Andrew Roller Presents NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS in LABORS OF LOVE Chapter Seven He had awoken. The first thing he noticed was that, despite their lovemaking the previous night, he was swollen and hard. It wasnÕt from any overuse of his implement, either. He was simply very erect. He could feel his hardness between his legs and it hurt him, he was so stiff. Rolling over, he found Ginger was still asleep. He stroked her long pigtails a moment, as if to ask for permission. Then, finding her bottom quite available to him, he eased apart the cheeks of her seat. She pulled away. She was sucking her thumb and his movement must have brought her to the threshhold of wakefulness for now, as he attempted to enter her, she flinched and drew her bottom away from him. Well, it would have been rather rude, he thought, to fuck her up her little ass, which heÕd only ever conquered once, first thing in the morning. But when he reached for her legs and tried to get those apart she flinched at that too and he saw that, despite her utter availability to him the night before, she wasnÕt going to be cooperative this morning. He considered raping her. After all, she was His now, totally and completely, for heÕd stolen her. Actually theyÕd run away together but according to some Police Guidelines heÕd seen in the paper once 12-year-olds werenÕt listed as runaways. They were listed as Missing Children. And Ginger was 12, not 13 or 15, and she was quite a long way from 18, still sucking her thumb when she slept and wearing her hair in pigtails. Chip had tried to get Ginger to quit wearing her hair in pigtails. But she said she liked them because they kept her hair out of her eyes. Now she lay with her back to him, but with her bare bottomcheeks tensely closed, and he gazed at her ass and then at the large pink ribbons she used to tie her hair into two separate strands. He threw back the covers. He got up. He looked back at her, lying nude on the bed. He was going to leave the covers drawn down and make her reach for them herself. But at the last moment, perhaps so she wouldnÕt be too mad at him (whatever, indeed, she was mad about already being enough) he laid the big thick coverlet of the bed and its interior sheet back over her. She wriggled as he placed the bed cover over her. She seemed content. But she remained primly aloof from him so he decided to go outside and cut some wood. They were in a small cabin. TheyÕd driven all afternoon since heÕd picked her up from school. HeÕd only been going to take her home but theyÕd driven past her home, even though her mom was going to be home at four and her dad at six. TheyÕd driven to the edge of her suburb, considering going away together, just leaving, and never coming back. And then sheÕd told him to drive her home to get her teddy bear, and sheÕd go with him. HeÕd complained, told her they must keep going, not go back, it might be Hexed to go back now that theyÕd decided to leave and live together by themselves. SheÕd reminded him her Pills were back in her bedroom. He glanced at her clothes. They hung over the back of a chair where heÕd stripped them off her. Her schoolgirlÕs blouse, her skirt, and lying over them her training bra, which was becoming a bit small for her. And on the seat of the chair, which he stooped and picked up and moved to the floor, so he could sit down, was her teddy bear. Her pills were in her purse which lay on a coffee table in front of the chair. It was a big chair and he settled his bare hairy ass into it. He sighed. He reached out from the chair and caught hold of his boots and pulled them over to where he was sitting. The fire had burned low. The cabin was small. He had no idea whose cabin it was but he hoped they wouldnÕt be visiting soon. Deep in the forest theyÕd found it, high above the city and the suburb where she lived, and theyÕd been happy when theyÕd found it because it had been growing quite late and sheÕd had to go to the bathroom. TheyÕd escaped from the world and now he wondered what he was going to do with her. He glanced over at her. She lay coquettishly in the bed. He was facing her now, but she kept her eyes closed, sucking her thumb. She was small and the bed was large. He couldnÕt just leave her and let her parents take care of her anymore, and visit her when he pleased. He realized, with his cock hard between his legs, pulling his boots on, that he couldnÕt just go off to some orgy anymore. Now if he met a woman heÕd have to work out the relationship with the little child sleeping in the bed across from his chair. He swore under his breath and began lacing up his boots. Now she didnÕt even want to fuck, and he was as hard as the bedposts at the four corners of the bed, while she lay all soft and cozy and quiet within the bed and pretended to be happily asleep, even though he saw her peek at him once and he knew she was just being difficult. Was he married now? Technically he couldnÕt marry her, no state would marry him, a grown 21-year-old man, to a 12-year-old. Another man might have simply disposed of her and gone on his way. He glared at her. He finished tying his boots and got up from the chair. He noticed how easily the thin long shoulder strap of her purse would wrap around her slim little neck if he wanted it to. There was a pair