"I was Helena in A Midsummer Night Dream," the girl said, "so I suppose that's my favorite?"

"Oh yeah," the man replied. "Good choice! 'Cupid is a knavish lad," he recited with a teasing grin, "thus to make poor females mad.'"

The girl, Jolie Hardin, giggled. "Well, I had fun being soulful and unrequited. How dare he spend all his time mooning after that hussy?!?"

Jolie was a petite child, not yet five feet tall nor a hundred pounds. She smiled like a coy little thing, her face flush and pink with the excitement of their clandestine encounter, her blue eyes bright and twinkling.

"So what's your favorite play, then?" she asked.

The air was clear that beautiful night, and calm, and cool, as they walked from the coffee shop to the park where they often sat, whenever he could get into town, talking and laughing well into the night. And kissing, too. And lately, more than just kissing. Around them echoed a mesmerizing cacophony of life, the sounds of an August nightfall: frogs and crickets and other strange insects and animals raising a racket in their desperate attempt to find and secure a mate before the coming cold of winter silenced them. Amid kindred spirits, the man, Anthony Baylor, looked longingly at his little girlfriend, then reached down and took her hand.

"My favorite is, Henry the Fifth?" he cleared his throat exaggeratedly and declaimed,

"'Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance:
No king of England, if not king of France.'"

"That's a nice rhyme," Jolie said. "It sounds like one of your poems."

The two of them had met, actually, in an online forum about poetry. She'd commented on one of his poems, he responded, they began corresponding and discovered that they only lived a hundred miles apart. They agreed to meet for coffee one evening and he made the drive, heart pumping with the excitement of a new-found crush.

"You're very sweet, you know, Jellybean." He smiled at her in the dim light of the street lamps, then gripped her hand a little tighter and turned off from the sidewalk onto a path leading into their little park.

She was beautiful, almost beyond belief; a glowing face, golden hair blowing unkempt in the warm late evening breeze, a big smile that spoke of all the joy she found in the world, pale blue eyes that glittered like gems. Yes, little Jellybean was beautiful, and more importantly for him, she was smart. As smart as they come, and a fine poet as well. As their correspondence became more personal, they began to write poems for each other, and their poetry began to take on an erotic flair, and he discovered that she was also far sexier and more playful than her scant thirteen years of age, and complete lack of experience with men, would lead one to expect. He'd fallen for her, quite easily and rather hard, and hadn't found his footing yet.

"Well, Henry the Fifth is good," he said, "but it can't really be considered his best. That honor must necessarily go to Hamlet:

'The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead
'Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.'"

"Oooh," she said, squeezing his hand a little tighter and looking pensively at the shadows in the dusk-darkened park.

"Yeah, " he answered in a hushed tone, gripping her hand strongly back. "Zombies! Shakespearean zombies!"

Little Jolie giggled. "I'm glad you're here to protect me, my strong and handsome Antoni."

"Oh yes: Andy, actuary by day, zombie-fighter and maiden-protector by night!" They both laughed with the merriment of new love and beautiful evening as they sat down at their favorite bench, shrouded secretly in the canopy of an old oak tree. He put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her into him.

"But my favorite thing that he ever wrote," her brave maiden-protector said, "is Mercutio's soliloquy in Romeo and Juliet, about Queen Mab, the fairy-bringer of naughty dreams: 'O, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife...'"

"Naughty dreams?" Jellybean looked up at him, her blue eyes full of sparkles in the darkling moonlight.

"Yes, naughty Shakespearean dreams!"

"My favorite!" she said with a great big wonderful smile.

"I find that you are a bit of a naughty girl, aren't you, little Bean?" His hand moved down from her shoulder, onto her back and under her arm, finding a soft little mound of flesh to fondle. "So tell me, what is this that Mercutio is talking about?

'Her wagoner a small gray-coated gnat,
'Not half so big as a round little worm
'Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid...'

"What do you think this little worm is, Jellybean? What little gray-cloaked button might a maid be lazily fingering?"

