthinkable, even if she is just a girl in a dream. The blondeÕs hand
moves lower.
ÒI want to take mine off,Ó the ten-year-old rubbing cream on me
tells me suddenly. I look at her. ItÕs getting difficult to handle these
multiple illusions. Suddenly on a whim, annoyed that all these little girls
should still be around me despite every effort on my part to make them
disappear, I say,
ÒSure.Ó
The unthinkable happens. The little blonde stops creaming me and
reaches back and unties her top. A moment later itÕs fallen onto my belly,
and her small breasts are jutting out at me, naked and perfect, twin cones
of delight. I gaze at her white flesh, white like the queenÕs bottom. Her
nipples are pink to a degree that can only be described as flawless, a
Barbie-pink, as if crafted by MattelÕs finest machinery. Except these pink
nipples shiver and sprout little tips as the blonde gazes at me. Oblivious
now of her lack of a top, letting the garment lay upon my stomach, she
picks up the cream and begins anointing me again, rubbing me with her
little hands. I notice, for the first time, that sheÕs wearing sparkly nail
polish on her fingernails. Did she paint her nails while I slept, just to
impress me? Of course I prefer the red of a grown womanÕs manicured
hands. Purple with sparkles looks rather silly, but I say nothing, instead
obscenely enjoying the feel of the girlÕs hands on my ribs and watching her
little teats wiggle as she works.
The queen follows the blondeÕs lead and takes off her own top. Her
breasts are slightly larger. I gaze at them with mouth-watering awe.
Even the nine-year-old with pigtails and the little six-year-old join in.
Suddenly IÕm surrounded by little girls whose names I donÕt even know,
who are all happily topless, showing me what they have grown, seemingly
just for me, the six-year-old only able to offer the slightest puckered set
of paps, like two little mosquito bites, but the ten and eleven-year-old
impressing me with the size of their childish tits. I want to suck on
them, as they earlier sucked on my cock. But I hold back. I let myself
relax. The blonde finally works her hands down to the root of my cock. I
do not stop her. Exploringly she reacquaints herself with my shaft. She
rubs her hands up and down it. Why are these little females so damnably
interested in my penis?
I shudder. Despite my now churning balls I feel excellent. There is a
tension running through me that I relish, and it concentrates itself in my
cock. I feel my testicles tighten further. I am going to cum again and I
know it is only a brief matter of time before I do. I look down at the
topless blonde. She is so luscious! I want to stop her but suddenly the
queen, seeing my condition, the way my chest heaves and my cock seems
to grow thicker with need, calls out. A girl comes through the doorway to
the queenÕs home. She is carrying the gourd. She carries it easily. They
must have emptied it.
ÒNo. Really. I should not be doing this,Ó I protest.
ÒDo not give us your milk if you do not wish to,Ó the queen tells me
gently, drawing near, bending down and stroking my forehead.
Suddenly I let my delirium overwhelm me. If this is going to be my
dying fantasy, itÕs going to be done my way, I tell myself. I look at the
queen. Her face is so pretty! She has no freckles, despite being a redhead.
ÒI prefer dominant women,Ó I tell her. There is no sense in holding
back now. I may as well confess all my fantasies to this child. ÒCommand
me, and IÕll give you whatever you want,Ó I tell her. My conscience
screams at me, but my balls do to. The queen looks slightly perplexed.
Then I guess the illusionÕs royal demeanor kicked in for she nodded
slightly and said,
ÒDick, darling, I command you to give me your milk.Ó My cock leaps
at her words, so gentle and yet firm. But I want more. ItÕs my fantasy,
after all. Perhaps if I press this illusion with demands it will finally go
away. ÒGet a stick or something,Ó I tell the topless redhead. ÒTell me you
will hit me with it if I donÕt cum.Ó She understands, after a moment, what
I want. She calls out and a girl brings a stick through the doorway. She
gives it to the queen, bowing slightly as she does so. She is a lovely
blonde like the ten-year-old and six-year-old, and she surprises me
because she is topless like the other girls. I wonder if all the girls in this
place are topless now. IÕm tempted to order the queen to take off her
bikini panties and show me whether sheÕs got any lovely red hair between
her legs.
The illusion has still not passed so I decide to test it further.
Surely it will go away any minute now, if I press it with ridiculous
demands.
ÒHit me with the stick,Ó I tell the apparition queen, certain that she
will be unable to accomplish this. To my dismay I feel a sharp pain
suddenly along my ribs, where the blonde has just rubbed me with cream.