of menÕs work gloves hanging from a nail by the front door. He pulled them on. He flexed his hands in the leather gloves and noticed how well they fit. Whoever owned this cabin had big hands, like he did. He wondered how big the man was and if he could take him if he should suddenly appear. He glanced around the cabin. They hadnÕt paid much attention to it last night. TheyÕd both gone straight to bed. Now he looked at it more circumspectly, despite the hardness sticking straight out from between his legs. He walked in his boots over to the fireplace. He was careful not to step on the bearskin rug lying in front of the fireplace. It might come in handy later, if GingerÕs morale should improve. Sitting on the fireplace was a family photo. There was a father, a man in his 40Õs. There was a woman, who looked perhaps no older than he, 21. He decided she must be a second wife, a trophy wife. Then, also in the photo, there was a boy of about 6 and a girl GingerÕs age. She had blonde hair instead of brown hair like Ginger and he considered her appearance. ÒNot bad,Ó he said. Then he scolded himself for in fact, technically, he wasnÕt actually interested in little girls. Ginger had just kind of fallen in to his lap at AnnetteÕs and somehow heÕd gotten involved with her. But it still revolted and frightened him that he might be a pedophile and he assured himself that he wasnÕt. He was just with a 12-year-old girl, thatÕs all, and how theyÕd come to love each other and feel that they had to both run away together was too complicated for him to figure out at 8 oÕclock in the morning. Especially with a hard-on throbbing between his legs. His pants were on the floor next to the chair. He looked at her training bra draped over the back of the chair. He had to put his hand on it to bend over and pick up his pants. It was soft and frilly under his fingers. His pants were blue jeans, rough, wrinkled. ÒDonÕt put them on,Ó he heard a quiet voice say. For a moment he thought perhaps the blonde girl whose father owned the cabin had somehow appeared, perhaps was training a gun on him, and he whirled about. But it was only little Ginger. She smiled at him. He wondered if she was ready to fuck now but she still had the bedcover drawn securely up to her chin. ÒI have to go outside and cut up some firewood,Ó he told her. ÒSo?Ó she asked. ÒYou want me standing out there chopping firewood in the nude?Ó he asked. ÒYes,Ó she answered. ÒYouÕre ridiculous,Ó he said. ÒI could call the police,Ó she said, and cast a meaningful glance at the nightstand, where the phone sat. ÒItÕs turned off,Ó he replied. ÒI already checked it. They must turn it off when they leave, turn it on when they visit.Ó ÒPlease donÕt put your pants on,Ó she asked again, as he bent to lift his leg and get his trousers on. ÒDamn! You really want me to go out there buck naked to chop firewood, donÕt you?Ó he asked. ÒYes,Ó she said again. ÒItÕs my honeymoon and thatÕs how I want you to be when you chop firewood for us.Ó ÒDonÕt get your hopes up,Ó he said. ÒI donÕt have to,Ó she replied, and cast her eyes again at the phone, which was turned off, but he caught her meaning. ÒOkay, so youÕre a stolen child now and I guess IÕm supposed to be freaking scared of you and obey your every wish from now on, unless, that is, I decide to strangle you instead, like Polly Klaas.Ó He deliberately put a deep frown on his face. HeÕd agreed to elope with her, not to become her slave. ÒPolly didnÕt choose who she ran away with. I did,Ó Ginger answered. She wriggled under the bedcovers and for a moment he wondered if she had her hand between her thighs, but then he dismissed the thought, for he preferred to think that she didnÕt. It reminded himself too much of himself when he had been 12, and his sessions under the bed by himself at that age hadnÕt exactly been sexy. Instead theyÕd been rather Galactic, he thought, with rubber bands on his dick to prevent the inevitable and a pile of his momÕs Sunday handkerchiefs next to the bed for when it happened, which heÕd inevitably used to rub himself, even though he only stole them out of her linen drawer for the purpose of cleaning up after himself. And always thereÕd been his DadÕs Playboys, slipped from his DadÕs workroom during the night, and piled with the centerfolds open all around himself. His bed at age 12 had a bedcover with autos racing up and down it, but heÕd only ever thought about girls under that bedcover, never about the Indy 500, which he supposed was what normal boys under their bedcovers thought about. Now little Ginger, quite mature for her years, was maybe frigging herself as she watched him, hugely erect, wearing his workmenÕs boots and gloves, as he threatened to strangle her. ÒI canÕt get up until youÕve got the fire going and put some heat into this place,Ó she admonished him. Then, perhaps as an inducement, she added, ÒYou do want breakfast, donÕt you?Ó ÒIÕm not real big on Lucky Charms,Ó he replied. ÒNo, weÕll have eggs and bacon and toast!