Jolie felt her face go warm. "Really? He's talking about... a clit?"

Andy smiled at her and gave the budding breast he was fondling a little squeeze. "He is!"

"I think you're a bit naughty too, Andy," sweet Jolie said, lifting her arm to allow him easier access.

"Fear not, fair maid! For I am a man of good intentions!"

She gave him a teasing grin. "Hopefully your intentions aren't that good," she said.

"I wouldn't worry about that, either," he said with a smile. "Here, I'll show you how much I plan on corrupting you." He took a small silver flask out of his jacket pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. Then he reached the flask out to the girl. "Do you like whiskey? This is my favorite, a bourbon called Elijah Craig. You wanna try some?"

She looked at him skeptically. "What's it like?"

"It's like candy, for grown-ups."

"Grown-up candy sounds like something I might like to try. But I'm not exactly a grown-up, you know."

"I find that you are quite mature for your age."

She blushed a little at his compliment. "But in some ways I'm still a little girl, you know."

"In what ways?"

She took the flask from him and held it under her nose and breathed in, a deep breath that was in fact too deep: it hit her nostrils sharply, clearing them out. She moved her head back slightly, her eyes opening involuntarily in surprise. She looked over the flask at him and wondered what he'd offered her. Wondered for a brief moment what she was getting into with this man.

"I don't know," she said, handing the flask back to him without taking a sip. "Seems strong to me."

"It is strong, that's true," he said. "Strong and sweet and spicy, just like our love." Her face warmed again. "To us?" he said, raising the flask to his mouth and taking a big sip. "You sure you don't want to try a little?"

"OK, I will," she said, taking the flask back again. She tipped it to her mouth, just a little, just enough to taste a drop or two. A remarkable warmth spread across her tongue. She found it was even stronger than she thought it would be, but not unpleasant. Candy? she thought to herself. OK, maybe, if you really use your imagination. She took another small sip, then a slightly larger one. Andy was looking at her with his eyebrows slightly raised.

"What do you think?" he asked.

She took another sip, even larger this time, and felt it warm all down her throat and in her chest and abdomen. And she felt, just very slightly, an odd lightheadedness.

"Ummmmmm..." she said, already taking another sip, her head starting to feel a little bit like it was floating away. And now her whole body was warm; her chest, her stomach, even down between her legs. She smiled, to herself she thought, but he clearly noticed. She could tell with some embarrassment that he knew exactly what she was thinking: It is warm down there! And with that thought, she suddenly felt herself start getting wet.

"I like this stuff," she said, very quietly.

He screwed the lid onto the flask and set it down next to him, then leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She turned her face towards him, blue eyes sparkling, cheeks pink and flush, and they kissed. The crickets chirped, the frogs croaked, the three-quarters moon lit the evening in a warm yellow glow. The wind was cool, the stars were bright, and the lovers kissed. And as they kissed, their hands explored.

What is that goddamn sound?

This is what Andy Bailor thought to himself, after fifteen minutes of kissing and exploring with his beautiful sexy thirteen year old girlfriend.

Why is there a Taylor Swift song suddenly emanating from nowhere?

"Oh, my phone!" Jolie said.

To the great disappointment of both man and girl, she had to pull her hand out of his pants to answer the call.

"Hi Mom... Yeah, I know, it's just... OK, OK, I just went for a little coffee with... OK! I'll come home right now."

She put her phone down and look over at the man with sad, droopy eyes. "Sorry..." she said as he reluctantly pulled his hand out of her pants now, too, his fingers warm and sticky from the treasure they found as they explored between her legs.

Damn it, he thought, as they stood up and began walking in the direction of Jolie's house. He'd thought, or at least hoped, that maybe tonight would be the night. If only her damned mom would have given them fifteen more minutes, maybe half an hour at the most, he would have made a woman of her that night. He knew his little Jellybean was ready. She might be only thirteen, and still a virgin, but he'd never known a girl that was so interested in sex and motivated to start learning. She'd told him, more than once, that she wanted him to be her first. And he'd told her, more than once, that he was incredibly honored by that.

