Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Warning: Erotic Material
Something about the Berne convention, a few thou shalt nots, and a
warning not to try this at home girls.  It is fiction guys, try not to take

it as gospel...  You might go blind.  ;)

   I sighed as I picked up the case of Dr.  Pepper.  It was habit.  I
hardly ever drank it anymore.  So much of my life was just habit since
Annaleece died.  I set the large box of cans into the basket and pushed
lightly on the cart.

   I heard a tiny "Oooph."

   "Oh, sorry, I didn't see you."

   "It's okay, mister."

   Oh.  My.  God.

   About seven years of age, and absolutely perfect in every way.  The
strapless sundress in a torrent of blue and sea foam with wide swaths of
burnt orange trimmings, barely hung to her knees.  Her reddish curly hair
brushed her bare shoulders, trimming her slightly round face and let her
tiny ears peek from behind to show off the little blue studs in the lobes.
A slightly upturned nose, thin lips and deep brown eyes accented the light
smattering of freckles across her light copper tan.  And no, there were no
flip flops or Crocks.  She was in those sweet little, white leather sandals
that barely showed her blue nail polish.  An anklet and bracelet matched
her earrings and so, probably, did the necklace that lay hidden in the
stretchy elastic that held the dress from falling to her shoes.

   "You sure," I stuttered.

   "Yup.  I'm good." God, don't I know it!

   "I didn't run over any feet or anything?" God I didn't want to hurt
those beautiful toes!

   "Nope just spanked my butt." She smiled, showing off the source of her
slight lisp.  Three bottom teeth missing.  Closer to eight then.  Short for
her age?  Even better.

   "I'm sorry again."

   "You can quit saying that, mister."

   "Yes ma'am." I saluted smartly.

   She rolled her eyes and shook her beautiful curls, with smug dimples
forming on her cheeks.

   "My name is Trista," she said.

   "I'm Richie, then.  Not Mister.  My dad is Mister." She blinked then
smiled.  A woman rounded the corner with a bare basket.  The few items were
the cheapest of essentials.

   "Richie, this is my mom.  Would you marry her?" The woman who seemed to
be an exact replica of Trista only about twenty years older though they had
been hard years.  She was more matter of fact in her tattered tank top and
jean shorts, her hair scrunched into a ponytail that must have taken hours
to fit her full bodied, reddish-blonde hair into the small tie back.

   "Trista, I don't even know her name, how could I marry her?" I asked.

   "It's Marianne," she said without apology.

   "Triss!" The woman who had become beet red tried to shush her daughter.
"He doesn't want to know about us."

   I shrugged.  "Couldn't hurt anything, you know."

   Marianne dug her brown eyes into my blue-grays.  She squinted, seeming
to see if she could read my mind.  As in, "What would he want my daughter
for?" But amazingly, she shifted her presence of mind.  As in, "Maybe he
has money!" She nodded at the ring on my finger.

   "Would she be joining us?" she said with a smirk.

   "I love for her to, but she might ruin the date," I tried to maintain a
cool aire, but I was afraid I was failing.

   "I'm sure.  Most women would have a problem with their husband dating
some new girl with them present."

   "Oh, no that wouldn't be the problem.  I understand is hard for dead
people to walk, I'd have to carry her everywhere." My dark humor fell on
unprepared ears.  When my lyrics fell into place in her puzzle of
understanding, her face fell.

   "Oh, my God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," Trista's mom was
aghast.

   "Sure you did, and so did I.  She's been gone a year and a half now.  My
kids have been worried that I'd turn into some kinda hermit or something.
They may be right."

   "You seem to be okay now." We had begun walking again.  She had one of
those carts that had been dragged sideways or something.  It crashed with
every revolution of it's rear wheel.

   "I'm in public.  This is no place to shed tears," I continued.

   She nodded.

   "Besides, I always wondered about the whole 'supermarkets as a meat
market' theory.  Or at least a pick up joint," I shrugged.  "So that's me
in a tiny nut shell.  What about you in 140 characters or less?"