Ó she said. She looked at him, wide-eyed, and he realized he was going to be stuck with her and her 12-year-old voice and her big, 12-year-old eyes, and her pigtails with their big pink bows. But she was right. He wasnÕt about to strangle her, even if he had been in the Army four years and been taught quite well how to do it, for she had chosen him, and his strength would be used to please and protect her, not to kill her. ÒIf you even hear the slightest sound of somebody coming youÕd better get your ass out there and tell me,Ó he growled at her. ÒItÕs bad enough I should have to break into this place to give you someplace to use the bathroom. Now you want me out back chopping wood with my ass bare!Ó She giggled. She drew the bedcover up to her nose. ÒGet your ass to Mars,Ó she said. ÒYou wish,Ó he thundered. ÒYou couldnÕt even drive yourself home if I did.Ó ÒI can drive,Ó she answered. But she knew she couldnÕt and he saw her shrink a little bit after she said it, for she realized she was as much his captive as any girl could be, even if she was telling him what to wear. He stepped outside into the depths of the forest. He inhaled the still forest air and felt rather like Paul Bunyan, except Paul Bunyan wore pants, and wasnÕt, as far as he knew, in the habit of making off with menÕs 12-year-old daughters. Well, that was all water under the bridge, he told himself now. It was the next day, not last night, and Ginger couldnÕt slip home anymore and tell her mom sheÕd been at a friendÕs. She was Gone now, and he was sure she must be on the morning news, perhaps even on Good Morning America, with her picture from the 6th grade flashed around the country because sheÕd been sick the day her school took the 7th grade photos. He glanced around the forest. There was nothing but silence. They were together, alone, in the wild untamed forest, and he felt free and at the same time worried, looking at his Camaro, for they were in a cabin owned by someone else and he had no idea when the owners might show up. He hoped they decided to vacation in Belize this year. He wondered at a world that gave him nothing except an old Camaro, despite his four years in the Army, but gave a 40-something old man a cabin and a house and a trophy wife. He was young and hard and the man was old and balding, and he and Ginger needed someplace to call their own, but instead they had noplace, were even being hunted now, while the 40-something man had two of everything; two homes, one in the woods, two wives, one a trophy, and two kids, one of whom was even a blonde, not a brunette like Ginger. Chip flexed his arms and felt his strength. He was young and quick and, looking down at himself in the chilly morning air, he saw he was hard. Perhaps they could survive together, he and Ginger, despite having everything against them. He looked again at his Camaro. It might be old, with leaves falling on it as it sat in the woods, but heÕd tuned it up good and it was fast. Chip tromped out back in his boots. Over his shoulder he carried an axe. Ginger had grown quite small in the bed when heÕd picked it up in the cabin. For a moment all the old horror movies had flashed through his head, and simultaneously through hers, about big men in the woods stalking girl children with axes to cut off their limbs. But he was going to chop wood, not her, so when he walked over to her, deliberately scaring her, he bent, the axe over his shoulder, and he kissed her cheek, lifting up the covers to expose it. A squirl darted across the forest floor. It sought refuge in the wood pile. Chip walked over to the woodpile and raised his axe. He hoped Ginger wasnÕt watching because he wanted to scare the shit out of the squirrel. He brought his axe down hard on the wood. He had to be careful as he swung it, which pissed him off, because his dick was in the way and he didnÕt want to sever it from his body. It would be just like a little girl like Ginger to escape the Axe-Man in the Woods and get him to dismember his penis. The sound of the axe echoed through the woods. Chip liked the quick, powerful sound it made. He hoped there werenÕt any cabins nearby that could hear it. Especially cabins wired with Good Morning America. Chip banged away at the wood and eventually the squirrel gave up hope on its refuge and darted out, and Chip, maliciously, threw the axe at it. Of course he missed. He had to go round the wood pile and pick up the axe where it had cloven the dirt and stood stiffly in the earth, its blade buried in it, sticking upright like his erection. Chip scraped the axe against the wood on the wood pile to get the dirt off the blade. As he looked up to begin his work again he stopped short. There, smiling at him, holding a camera, was Ginger. Her hair was long and lovely and sheÕd undone it, replacing her pink ponytails with a simple scarf that sheÕd tied somehow in the back of her hair, using the scarf not to cover her head but to knot a long lock of hair in it, and let it hang down, where it blew softly in the breeze, as if it were part of the long mane of her auburn hair which now stretched down and almost covered her breasts. Ginger tossed her hair. It fell back from her bosoms and Chip felt a thrill of excitement run up his cock as he saw her lovely naked breasts sticking up, all pointy, her nipples like little twin peaks of pink coral in the chilled morning air. She wore drop seat pajama pants. They must have belonged to the girl whose father owned the cabin, Chip realized. They didnÕt button or zipper, but instead had a soft rope as a drawstring. Ginger had tied the drawstring around her waist. Her hips curved within and above the pants. Her belly was bare. Her feet were bare on the soft leaf-strewn forest floor and when she turned slightly Chip saw that the back of her drop seat pants was open, revealing her bottom. She hadnÕt bothered to button it up. Her naked ass stuck out of the pants and he knew it must be chilly. He longed to seize it and thrust himself in it and perhaps to spank it beforehand, to warm it for her. ÒWhat the fuck are you doing?