Sure enough the stick the girl is holding, despite being as ephemeral,
surely, as the girl itself, has swished down and hit my side. It hurts,
after all the delicacy IÕve been surrounded with for the last few hours.
But perhaps this is the way out. Pain will waken me from my demented
reverie. ÒHit me again,Ó I order the queen. ÒTell me IÕm bad for not
cumming and keep hitting me until I spurt.Ó
Stunningly, the queen obeys me. She tells me I must obey her, and
unfortunately this has an electric effect on my cock. The other girls
notice and press the open neck of the gourd to the head of my penis,
enveloping my pee hole, gazing at me with expectant smiles as I writhe
slightly under the blows the queen now delivers to my ribs.
ÒOw! Ow! Ow!Ó I cry, but the queen, puffing slightly, her pink cheeks
reddening, seems to delight in her newfound dominance. I have awakened a
part of her she never knew existed, I realized, though I still am sure, even
in my pain, that she herself does not exist! The stick flashes down again
and again, and she tells me in no uncertain terms that I must provide milk
for the girls when they tell me to, that I must not deprive them of what
the story promised them they would receive from me. Suddenly in my
agony my cock gives way. Not in a manner that would save me from
embarrassment, of course. I spurt thunderously into the gourd. I do not
try to stop myself any more, the stick keeps hitting me, all along my right
side, the queen determined to exercise her newfound authority over me.
After a good long minute I am finally done spurting. I breathe a sigh
of relief as the queen, sensing I have no more to give to their infernal
gourd, stops hitting me. The vegetable is withdrawn. I feel a complete
relaxation, despite the pain along my right side. Immediately the blonde,
amazed at the punishment I have taken, for I have welts now where the
queen has hit me, resumes rubbing me with the cream. I watch the ten-
year-oldÕs tits as she works and again toy with the notion of asking these
little girls to take off their panties for me, to show me what must be the
utter delight of their hairless little crotches.
Ah, God! I am turning into some kind of pervert! I try to think of my
wife but the sight of the little blondeÕs tits juddering in front of me, the
sight of the queenÕs fine little chest heaving as she breathes hard from
having hit me, blots out any redemptive vision of my spouse. I try to
summon up a view of my daughter but she appears topless, and I quickly
chase that vision out of my mind.
ÒDo you wish to sleep again?Ó the queen asks me solicitously.
ÒI want to wake up!Ó I tell her frankly.
ÒYou are awake,Ó the little six-year-old blonde, who has been
watching the whole obscene affair, tells me.
I do not try to argue with the six-year-old. I let myself relax,
commenting to myself that IÕve never seen a first-grader with such a
perfect little set of mosquito bite tits. Then I remind myself that, except
for my daughter, IÕve never seen any six-year-old topless, at least not
since my days swimming as a child, when little girls would sometimes
take off their tops because they had basically nothing to hide.
ÒI hope this fantasy ends soon,Ó I breathe aloud.
ÒHave we not pleased you?Ó the brunette, watching all the while like
the six-year-old, asks in a sudden panic. She leans close, asks the ten-
year-old for cream so she can join in rubbing me.
ÒNo! No!Ó I cry. The last thing I need is more soft little hands
rubbing me and arousing me. I manage to keep the brunette back. ÒI feel
fine,Ó I gasp. Is there no way to end this dream? Frowning, I decide to try
to push it past its limits again. I look at the girls, again impressed with
their little titties that jiggle nakedly before my eyes. ÒIf IÕm to provide,
uh, milk for you girls, I donÕt want to just be treated like some hand
pump,Ó I tell them. ÒI want you, at all times, to call me ÔsirÕ.Ó
ÒYes, sir,Ó the girls at once say merrily, even the queen.
ÒOh, shit!Ó I gasp. They seem puzzled that I would be disappointed.
ÒDo you want me to hit you with the stick again?Ó the queen asks.
ÒNo, no,Ó I tell her. ÒOnly when you want me to do something, like
give you milk. Or something like that,Ó I tell her, and an utterly depraved
thought rises in my mind, specifically, whether I would fit inside these
little ones. You know what I mean. I chase the thought away as soon as I
feel it. ÒAnd keep your panties on,Ó I add hastily. The queen nods. The
other girls nod too. I sigh, still showing disappointment. There is no way
to rid myself of these little creatures. IÕm doomed to live in some weird
pedophile fantasy until the jungle destroys me.
30
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