   She smiled again, "Twitter huh?"

   "Caught me."

   She cocked her head back.  Her daughter watched the exchange with a look
of concentration but had a upward curl to each corner of her mouth. 
Marianne drew a deep breath.  "I'm a widow too.  Dan's been gone about four
years now.  Afghanistan.  Pilot.  The money doesn't go far, you know."

   "And you have no time for work, when you need to be a mom?"

   "Oh, I wait tables at a night club in Fayetteville."

   "Where does she stay at night?" Marianne bit her lower lip and copped a
deer-in-the-headlights look, which I must say brown eyed girls can bring me
to my knees with that look.

   "I have to leave her by herself at night." She swallowed hard.  Trista
had a guilty look too.

   "You stay up and watch TV don't you?" I asked Trista.

   She gasped, "Nooo, I...  I...  I sleep in...  Mom's bed..." she gave up,
"With the the TV on."

   "Trista Kaylee Braum!" I raised an eyebrow in a 'caught ya' smirk. 
Trista glared at me for only a second, then turned to a doggy eyed pout.

   "I know you don't have the slightest idea who I am, but which club?"

   "Kingfisher Lounge."She didn't act like I needed to know that
information.

   "Been there a few times.  Don't remember seeing you there."

   "Started when Dan's money started getting hard to come by, about two
months ago."

   "No, I mean we just played there about a week ago.  Grail?"

   Her eyes widened, "Ohmigod!  The lead guitar player?"

   "Caught me again," I smiled.

   She slumped.  "I bet you got all kinds of girls then." Her voice barely
carried to my ears.

   "Could have, if I was interested."

   She went back to her suspicious face, "Why wouldn't you be interested?"

   "To be honest with you, I prefer a certain kind of girl."

   "What kind of girl?" Her emphasis was harsh and she cut her eyes to
Trista.  I wanted to admit defeat and let her punch me and walk away, but I
acted horrified and shook my head violently.  "No I am looking for someone
who would put up with me being so...  huggy." I shrugged again, "I like
teddy bears."

   "Meaning?"

   "To be honest I wouldn't even really be interested in a sexual
relationship.  Honestly, the thing I'm looking for could be a father-like
persona to a child like Trista, actually." She bent her head sideways,
maybe trying to get my words to slide into a rarely used slot.  Then she
looked to her daughter.

   "Tole ya Mom," Trista smiled.

   "You have kids?"

   "Five, with four different girls.  Never married the first three, number
one died three weeks after our daughter was born, the next two didn't tell
me until twenty years after the fact.  And I married the mother of the last
two, which are both married themselves now."

   "How many girls?" She seemed shocked.

   "Four.  One boy," I answered.

   "Grandkids?"

   "All girls so far, oldest one is twenty and just had my first great
grand-baby girl." I took a breath, "Why am I telling you this?"

   "Cause I asked.  And I have a thought." My turn to try to roll the words
into a strange hole in the brain slots, my neck twisted my head into a side
nod, my ponytail apparently making it's first appearance to her.  She
seemed to switch gears again.  But after her first reimpression subsided,
she continued.  "Would you be interested in babysitting?  I hate leaving
her alone at night."

   "But you don't have the slightest idea who I am?"

   "Sure I do.  I work in a bar remember?  I'm a good judge of character."
A glance at the child proved to me that she was clueless about what her
mother was thinking too.

   "You'd leave her alone with me?" I asked timidly.

   "Sure.  What could you do?"

   "I could think of something people might answer that with."

   "Me too, but there is nothing in the world that would be different if a
babysitter brought her boyfriend over." I wasn't sure I liked this line of
thought.  This was very dangerous.  I was already turned on with the tiny
girl and the thought of her sleeping in my house and taking baths and
running around in night gowns...  or less.  No, I gotta kill this.

   "I dunno." I said shaking my head.

   "Try it once?  Just one night?" There go the puppy dog eyes.  Trista had
learned well from her mother!  Even a little pout to the bottom lip.

   Another sigh.  Okay "On one condition."