Ó he asked her. ÒIÕm taking my Honeymoon pictures,Ó she explained. She tossed her hair back from her eyes and lifted the camera up to her face and snapped a picture of him standing there with his axe, all naked except for his boots and his work gloves, with his cock sticking out quite involuntarily at her. ÒNow weÕll have to steal their camera,Ó he told her. ÒI donÕt care,Ó she replied. ÒI want my honeymoon pictures.Ó ÒThere,Ó he said vengefully. He stuck his penis out at her. She laughed and snapped another picture of him. Her bellybutton moved within the flat expanse of her undulating belly as she laughed at him. He longed to stuff himself up between her legs and fuck her and damn the Pills, he wanted to see her little tummy swell with his seed and he wanted Sons by her, and Daughters, and he wanted to be Abraham and together theyÕd find the Promised Land together and live happily ever after. She darted about him, snapping photos. ÒYour ass is going to get cold sticking out of your pants like that,Ó he told her. ÒI know,Ó she answered, with a toss of her long hair, taking another picture. ÒWhy donÕt you let me at least fasten it up in back for you?Ó he asked. ÒOh no,Ó she giggled, smiling broadly. ÒI know what would happen. IÕd wind up over your knee instead, and youÕd paddle me for something.Ó He mused, put a hand to his unshaven chin. She took his photo. ÒYouÕre right,Ó he answered. ÒYouÕre pretty smart for a 12 year old.Ó ÒAnd youÕre pretty stiff and IÕll bet youÕre hungry too. Bring in the wood and get our cabin warm and IÕll fix you breakfast,Ó she told him. ÒBacon and eggs,Ó she added. ÒYou know youÕre probably in the newspapers and on T.V. this morning,Ó he said to her. He wondered if they should hurry up and get in his Camaro and take off, now that theyÕd had some sleep, or if they should stay at the cabin, not knowing when they might be discovered. ÒDo you think I could get, you know, a modelling job when I go back?Ó she asked him. ÒIÕm sure I couldnÕt,Ó he answered. ÒNo, I mean, now that IÕm probably known by everyone, and theyÕre worried about me, maybe I could be a model when I go back. The girl in the Guess jeans, or Calvin Klein, with nothing coming between me and my Calvins.Ó ÒRight now thereÕs nothing coming between you and those drop seat pants and that bare little ass of yours,Ó he said to her. And suddenly he was chasing her, and she was running from him. He was laughing and, despite the fact that he was carrying the axe and was hard as a post besides, she was giggling. She escaped into the cabin but she didnÕt lock the door and he came in after her. They made love by the fireplace. He got her drop seat pants off, making her completely nude, and they lay together kissing on the bearskin rug. The fire was still burning low and it was cold in the cabin but they were both so heated in their passion for each other that neither of them noticed until it was all over. He made love to her in his boots, with his leather work gloves still on, and with his axe lying right beside the bearskin. They did it frontwards and then he turned her over and he made her kneel for him and he kissed her bottom and entered her from behind. He liked doing her from behind. It felt forbidden and he loved the feel of her soft warm childÕs bottom bulbing into his loins. He was too eager to take her ass, so he penetrated her pussy instead, and he kissed her, and hugged her, and held her under him as if she were just some small accessory to his body, some little thing he put under himself to have something soft to shoot into, as if he were still a boy, finding obscene ways to jack himself off. Except she wasnÕt just a small inanimate thing, but a girl, and when they were finished she stood up, and brushed back her hair, and he saw with amazement her gently curving hips, and her growing breasts, and it delighted him to think he had this young little captive all to himself, in a cabin deep in the woods that had a phone that didnÕt work, with his car outside that only he could drive. She smiled down at him. Her lips were pink and her eyes were dark and glowing. She seemed, as she looked down at him, to be the Queen of Sheba, despite being alive only 12 years, and suddenly he wasnÕt sure who was master and who was slave anymore, for a femaleÕs face, even gazing in love at a man, can possess and control him deeply and thorougly. He felt his naked ass on the bearskin rug and he remembered his hard bunk in the barracks in the Army, and this new sensation was wonderful. He could feel his loins between his legs. They felt exhausted at the moment but he knew heÕd Rise Again, whether the South ever did or not, and she knew that too, gazing down at him, playing with the lenth of colored scarf that sheÕd tied into her hair. ÒI need to take a bath,Ó she said to him. She smiled, twirled her finger in the scarf. ÒCome along and IÕll wash you.