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From: Scat Boy <coproman69@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Homeschooled - Part 1 (M/g, nc/reluc, oral, anilingus, ws)
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Date: Sun, 25 Oct 2009 09:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Homeschooled - Part 1.txt" begin>



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Smiling, I backed up.  "Nope.  Sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Miss Thompson hesitated before saying, "Trinette."

   "How old is she?  About eight?"

   "Yeah.  Why?"

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

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

   "Go ahead.  Call her."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "...oh," she replied.

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

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

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

   "'Kay."

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

   "Oh, I'm sorry!"

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

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

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

   "...oh."

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

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

   "Fuck, that looks good," I murmured.

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

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

   "'Kay," she replied.

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

   "Ooh, Mr.  Doctor, that tickles!"

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

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

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

   "Ooh!" she gasped, again flinching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   By now my cock was so stiff that it was straining inside my pants.  I
was right on the verge of coming.  Feeling particularly nasty, I wanted to
shoot my load in Trinette's face, directing the first spurt right in her
eye, but I didn't want to freak her out or spend time cleaning her up
afterwards.  So instead I settled on an alternative.

   Urging the child to sit up, I quickly unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned
my pants.  Then, with Trinette staring directly at my crotch, I unzipped my
pants and pushed both them and my underwear over my hips, allowing my
erection and balls to pop into view.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "But that's NASTY!"

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

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

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

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

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

   Still smiling, she gave an exaggerated nod.

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

   Again came the exaggerated nod.

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

   "'Kay."

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

   Once more she nodded, this time blushing as well.

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

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

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

   "You okay, Baby?"

   "Yeah, Mama."

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

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

   "That's right, Sweetheart."

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

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

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

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

   Send comments to: Coproman69@hotmail.com

   (Other stories by Coproman at
/files/Authors/Coproman) 

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