   Both did a take of each other, obviously in victory, then settled back
on me.  "Yes?"

   "I only have one bed now, and she has to bring a bathing suit."

   "Swimming suit?  Why?" They nearly echoed each other.

   "Has to.  I have a pool." Trista melted in desire.  Well, of the pool
anyway."

   "She doesn't have a suit." Marianne said sheepishly.  "Would she be okay
in her underwear?"

   I couldn't believe she just asked me that!  "I mean, you've have all
these girls around your house, it's not like your a stranger to them,
right?" I tried to feign a sense of indifference.  It was difficult to say
the least, as I was having a panic attack at the time.  "I don't care if
she skinny dips, but that's up to you."

   Trista's eyes went wide, "Naked outside?"

   I shook my head, "My pool is inside the house."

   Both hit the word at the exact same time this round, "Really?"

   "I have nothing at my house for her to wear.  If we're going to do this,
she needs to bring clothes." Then I glance at Trista again, "Or not?"

   Trista tugged at the hem of her skirt.  A tanned little nipple peeked
above the elastic and didn't disappear.  She bit her top lip in anxiety,
almost as if willing her mother to say it was okay for her to be naked in
my house.  Marianne flushed.  I was wondering if she might even faint.  She
looked at her tiny daughter.  "Tell you what.  Trista, go ahead with him."
She turned back to me, "I need your number and your address." She dialed
the number into her phone as I told her.  She hit send so her phone would
give me her number as well.  Once I had her number I texted her my address.
I realize how easy it would have been to give her an erroneous address and
just take off to my house in Arizona with Trista.  But I was honest.

   "I gotta get some more groceries, so I'll see you guys in the morning
when I get back to town." She was second guessing herself already, but she
stayed resolved.

   Marianne was trying to stay calm about what she was doing.  We said our
good-byes and Trista and I hit the swimsuit aisle before leaving the store.
She picked out a bright orange bikini.  I am almost certain she was bigger
than a 5 but I bought the tiny pieces of cloth without her trying them on.
I figured it was the safest thing.  Trista trying that bikini on in this
store would be a death sentence.  My shorts were already having a hard time
constraining the embarrassing member.  I couldn't imagine containing myself
if she actually could stretch that tiny swatch of fabric over her body.  It
would look painted on at best, and I'm not sure the top would fit at all. I
tried to get her to pick one that was at least tie-able, but, no.  It was
the color she wanted.  She didn't care if it was too small.  Remembering
the words her mother had said, I knew she lied to me about having a suit
that was that size at home.

   "You need a nightgown or something?"

   "Nah, I'll just wear my panties."

   "You remember you're in my bed tonight, right?"

   "Yup," she said with out any regard to who might be hearing her in this
store.

   "You want some new underwear?"

   "Why?"Her brow scrunched as if to say, 'stop asking this stuff."

   "I don't want you saying the one's you have on are dirty then not
wanting to wear anything to bed."

   "I sleep nekkid sometimes." We were loading up the car by this time. 
Thank God!

   "Not in my bed you won't." I let a chuckle escape.

   "Why not?" God, I was glad this conversation was happening in my car and
not in the checkout line.

   "I'm gonna sound like your mom here and say, Because I said so." She
stuck her cute little tongue out at me.  Then smiled.  Oh, those dimples.
Okay, nude if she wants.  I'll sleep in the recliner or something.

   She was nonstop with the small talk about school, friends, her mom, her
self, her dad, her house, and anything else that passed by the window of my
Lincoln until we pulled into my driveway.

   Then she shut up, with nothing more than a, "This is your house?" She
stared up at the stone facade never looking where her feet were headed.  I
guided her, with my hand on her bare shoulder, nipple still winking above
the fabric of her dress.  I had left the groceries in the car.  Nothing was
going to spoil.  I carried her forgotten swimsuit, now off the hanger and
wadded easily in the palm of my hand.  I opened the front door.  I nudged
her in and she stopped fast in the entry foyer.  The sound of the waterfall
at the pool was making her drool from her slack mouth.