Ó He got up. He felt himself stiffening a little. ÒSometimes I scrub the horses at the horse ranch,Ó she said to him admiringly. She walked toward the bathroom and he followed her. The small satiny seat of her bare fanny wiggled in front of him as she walked. She gazed back at him, her eyes competing for his attention. ÒI didnÕt know you rode horses,Ó he said to her. ÒItÕs pretty fun,Ó she replied. The entered the bathroom. It was a small cold tiled room. There was a tub with faucets but he saw there was also a bucket, and he had noticed a pump outside, and he guessed that water could be brought in and heated over the fire and poured into the tub if a couple wanted an old-fashioned bath. Ginger bent over the tub and turned on the water. The pipes belched and for a moment bad-looking water came out, as if the pipes hadnÕt been used for awhile, and then fresh water flowed from the tap. Ginger put down the tubÕs stopper to catch it. Chip peed in the toilet and flushed it. Ginger added a sprinkle of Lavender bath scent to the tubÕs rising water. ÒGet in, you big horse, itÕs time for your weekly bath,Ó she teased him. She held up a hand-held scrub brush. It looked big in her small 12-year-old hand. He saw sheÕd painted her nails but the fingernail polish was flaking off, because she was a child still, and didnÕt keep at it as regularly as a woman would have. Chip walked over to the tub and joined her, stepping into it as she brushed the scrub brush over his bare hairy ass, getting him right in his crack with the bristles. ÒOw! Wait Ôtil thereÕs some soap and water on my ass,Ó he told her. She hopped into the tub behind him. ÒI know all about scrubbing horses,Ó she told him. ÒHow did you ever reach high enough to scrub them?Ó he asked her. ÒI stood on a bucket,Ó she said. ÒAn upside down one.Ó She stood on her tip-toes in the tub and scrubbed his broad shoulders, bending and wetting the brush first, so she wouldnÕt hurt him. Lavender bubbles bloomed around his ankles. Chip placed his hands on her waist. He kissed the top of her head. ÒLet me wash you,Ó she said. She placed her fingertips on his shoulder and gently pushed him down into the tub. He sat down, spread his knees, felt his ass against the hard porcelain of the tub and the lavender soap bubbles growing and blossoming around his loins. He did feel like a horse, he mused, all unshaven and wild-haired, for he hadnÕt combed his hair this morning, and with his muscles tense from chopping wood and from the precariousness of their situation. Like an elf, kneeling in front of him, her soft pretty bottom resting on her heels, Ginger went to work on him. Her colored strand of scarf was still knotted into her hair and her hair brushed his skin softly. The water rose slowly around them. It was warm. The Lavender bubbles gave off a scent of wine, or grapes ripe with autumn, a heady lovely scent that didnÕt smell anything like the barracks soap and the smell of 20 men in a shower that Chip was used to. With soft, tender hands, little Ginger soothed ChipÕs hard muscles. Lightly she applied the scrub brush to his big frame and gradually he let himself settle back in the bath until he was almost lying down, with his head resting against the back of the tub, and she was squatting over him. He felt himself grow. She noticed. Lightly she laid the brush aside and, just as if she might be mounting a horse, she took possession of his penis. ÒNot here. Not in the bath,Ó he said. He was afraid whoever owned the cabin might come home and he might not be able to hear them at the back of the cabin, with the water still running into the tub. But she was insistent. He realized she would not be deterred and he sat up, briefly, and shut off the tubÕs tap water as she got hold of him and began the not entirely easy process of getting his hard cock up between her legs. ÒYou need vaseline,Ó he said. Neither of them were quite as wet as theyÕd been when theyÕd rushed in together from the woods. He looked about the bathroom. ÒRelax,Ó she told him. Lightly she touched his erection and she held her fingers to it as she dismounted from atop his body. She rose from the bath and stepped out of it. Her movements were fairy-like. She acted as if she were in a play at school, moving self-consciously, aware of eyes on her body. She tip-toed across the bathroom floor and opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink. She returned with a tube of KY jelly. She got into the tub again and she popped open the KY. She knelt below his waistline, kneeing her small knees between his legs, and she squirted KY onto his big erect penis. She smoothed it around, all over his stiff erection, and he noticed again how the fingernail polish had flaked in places off her fingernails. Then, with him feeling wonderfully possessed, she mounted him and slid his huge length into her, grimacing as he went up into her depths, yet guiding him, taking charge of him. Then they began moving together, and she leaned forward and kissed him and he reached for her breasts. Quietly they fucked together. They took a long time doing it. He had good control of himself, for heÕd let off steam already twice this morning. She was confident atop him and she rode him at times like a young conqueror, tossing back her head, relishing the feel of him