He kissed her on the cheek around the corner from her house. "See you again? Soon?"

She squeezed his hand in the sweetest way. "Definitely!" She stood up on her tip-toes and kissed him on the lips. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too."

=-=-=-=-=

It It was dark in her bedroom, the night it happened. She heard the door open, very slowly, very quietly, and she recognized the large frame of her mother's boyfriend as he stepped carefully into her room and quietly shut the door behind him. Her heart sunk, even as it exploded. She knew why he was there. There was no doubt in her mind.

He was standing by her bed now. "Jo?" she heard him whisper. "Joey?"

"What do you want, Brad?" she said to the dark figure, in a voice that crackled with fear. She already knew the answer.

'Shhhhhh," he said, "Quiet. Settle down. We don't want to wake your mother, do we?"

"Why?" Her voice was trembling as she sat up in her bed. "Why don't we want to wake up Mom?"

"Jo, your mom is already angry enough." He was sitting on her bed now, reaching out to her.

"Mom's angry?" She pushed his hand away. "Why?"

He grabbed her wrist, a strong hand, gripping tight. "Don't now, Joey," he said, twisting her arm enough that it began to sting. "She's angry at both of us, 'cause of the way you act around me. The way you lead me on."

"I don't..." She wanted to deny what he was saying, but she hesitated. Maybe she did lead him on? She'd always been a flirty girl, but she didn't really mean anything by it. Is it possible that her mom thought it did mean something? That even Brad thought it meant something?

Maybe it did mean something?

Maybe she really did want this?

She started crying. She couldn't help it.

He was stroking her hair now as she sat next to him and sobbed. He could sense her acquiescence. "Joey, quiet down now, OK?"

"I... I don't want to do this..."

"Yeah you do," he said, gently but with a surprisingly menacing tone. "You know you do."

"I... I...." She wanted to stop crying. It was humiliating to be crying like this in front of him. Andy always said she was brave and strong. She wanted so badly to be brave and strong.

"It'll be OK, Joey," he said, more lecherous than comforting. "You want it. You'll like it."

She caught her breath, so that she would stop sobbing, as he ran his hands all over her body, taking all her privacy away from her, breaking her will. "Shh," he said. "Quiet, you'll wake your mom. And she'll be so angry."

She lay underneath him with her eyes shut tight, tears streaming down her face, thinking about her man, her poet, the one she loved. Her Antoni. It hurt the entire time that Brad fucked her, and she hated it, and after he had satisfied his needs, he left her laying alone and crying in her bed.

When he came back again the next night, opening her door quietly and shh-ing her so that she wouldn't wake her mom, she accepted her fate with resignation. She hoped at least that he might teach her something about being a woman.

As much as she longed to return to Andy, she didn't email him again. She didn't respond to his emails, she never asked him to meet her secretly at the coffee shop again. She was too ashamed to talk him, and felt that her worthlessness would sully the wonderful man, and so with great sadness and pain she let go of that part of her life. She had a new man now, and although he did not love her or care for her like Andy did, at least he gave her sex, and that was something. And maybe she didn't love him, not like she loved her Antoni, but she did care for him, in a way. Maybe she would even come to love him one day?

He came into her room every night, and whenever they were alone in the house together, and she found that she began to enjoy it. Even to crave it. And she became increasingly terrified that her mother would find out. She knew it was only a matter of time before they were caught, and she knew that the destruction this would wreak on her family was unimaginable.

=-=-=-=-=

It all seemed a bit silly to Anthony, as he descended the short staircase leading into the ballroom, his friend Danielle on his arm.

It wasn't the mockingly cheesy decorations that made him feel silly; sure the giant heart-shaped tunnel constructed entirely of pink and red and white heart-shaped balloons looked ridiculous, and couldn't hope to conceal the fact that this room was actually the large dining hall of a homeless shelter. But, they at least looked appropriately Valentine's-y, which was good because this was a Valentine's ball. A Valentine's masquerade ball.