   The rest of my artistic house ignored.  I held out the fabric pieces in
front of her.  In less than a breath, her dress and panties were pooled
around her feet and her sandals were kicked off.  I tried to ignore the
tiny body under my control as she tried in vain to crimp her legs in the
tourniquet that was made for a girl much younger than she.

   She pushed and grunted until the fabric nearly made an audible snap as
it fell into place around her privates.  The too tight bottoms rode up her
tiny butt crack, and no matter how she tugged the cloth was staying put,
thong style.  She gave up.  She tried to pull the top on and couldn't even
get it over her head, much less her shoulders.

   "I don't care so much about the top as long as your peepee is covered
up," I said.

   "Peepee?  Who calls it that?"

   "My girls always called it that.  What do you call it?"

   "My pussy."

   Something huge, green and snarling with horrible breath grabbed at my
throat and tried to choke the life from me.  "Your what?"

   "My pussy." She twisted around her shoulders trying to see what the
bottoms were doing to her butt.  "Does this make my ass look big?"

   I swallowed.

   Hard.

   "No, sweetheart, your ass is perfect." I thought more about what I just
said as she smiled widely, "I mean, your butt is perfect."

   "You was right the first time." She ran, wiggling ass, I mean butt, and
all, cannon-balling into the deep end of my pool.  My mind reeled as she
came up abruptly, flailing like a rag doll in a Doberman's mouth.

   Oh, shit.

   As I ran, shoes, shirt, shorts all in lumps on the rocks as I jumped in
after her.  When I reached her she was floating effortlessly in the water.

   "Tidy whiteys, huh?"

   I glared at her.

   Suddenly I had a revelation that she was going to either laugh at all
night or be completely terrified of what was now under the water beneath
her.  My eyes gave me away.  She looked through the swirling water.

   "Where'd tidy whiteys go?" She smiled devilishly.

   "Um." Her wet curls didn't straighten much around her face though they
did darken to nearly my own dark hair color.  She doggy paddled closer and
latched on as I started to pull away.  Her arms draped around my neck and
she pulled herself against my chest.

   "Thank you for saving me Daddy." She kissed me on the lips.  I felt two
sensations at the same time.  Her toes exploring my nether and her tongue
exploring my teeth.  Her knees clenching on my lats, she rubbed the tiny
swatch of cloth on my belly button.  I could have sworn I felt a little pea
of gravel grind against my skin.  I gave in and opened my mouth.  It was,
after all, what I really did want to do to her.

   The tiny bikini bottoms seemed easier to slide off than they were to put
on, at least while we were in the water.  The only thing either of us had
on was her blue sapphire jewelry.  Nothing happened other than nearly an
hour of me kissing her and her returning the favor.  When we finally came
out of the pool naked, we were complete prunes.  I sat on the bench next to
the pool and dried her with a towel.

   Kissing her shoulders as much as I rubbed them with the towel.  She
returned the favor while allowing me full access to her mouth.  It was
heaven french kissing a girl with such small teeth and so many of them
missing.  Her velvety tongue was like nothing I had ever felt.  Warm, wet,
and never faltering from what she wanted.

   Me.

   I turned pulling myself free of her.  "I gotta get the groceries."

   I pulled the shorts on over my wet skin.  My phone was vibrating from a
missed text.

   "Richie, sorry about everything.  I had to leave and couldn't take her
with me.  She's yours now.  When I come back in two months I'll sign papers
giving you custody." I stood dripping on the rocks that covered my floor,
staring at the message.  Why?

   I tried to text back.  I tried to call the number.  The texts bounced
and the robot voice on the line said the number had been disconnected.  I
had no way of contacting Trista's mother.  She had left her baby on my door
step.

   This can't be right.

   I called my oldest daughter, Tara, who was still high on the security
coding list for the INCIC for the UNSF.

   "I got a real problem.  Can you trace someone for me?"