up inside her, pulsing inside her as she gyrated atop him. She would close her eyes and toss her head back and she reminded him a little of a child on an amusement park horse, bouncing up and down outside a grocery store or at the fair, but she was a full-grown 12-year-old, with full budding breasts and a colored scarf tied sexily into her long flowing hair. Eventually their passion mounted to a fever pitch. Her cries echoed in the bathroom and he knew they were carrying out into the forest and he hoped nobody whoÕd seen her on Good Morning America was driving up the dirt road that led to the cabin, or out on the main asphalt road that ran through the forest a mile away. She was screaming, this little kidnapped girl, but he was underneath her and she was on top of him and even though he grabbed hold of her breasts he was forced to lift them with his hands as she lifted her body up, and to pull down on them when she settled down upon him. He was her steed, she was the rider. His duty was to remain hard, to remain in control of his erection, not to control her. She rode with vigor and he must keep her happy. Only later, when she had enjoyed a good, long ride, was he permitted to find satisfaction for himself, and he jetted up within her lustily, groaning at the hot passion of it, for at any moment someone might have walked in on them, hearing her screams, and he would have been on Good Morning America too then, except in chains and leg irons. ÒYouÕre a good horsey,Ó she told him afterward, leaning down over him and hugging him. ÒNow let me give you a good, proper bath, and one for me too, and then IÕll feed you your oats.Ó ÒYou said bacon and eggs,Ó he reminded her. ÒOh, yeah. I hope I can figure out how to crack eggs without getting them all over the place. Usually my mom does it.Ó ÒWell, I donÕt know how to crack eggs,Ó he replied. ÒWe just ate rations and stuff in the Army. Or we ate at the mess hall.Ó ÒWeÕll figure it out together,Ó she told him. She kissed his lips. ÒIf you go to prison for stealing me IÕll even bring you bacon and eggs in prison,Ó she assured him. ÒI donÕt think theyÕd allow that,Ó he replied. ÒWell then be a good horsey and do just as I say and IÕm sure everything will be wonderful,Ó she said. And he supposed it would be, assuming no one walked in on them and he kept his Camaro running okay and he found some way to get money without stealing it from banks. And assuming, of course, all their fucking didnÕt get her pregnant. He didnÕt know anything about delivering babies and a 12-year-old in the maternity ward of a hospital wasnÕt exactly an everyday sight. But somehow theyÕd work it out, he hoped, and just in case it didnÕt there were photos already taken for the National Enquirer of him buck naked with his axe. After their bath they discovered, quite disappointedly, that a cabin no one had visited for a year didnÕt have fresh eggs waiting in the refrigerator. ÒI guess weÕll have to go into town,Ó Chip mused. He had no idea if there was a town and then he remembered that Ginger was ÔhotÕ now and not the best person to be seen walking around with. Especially with the two of them buying groceries, he too young to have her as his daughter, and she being conspicuously out and about during school hours. ÒHmmm, no butter, no milk, no...Ó she kept listing what wasnÕt in the refrigerator, but Chip quit listening and began rummaging about in the cabinets. ÒCan people survive on DeCaf?Ó he asked aloud. He tried to remember back to his Army days. ÒI donÕt want to survive on DeCaf,Ó Ginger answred. She closed the refrigerator door and put her hands on her bare hips and gazed at him. Her tummy stuck out, a little like a childÕs tummy, and she scrunched up her nose. ÒYouÕre a man,Ó she told him. ÒYou should have a job and then weÕll have money.Ó ÒWhat do you want me to do, become a policeman?Ó he asked her. Ginger considered this possibility. ÒNo,Ó she finally concluded. ÒThat would keep you out at night.Ó She tossed her hair. SheÕd left it loose to please him during his breakfast. ÒMaybe thereÕs a logging plant around here.Ó She giggled. ÒGod knows you know how to make them in the toilet!Ó ÒYeah I make big turds and you make little turds but still we only have one can of DeCaf between us,Ó Chip said. ÒI donÕt think you can make a lot of turds over the long haul on one can of DeCaf.Ó ÒI suppose now we could have a NewlywedÕs fight about money and stuff,Ó she said. Her eyes fell level with his loins and he felt himself stiffen under her eyes. They were large and luminous and she was hungry and she licked her lips, absently. ÒI could ÔmakeÕ breakfast for you,Ó he teased. ÒBut what will you eat?Ó she asked, quite seriously, looking up at him. ÒYour tits,Ó he replied. She gazed down at them. They were small junior high tits but they had a nice swell to them and they lifted sweetly up from her chest, a pointed nipple topping each, like stiff-stemmed cherries on a twin scoop of vanilla ice cream. Ginger still had a tan from playing in her backyard pool and her brown limbs contrasted alluringly with the whiteness of her breasts and her bottom and the space of skin around her pubic thatch where her swimsuit usually covered her. ÒMy tits donÕt give milk. IÕm not pregnant,Ó she told him. ÒThen I guess weÕll have to go shopping,Ó he said. He was low on money and it had been stupid for them to run away together with him not even saving any money beforehand. ÒIf we sneak back home I can get my piggybank,Ó she told him. ÒI have $5.00 saved up in it.