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From: ArtaDeux@aol.com
Subject: {NEW}Kristianna Moves Again<*>(13/?)(FM, oral, mast)
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The following work contains sexually explicit language and may contain graphic
descriptions of various sex acts. If you are not 18 years of age, or this
sort of thing is prohibitted in your town, city, county, state, country,
province, or erotica is offensive to you, STOP READING.
I, the author give permission for this work to be posted and archived on ASSM
and ASS, according to their standards and welcome reviewer's (Celestial and
Annex) comments. This work may not be posted to any pay sites or reproduced
for profit, other than for the author's own monetary benefit. If you have a
personal comment, please feel free to e-mail me at 'Art aDeux@AOL.com'. I
will only respond to nice people so don't bother e-mailing me if you're going
to be a jerk.
Copyright 1999 Art aDeux@AOL.com (Sasha)
Kristianna Moves Again
Stockton
The bruises on my face where Lila had slapped me and the claw marks on my
upper chest faded in the two weeks that it took my mother to come and get me
for the final time. I didn't tell Mom what happened, just that I was sick of
living there and if she didn't do something, I was either going to run away,
or kill myself. I wasn't lying. Although the former was admittedly a better
option than the latter, I was willing to do anything to leave that house.
Mom had taken a position in Stockton and that's where she intended to stay. I
was a little sad at having to leave Steve, but would deal. He, on the other
hand, didn't do so well. By the second week he came to visit and stayed the
night. I was still sleeping on the couch, so my mother just gave me a bunch
of pillows and bed-clothes with a wink and a smile and the quick question "Are
you still on the pill?" We made love on the floor of the condo slowly. It
seemed to last all night long. In the morning though, I knew that it was
good-bye. Not just for the week, but finally. He cried. I breathed a sigh
of relief. Sad, but true.
It was just beginning summer and I bought myself an adorable white bikini to
wear to the pool. At fifteen, I still had braces, but I was just a few
centimeters shy of 5'7", with longish dark brown hair and mysterious brown
eyes. My breasts were probably the main attraction and I despaired constantly
on how to find a 32D bra. My legs were long and tanned and I spent a little
of my allowance on having my nails done, just so I could look a little more
sophisticated.
Nothing exciting happened in the beginning of the summer. I met a boy who
lived a couple of doors down from us who kept my attention for a few weeks.
He had a moped and taught me how to ride. It was a rush for all of two
seconds. I traded out rides to the mall for my favorite pass-time. Sucking
dick. He didn't seem to mind that I was obviously using him. Of course, I'm
sure the reverse was true.
The best head for both of us was when we had the possibility of getting
caught. Behind the mall actually, he'd drop me off for a couple of hours to
shop while he went and played video games. (No doubt bragging to his friends
how he'd just gotten his rocks off with a hot little fifteen year old who
couldn't wait to suck his prick.) Most of the time there was no one back
there and we'd pull up under a weeping willow tree and park. Sometimes we'd
kiss, but others I simply knelt in front of him as he leaned against the bike
and take his already hard dick in my mouth and suck and lick him to orgasm.
He never lasted very long, it would be nice to think it was my prowess, but
this late in life, I have my doubts.
He left for Zurich with his dad in July and wouldn't return until midway
through the semester in the fall. That left me with exactly nothing to do. I
masturbated every chance I got. Which was quite a lot considering that my
mother worked eighty or ninety hours a week and I was left alone much of the
time. For a while, as I would finger myself off, I would think about Steve
fucking me. Then, that fantasy wore thin and I ended up thinking about how
hot it was fucking around with Chris. But, as a 'grown-up' fifteen year old,
that was quickly down the drain too, since there wasn't much that was erotic
in retrospect about an eleven year old with a prince valiant hair cut.
I began looking for things to masturbate with. I missed the feeling of a
penis probing me. I knew of a couple of stores in town that sold erotic toys,
but since I was underage, figured I couldn't get in without my mother. And
like I was going to ask my mother to go buy me a dildo. I thought about
'borrowing' the one my mom still kept in her night stand, but that idea just
left me feeling a tad perverted. A girlfriend had once told me that she used
a carrot or a cucumber, but vegetables seemed a little too weird. Maybe just
a step below bestiality or something.
I finally found what I was looking for. My long, thick hair required special
brushes and I found one that was perfect. For my hair and my pussy. The
bristles were positioned around the whole head, but the handle was what really
caught my attention. It was round with a slightly octagonal end, about six
inches long, two inches in diameter, and with a ridged rubber grip. The thing
was a dream. I killed two birds with one stone when I blew thirty bucks on
that hairbrush at the salon. My mother felt a little guilty and went in half
with me, thinking that I needed a good hairbrush "for that thick hair of yours
sweetie."
I stole a few lubricated condoms and when my mother left for work the next day
I went to bed with my brush. The thought of having something other than my
fingers in me had me wet before I had even rolled the condom onto the handle.
I used the tip to probe my clit and enjoyed the strange sensation of touching
myself, but not. I moved it lower and slid the odd shaped end into my wet
hole. Using my left hand to manipulate the brush, I fingered my clitoris
while slowly sinking the brush deep into my cunt. Before I'd even gotten it
to the hilt, my pussy spasmed and I moaned as I came hard, the walls of my
vagina grasping the handle of the brush, rocking it against the hand that
worked it a little deeper.
I must have fucked myself to orgasm on the brush no less that six times that
day it felt so good. When I was finally done, I made sure to wash the handle
and dispose of the condom. I tried not to blush when my mother asked if she
couldn't borrow my brush to style her hair the next morning and wondered a
little guiltily if I'd washed my musky scent fully from the place where the
bristles met the handle.
I hadn't thought about Fred on purpose. That had been a bad thing that I had
done. That I had allowed happen. But the dreams were frequent and hot. Fred
touching my naked body, fondling my breasts, sucking my nipples, fingering my
pussy. One night in particular sent me over the edge. In my dream, I was
twelve years old again and Fred had taken me to the lake, just he and I, for
water fun. He got completely naked in the boat and so did I. I sat in his
lap then, wiggling my ass against his hard dick and he told me to just let go.
With his hands between my spread legs, teasing at my clitoris and my hands on
my breasts, pinching and pulling the nipples, I came and came and came in my
dream. I woke suddenly, the guilt and the pleasure converging.
The tension was still lodged firmly in my belly, making it ache. I finally
gave over and with a sigh slid a finger deep into my cunt and massaged my
swollen clitoris while thinking what it would be like to suck on Fred's hard
dick, feel the slippery head of it with my tongue while he played with my
cunt. The stabs of pleasure turned into waves until finally I could take no
more and, shoving two fingers as far into my pussy as I could, sobbed as the
power of the orgasm overwhelmed me.
I didn't sleep much after that, except in the day at the pool. At night I was
scared of the dreams and just about refused to fall asleep at all. I read
every book I could get my hands on, then found a new author. Anne Rice. Her
stories about vampires were stylish and sexy beyond compare and when I
discovered her other books, I had a new reason to finally want to sleep.
Perhaps to dream. To dream of Beauty.
My fantasies turned dark and delicious. Visions of dungeons and whips with
black leather clad mistresses whirled about. The story that made me hot more
than any other was Anne Rice writing as Ann Rampling, "Belinda". The idea of
a teen having that much power over a grown man made me liquid. And left me
with a goal in mind.
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