   "Sure Daddy, let me pull up the app." Tara had her mother's accent which
always soothed my frayed nerves.  I looked back at the girl who had dove
back in the pool and now was just floating in the water looking at me.  The
waterfall kept her from hearing what I was saying, but I wasn't sure at
this point whether she might even know what was going on.

   "Okay, hit me with a name."

   "Marianne Braum and Trista Kaylee Braum.  Trista is 8-ish."

   "Yeah, Trista is actually seven.  She was born August 12.  Her father
Daniel died in Afghanistan several years ago.  Her mother is currently set
up to go into custody for two consecutive life terms for murder.  Seems she
murdered two men who gang raped Trista and the state of Texas is supposed
to have custody of Trista as of yesterday.  Seems Marianne has reported her
kidnapped while visiting family in Georgia.  Daddy?  Why are you asking
about them?"

   "Trista is in my pool right now, and Marianne has disappeared."

   "Oh God Dad.  She's been listed as kidnapped.  If they catch her there,
you have no diplomatic immunity anymore.  You'll go to prison for the
kidnapping."

   "Who is close family?"

   "Well, there was only Marianne's father but he was one of the men she
murdered."

   "Distant relatives?"

   "None on record that haven't been killed in accidents or drive by
shootings.  Even the one's listed for contact while she was vivisting in
Georgia are fictitous."

   "You don't think Marianne did all of those killings do you?"

   "Hang on." She paused for a short time then came back, "She has a file
with the Tendencia."

   Tara became very quiet, "She is a former Magestra Operative.  Only an L2
Adoma but the fact that she survived to become an adult is impressive
enough."

   "What was her specialty?"

   "Covert Operations, Clandestine Sabotage, Offensive Driving and when she
turned sixteen she acquired her first pilots license."

   "She said she'd be back in two months to give me custody of Trista," I
said returning my pony-tail behind my back as it ran rivulets down my chest
and was making me cold.  Either the water was or this situation was.  The
daughter of a Magestra slave-soldier in my pool.  This was not good.

   "She's not turning herself over to Texas then it seems."

   "It seems that way."

   "We have to hurry and change her documents before you get in trouble,
Dad."

   "Is CJ still in St.  Louis?"

   "I have no idea." She seemed put off by the mention of one of her
half-sister's mothers, "But I'll call her.  Trista will need all new
papers. I'll set it up, I'll make her Annaleece's daughter."

   "She doesn't look anything like Rico or Reece!" I wasn't sure where Tara
was going with this.

   "It's okay Daddy.  I don't look like any of my siblings either. 
Remember my mom had strawberry blonde hair?" Her Glascow-Scottish accent
sparkled just then with a whisper of her mother's voice.

   "Anyway, just hurry okay?  I don't know how much of this Trista knows.
She's acting strange.  Or course I don't know her very well either."

   The tiny foot steps padded behind me, "I'll see you later Chigger."

   "Who's that Daddy?"

   I played along, "It's your big sister Tara.  She's looking into
something for me."

   "You got Mom's message already then?"

   "So you know?"

   She nodded, but seemed indifferent.

   "Are you okay with this?  I mean I'll have to buy you clothes and
furniture for your room and..."

   She cut me off, "I'm sleeping with you, and I don't need any clothes."

   "Trista?"

   "That was the deal when you were gonna just babysit me.  Ain't no
different now."

   "Of course it's different now.  I'm going to be your real Dad."

   "So?  My real Granpa tried to make me pregnant.  And his friend too."

   "I'm sorry about that honey..."

   "Don't be sorry, I want it again, with you."

   "Trista..."

   We stood silent, the sound of the waterfall washing over us.  I couldn't
resist any longer.  I picked her up in my arms and headed for the
conversation area.

   I sat down with her naked body draped across my wet shorts.

   "I don't know about the sex.  But I want you to know that I will do
everything I can to keep you out of that system.  In a few hours you will
be my daughter, legally.  I want you to be comfortable here."

   Her pools of chocolate drowned me in her melancholy.  She was where she
wanted to be right now, and she didn't care if it was legal or not.  I was
holding her.  That was everything to her right now.