Ó ÒWow,Ó he said. ÒBig saver, huh?Ó ÒIt would get us eggs at least, plus maybe some bubblegum,Ó she added. ÒHow do I manage to have sex with, like, 20 women, half of whom would happily pay for me for the rest of my life, and then instead wind up with you, a 12-year-old with a teddy bear and $5.00 in a piggy bank you donÕt even have with you?Ó She stood with her hips thrust out at him, quite absentmindedly, for her thoughts were elsewhere, not on her nakedness or on his nude loins that were slowly stiffening in front of her. He gazed down at her fleecy thatch, at her bare thighs and her long legs that stretched to the floor where she stood barefoot. ÒI guess weÕre just two stupid people,Ó she said. ÒMe with no money and you with no job even though I told you to get one a whole week ago.Ó She looked up at him accusingly. He decided he loved her then, despite the illegality of it, and the difficulty. Somehow she was worth more because she was difficult to have, not less. Sure he could have been a pampered boytoy for some woman, but instead he felt more like a man with her, this small child, for she was quite dependent on him. He bent forward and his shoulders, he noticed, were very broad, compared to her little shoulders, and she must have noticed it too, for when he kissed her she opened her mouth and he was able to stab his tongue into her. ÒIÕll figure out something,Ó he told her. He stood erect again. He looked at her little body and it worried him deeply that she wasnÕt eating any breakfast yet, despite the fact that it was almost noon, for her lovely tits needed to grow more if he ever hoped to have her nourish his children with them. In the event he was as big as a Cedar pine and he put his hands to her shoulders and put pressure on them. ÒBend down,Ó he told her. ÒThereÕs got to be some nourishment in sperm.Ó Looking up at him, she knelt. Her eyes were wide and as he presented himself to her they both felt, somehow, that it wasnÕt quite for the sake of passion, but to keep her fed. She touched him tentatively. Then she pushed her hair back from her face, to keep it from getting all spermy, and she opened her lips and with difficulty she introduced him into her mouth. ÒSuck,Ó he told her. ÒItÕs better than decaf, anyway.Ó ÒMmmf, donÕt shoot all ofer my chin and my tits and stuff, hokay?Ó she asked over the rim of his cock. ÒIÕll try not to,Ó he replied. ÒJust let it lay on your tongue, yeah, and IÕll try not to shaft it in and out of your mouth. There...Ó he said. He touched his fingers to her head and felt her bath-perfumed hair under his fingertips. SheÕd used Strawberry shampoo and he could smell it in her long brown hair and he suddenly arched his hips forward, impulsively. ÒYou saith you wouldnÕth fuck meee,Ó she complained. Her wet mouth opened and pulled him back, so that only his cockhead again rested within her. ÒSorry,Ó he breathed. Even with just the head of his penis in her nonetheless it was quite a mouthful for her, and it made her cheeks swell out from her face. He gazed at the long stem of his manhood throbbing in the air. He hoped no one appeared suddenly at the door. The thought of the man, with his trophy wife, and his blonde 12-year-old daughter suddenly walking in and seeing them made his balls roil. ÒThis is for food, not sexth,Ó she reminded him, feeling his hips lurch. ÒYeah,Ó he agreed. She suckled the head of his cock. He felt like he was giving nourishment to a baby. He felt her tongue touch his pee hole and he felt it swirl around the flange of his cockhead that was just inside her lips. She sucked on him like a straw, waiting for his milkshake load of vanilla sperm to spout from his balls. ÒWell?Ó she asked, looking up at him, when nothing had come out yet. ÒKeep sucking,Ó he replied. ÒIÕm enjoying this.Ó ÒIth noth for enJOYmenth!Ó she reminded him. ÒI know but...Ó he grimaced. SheÕd tried to stick the tip of her tongue into his peehole, as if she might be able to get at his sperm that way. He remembered how scared sheÕd been of his pee hole, yet now she attacked it. ÒRub my cock,Ó he instructed her. She clasped him quickly, like a child might grab a favorite toy, and she rubbed him in a utilitarian fashion. He felt like a water pump. He ran his fingers through her hair and she shook her head, as if to remind him that they werenÕt having sex, he was feeding her. ÒAhh, watch out,Ó he said lustily. ÒI can feel it coming...Ó ÒGOOTH!Ó she answered. ÒI hungry!Ó Her words were muffled by his cock in her mouth and, quite suddenly, breaking their agreement, he shafted himself deep into her. ÒNoooo!Ó she gasped. Her eyes widened. ÒIÕm sorry, I canÕt help it,Ó he told her. And he couldnÕt. He was lusty and hard and he rammed himself deep into her, gagging her, and then he pulled back a little, but only to stick himself into her again, right into her throat, with her protesting and trying to cry out over his erection. In a minute he was coming and he shot into her throat and then he pulled back and accidentally popped out of her mouth and he sprayed her all over her face and then, as she tried to escape him, he grabbed her freshly washed hair and he spurted his sticky cum into her long brown little girl locks. ÒEeek! No! IÕll have to wash my hair again!