   She twisted around and straddled me, dangerously.  Her movements made it
painfully obvious that she was no little girl anymore.  She had been well
used by someone, for a long time.  She would have no problem handling me.

   "I feel so empty.  Please get in me."

   "Trista..."

   Her dark eyes searched mine in a way that had not been done since Maria,
Tara's mother, died.

   "Not sex Daddy.  Just inside me and hold me." Instead of following her
desires I simply pulled her to me.  The effect was similar; her soft, warm
body trapping my phallus against my stomach.  She began to grind her hips
against the base of my cock.

   "Wait," I said softly, "not like this."

   She opened her eyes which had been a model of extreme concentration.  A
look of shock and disappointment over took her soft face.

   "I'll show you what I mean," I said, standing and lifting her higher so
she could wrap her legs around my torso.  I moved from the conversation pit
and headed for the stairway.

   An uneasy smile drifted across her lips and she laid her head on my
shoulder.  She began grinding her pelvis against my stomach for some kind
of release.

   "Not yet.  We have plenty of time for that.  I want to complete this for
you.  You have always been forced before.  I'm about to show you what it
means to be loved." I climbed each step careful to make sure I didn't lose
my footing and take both of us to the ground.  "I'm not going to force you.
I want to show you how wonderful this can be.  This won't be about me
unless you want it to, and only then when you are fully ready."

   I felt her nod against my shoulder, but I wasn't sure that she
understood what I said.

   Down the long stretch of hallway and into the door of my bedroom.  I had
a balcony that over looked the pool room and the waterfall was close enough
to the balcony that you could touch it.

   I sat her carefully on the bed and pulled the pillows around her to
encompass her body, then had her to lay one beneath her head and another
beneath her hips.

   Her skin was reacting to every touch.  Her skin was still damp but not
dripping, and the slight breeze coming over the balcony, though warm from
the heated pool, was causing goosebumps across her entire body.  This also
caused the sparse peach fuzz that flocked her entire body to stand on end.

   Her legs bent over the bed at her knees and her feet were about a foot
from the floor.  Her perfectly formed toes.  I don't have much of a foot
fetish, but when a little girl has toes this perfect they are to be
admired. Perfect nails, thought the blue polish needed some work, and
nothing about them was out of shape.

   Of course we had just spent more than an hour in the pool, I knew she
was as clean as she would possibly get.  So that's where I started.

   I took her left foot in my hand and asked her permission to rub it. 
With a giggle she nodded.  I kneaded her flesh then alternated little
kisses over each toe and every inch of her foot until I reached her ankle.
I reached for her right foot and repeated my actions, again asking her
permission, which she responded in another giggle.

   The giggles from the touch were becoming less pronounced as I began a
move toward her knees, again alternating between a massage and little
kisses.

   She was becoming flushed and her breathing more pronounced, still I
continued to ask permission.

   I'm sure she thought I was heading above her knee as I finished my
ministrations of her calf muscles.  But I stood and climbed onto the bed
beside her left arm.

   She questioned me with eyes that seemed to be drunk on my attention.

   "May I have your left hand, Ma'am?"

   There was no giggle this time, only a sly smile and her nod.

   Each knuckle of her fingers was carefully massaged and I continued up
her hand, across her wrist, up her elbow, then on to her shoulder.  Kissing
my way to her clavicle, I stood again and dropped on her right side.

   Permission granted with closed eyes this time, I began as I had her
first three limbs.  By the time I had breeched her right collar bone, she
had been enjoying my careful touch for near forty-five minutes, and she was
breathing like she had just ran a marathon.  I must have been driving her
mad with lust.  Oh yeah, seven year olds aren't supposed to lust...  I'm
sorry.  Yeah right.

   She was no longer cold from the breeze but was now glistening with
anticipation that I should continue.

   "My Princess, may I touch your chest."

   She licked her lips to wet them and nodded in a quick succession, her
eyes flickering in concentration, seeming to be right on the edge of
insanity.

   For nearly twenty minutes I circled around her most sensitive areas,
kissing and massaging her skin.  I avoided the three areas that would have
sent her over the edge too easily.  But soon I hovered over her with a soft
blow of air on her left nipple.

   Nearly non-existant, it actually formed a depression in the skin
covering her ribs, that is until I blew on it.  Her areola grew prickled
and her nipple stood to a little pimple.  I drew my thumbnail across the
large goosebump and her breath hitched.

   Circling the areola with my tongue I latched on to it with my lips and
sucked it gently from her chest.  I traced the connection between the dots
with little butterfly kisses until I reached the other brown dot and
replayed the actions.

   I repeated this until both her areola stood from her chest, swollen with
hunger, looking much like a twelve year old's tits.  When they had come to
attention I began migrating south.  Tiny kisses to her sternum then down.
When I finally crossed the line of her navel, I asked permission again.

   All I received was a breathy, "uh huh." Her eyes were lightly shut, as
if sleeping, her mouth was slack - open and loose.  Her hands were now
above her head and were reflexing with every touch of my lips.  I
repositioned myself between her legs, watching her toes flex and twitch
each time my hands made contact with her skin.

   It was almost time.

   About an inch below her belly button I began again, and nearly sent her
into a revelation that she had never experienced a true climax before.  But
I wasn't finished yet.

   To her dismay I didn't head directly between her legs.

   Instead I followed her belt line for hip bone to hip bone and back to
that sensitive little spot under belly button.

   Each touch sent an electric charge through her body, her stomach
lurching involuntarily, it was then than I began my decent again.  Again
stopping at the line between stomach and vulva to make a sweep from leg to
leg and back again.

   Again moving down I finally reached the start of her beautiful cleft. 
It only had a slight dimple before her hood rose majestically from the deep
pit.

   I could smell her.  She was ready.  But not ready enough.  Taking the
soles of her feet in my hands, I massaged again but lifting her knees from
the bed to give me further access to her glory.  The massage of her feet
and the breath from my nostrils were causing her to wrench around with one
of her beatiful hands caressing her right breast and her left hand rubbing
that spot I showed her below her belly button.

   Almost ready.

   Beginning at her left knee, my lips and tongue made little marks on her
thigh.  Not quite hickeys but right at the verge of it.  Her breathing was
that of a sprinter.  I watched her chest rise and fall in quick shallow
breaths.  As I began at her right knee now, I watched the reaction of her
tiny quim.  It was already spasming.  Her inner labia folds, floppy from
her constant abuse, were winking at me, flashing me that goal.  It was
obvious this was no little girl as far as sex was concerned.

   My balls rolled.  My dick ached for release.  But this wasn't for me
unless she wanted it.  Besides I had something to show her first. 
Something I knew she had never expeienced before.

   Still rubbing the bottom of her feet I set her heels on the edge of the
bed.  Her scent drew me in.

   She was as moist as any full grown woman I had even had.  Now I was
going to show her something that few full grown women ever experience. 
Something that would make her mine for as long as I wanted her.  Trista was
about to become my slave, but I wasn't going to hurt her to get there. 
Though I could easily enough.  Once she feels what I'm about to do to her,
nothing else will ever compare.

   I placed my right index and middle finger on either side of her majestic
hood, wrapped under her leg and back over her hip.

   It was an odd way to hold my arm, nearly folding it back on itself, but
It had to be done.

   I didn't rub.  I pressed.  A deep tissue massage.  Nearly on the peak of
pain.  But not quite.  My left hand took her right and pushed into that
spot on her stomach.  Using the same deep tissue massage.

   When she was doing that on her own, I used my right to insert my index
and middle fingers into her vaginal canal, facing upward.

   True to her word, she had no obstructions and i could feel the tiny hard
spots from the scars of her first penetrations.

   With my thumb of my other hand, I pulled back her foreskin, revealing
her most prized possession.  Her clit rose from her body, hard as a rock
and ready for some attention before she started cramping.