Ó she warned him. But he was a lion now, and she was just a tanned little gazelle, quite unable to resist him. He fucked her hair and her face and he grabbed her and held her head against the length of his loins until he had spurted his seed out completely. Ginger got up to her feet. She tried to wipe her face with her hands but it only spread the sticky goo of his sperm onto her hands, doing little for her face. She patted her belly, trying to get his stuff of her palms, but that only made handprinted sperm marks on her tummy. She wiped her hands on her hips and that made her hips all gooey. ÒIÕm going to call you Old Faithful,Ó she told him. ÒYou come every hour and you spray yourself all over the place.Ó ÒWell, did you get some inside you?Ó he asked. ÒOf course not. You popped out,Ó she said. ÒWell I tried not to,Ó he replied. ÒWell you were GAGGING me with that thing!Ó she said, pointing to his penis. ÒI have to breathe too, you know.Ó ÒI guess weÕll have to practise at it,Ó he said. ÒYeah,Ó she answered. And he loved the idea of making her learn to take him all the way down her throat, her lovely neck that should have been arched up attentively in school, listening to an Algebra lesson, but was instead here in a cabin in the woods with him, nodding in agreement that she should learn to deep-throat him. Ginger Does Chip. Ginger, the little 12-year-old girl, with her teddy bear sitting in the corner, does Chip, the full-grown man whoÕd been in the Army four long years. ÒIÕll wash your hair for you if you like,Ó he said to her. ÒI can wash it,Ó she answered. She looked about. ÒYou get some wood and put it on the fire so we donÕt have to start it up again.Ó ÒOkay,Ó he replied. He noticed that it was quite cold in the cabin now, but the bathwater had been warm and their bodies had been heated after their bath together. But now he was chilly and she was chilly and he could see little prickles standing up on her arms and legs. She got a washcloth out of a drawer and wet it under the sinkÕs faucet and wiped his loins. ÒPut on your clothes before you go out,Ó she told him. ÒItÕs cold out there.Ó ÒThank you, mÕlady,Ó he replied. ÒAnd donÕt call me mÕlady,Ó she said. ÒIÕm a princess, not a queen.Ó ÒWell youÕre a stolen princess now, and if weÕre on a honeymoon together I think that makes you a Queen,Ó he said. ÒNot yet. IÕm only 12,Ó she answered. ÒI still want to be a princess.Ó ÒI donÕt think feeding you sperm is going to work though,Ó he said. ÒOnly for fun, you still need to get a job to feed me properly,Ó she said. She turned around and rinsed the sperm-laden washcloth under the faucet. He gazed at her small childÕs bottom and wished he was hard again so he could stick himself up her ass. ÒThere,Ó she said. She folded the wet washcloth over the sinkÕs long-necked faucet. She turned. ÒGo chop some wood and IÕll go wash my hair.Ó She smiled. ÒThen IÕll ride you into town.Ó ÒLady Godiva wouldnÕt go over too well in 1990Õs America,Ó he told her. She grinned. She had new, 12-year-oldÕs teeth, with her canine teeth still coming in. ÒYou worry about getting a job and IÕll take care of what I wear and how we spend the money,Ó she said. ÒYeah, I know. Priority number one, Bubble gum. Priority number two, lollipops....Ó ÒNo, diamonds come first, then emeralds,Ó Ginger said, screwing her eyes up to the ceiling and counting with her fingers. Chip gazed at her belly button and wondered if she were serious. ÒLemme stick to chopping wood for the moment,Ó he said. He turned away as Ginger added pearls to her grocery list and rubies. ÒWell donÕt get hard out there. I donÕt want to have to get fucked the minute you come in. IÕm quite hungry now and we donÕt need any more fooling around,Ó she told him. ÒTake one of those pills youÕve got in your purse while youÕre in the bathroom,Ó Chip told her, picking up his axe. ÒYes, master,Ó she answered. She stuck her tongue out at him. Then she walked briskly past him, heading for the bathroom, with her lovely hips in full swing and her hair swishing across her nude back. He gazed longingly after her, and he knew that heÕd find some way to satisfy her fantasies, at least a little, even if it meant he had to hire himself out to chop wood all day and all night. ----------------------- Fuck Decency! ----------------------- -Free Fuck Decency e-mail subscriptions: send (18 or up) age statement to: roller666@aol.com -To unsubscribe: Send $100.00 to The North American Man/Boy Love Association, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018. -My ftp site is: members.aol.com/roller666 Diapergirls! (CuntCastle2d) -My ftp site is: members.aol.com/roller6666 CuntCastle3b here! -My ftp site is: members.aol.com/nnd666 NudieNursery5 here! -Recent back issues at Usenet newsgroup: alt.poop? -For all back issues, send e-mail to: file.request@backdrop.com -Fuck Decency: http://members.aol.com/nnd6/fuckdecency.html -Free minicomics: send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age statement to: Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 -Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1996 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. -END OF ftp EMISSION