   The fingers that were inside her body quickly found what they were
searching for, through the walls of her canal, I could feel her urethral
sponge full to capacity, the little tendrils made hard impressions to my
two fingers.

   Positioning my fingers along either side of the sponge I began to with
draw my fingers.  The delicate touch with the full intent of massaging her
urethra inside that sponge.

   "When you get the feeling that you need to pee.  Don't fight it or it
will cause a cramp.  Relax and push.  Push not like you are trying to pee,
push like you are trying to push my fingers out of your pussy, like you are
having a baby."

   I wasn't sure if she even heard me.  No acknowledgement of any kind,
only the gasping breath.  Her hands pushed deep into her muscles, her
fingertips were turning blue; pressing on her belly and tits.

   I continued my massage of her cleft with the one set of fingers and the
catapillar inside her body with the others then set my lips on her
girl-dick.

   Instantly, she writhed.  Her toes bunched and released spreading widely,
her hands came free of her body and all of her fingers stretched, over
extended, beginning to bend backwards.

   With the fingers that were inside her, I could feel the sponge retract
slightly and a small drizzle of the honey poured from her urethra.

   No, Trista, that ain't good enough.  I smiled and touched her clit with
my bottom teeth then licked from the top of her hood to the hole where my
fingers were inserted.

   Both hands grabbed at her pussy.  "I gotta pee," she screamed.

   "Just do it." I hollered as her own fingers found her clit.

   She began rubbing it furiously in a circle over my fingers with both of
her hands, crushing it against my skin.

   I pushed harder with my other two fingers, careful not to push to hard
and rupture the over filled cum bladder.

   She hitched her breath harshly then screamed.

   She bucked her hips so hard that all of my fingers became mis-placed. 
Her's didn't.  She ground into her clit, and just as I thought she was
about to start coming down from her second orgasm with out finishing what I
had started, it clicked.

   She let out a long low groan, like one of those exasperated "Oh Daddy"'s
only with the purr of a cat mixed in.  About two octaves lower than her
normal voice.  It came from deep within her.  She exhaled completely.  Her
chest, directly below her sternum, had a concave spot a couple inches in
diameter.  Her lungs had evacuated all of their air.

   Then her sponge spasmed in my fingers..

   The milky clear fluid poured from her pussy and pisser and doused my
stomach and cock in her cum like a water hose had just been turned on.

   She couldn't catch her breath, she hitched like she had just fallen on
her chest and couldn't breathe.  When she finally was able to whisper again
she said simply and completely exhausted, "Fuck me."

   This was what I was waiting for.  She was all mine now.  I kissed her
from vulva to lips.  Her dripping hole was tight but easily penetrated.

   I kissed her more than I fucked.  I knew I wouldn't need much, and that
she would be too sensitive to handle a hard fuck.  Long, slow intercourse.
Nibbling her ears, cheeks, eyelids...  Running my fingers through her soft,
now dry, hair.  Her sweaty body still so soft beneath me as I propped
myself on elbows to keep from crushing her.

   She had a slight climax once more and with out much fanfare I emptied my
prostate into her while locked into a passionate kiss.

   Still inside her, we rolled over and she lay flat on my chest.  Her
canal quivered from the over use, similar to the way someone with
Parkinson's hands tremble.  Her vibrating body was stirring another
reaction from my testicles.

   I kissed her forehead.  "Don't call me Daddy anymore."

   In almost a panic she sat up on her elbows (which in turn shoved herself
further on my impalement) "Why?"

   "I can't have my future wife calling me Daddy."

   She clenched on my rod and sent me into a deep spasm inside her.  As I
was drenching her insides once more she sat fully upright and pushed my
insertion inside her further, deeper.  I felt a slight blockage then
another release, breaking past the second barrier of her tiny cervix.  Her
face twisted in a cross between extreme pain and complete exstacy.

   I could see the final twiches of my dick poking lightly at the skin of
her belly.  She rubbed the head of my cock, just at the spot I had shown
her where to rub to stimulate her sponge, through her skin.
   "The baby's kicking already," she chuckled.