He felt silly because, while a photographer snapped a romantic picture of him and Danielle, arm-in-arm as they emerged from the heart tunnel onto the disco-ball dance floor, he knew she wasn't really his date. They both did their theatrical best for the picture, holding their little masks to their faces and waltzing together onto the dance floor. But it was all pretend; she was hot for one of the bartenders who had volunteered his services for the fundraiser that evening. And he, well, he was in love with a girl who had just turned fourteen a few weeks earlier and was now not on his arm where she belonged, but instead was no doubt laying her head down in some strange bed, where she most certainly did not belong.

He had been devastated two months earlier, when Jolie had stopped responding to his emails. But his devastation had turned to sudden joy, just a couple weeks ago, when he received an entirely unexpected email:

---------
"From: Jolie Jellybean," it said.

"Subject: I have missed you, my Antoni."
---------

He had been practically paralyzed as he sat and stared at his computer screen. Oh my god, she emailed me again. The girl of my dreams has emailed me again.

Part of him didn't want to open the email. Part of him could feel a weight of hurt that hung over him, the profound sadness of her sudden absence, which had slowly and painfully dissipated over the last two months until he found himself thinking fond memories of her, and nothing else. But suddenly now those sad emotions all flooded back in a cascading shower of pain and confusion, and most of all, of concern. Concern, after all, because something must have gone terribly wrong with the poor girl for her to have suddenly broken off their relationship like she did.

It was because of this overwhelming feeling of concern that he forced his now-shaking fingers to move the mouse, to click, to open the email.

---------
Dear Andy,

I am sorry I haven't been in touch. I have missed you. Hopefully you aren't too angry?

Things got confusing, and then they got bad. And then I had to leave.

I'm living in Cleveland now, and I don't always have internet, but as soon as I did, I wanted to email you. I should be able to get online more often now, do you think maybe we would be able to chat again some more? I would like that. I miss you.

Oh, and I just turned fourteen. Happy birthday to me!

How are you, my Antoni? Are you still writing? How are the kitties?

With love,
Jellybean
---------

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, he carefully and cautiously extracted small bits of her story: the "seduction" by her mother's boyfriend, her decision to leave, the fact that she was in a better place now.

He wanted desperately to go see her. He wanted her to know that he cared about her, that he still considered her the girl of his dreams, and that he still found her unbelievably sexy regardless of what happened between her and the boyfriend. Above all, he wanted her to feel good about herself, to feel like she was special and worthy of love and adoration, which is exactly how he felt about her.

But Cleveland was a long four hour drive from Reedsville, not the kind of thing that is easy to pull off for a cup of coffee. So he was overjoyed to get an invite from his old friend Danielle to attend a Valentine's Day fundraiser for the homeless shelter where she worked. He immediately emailed Jolie to tell her that he would be in town, and would she like to get together? Yes, she replied, she wanted to see him. As soon and as much as possible!

And so they planned that they would spend the afternoon together on the day of the masquerade ball, and he would see her again, as much as possible, during his weekend stay. He had no intentions whatsoever of taking advantage of his sweet little Jellybean; he would never do such a thing to any girl in such vulnerable circumstances, least of all dear Jolie, the love of his life. For now, at least, he planned only to be with her, to support her, to be a father-figure to her. This he had come to see as his most important role in her life; being the father for her that she had never had, helping her with the many difficult decisions she had in her life, providing a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on.

Shortly after the cameraman had taken their photo, his erstwhile "date" for the evening gave him a little peck in the cheek and took off to find her bartender beau, where she was certain to be camped on a stool batting her eyelashes for the rest of the evening.

"I promise I'll dance with you," she said. "Lots! Just come find me when you want to dance, OK?"

He looked around the room, alone in the wake of her exit. It occurred to him that he should belly up to the bar himself and spend the night drinking. Really what else could he reasonably expect to do this evening? He'd love to find himself a single woman to spend time with, especially one who was a little dirty. OK, a lot dirty. That's kind of what he felt like he needed, after his meeting with Jolie earlier in the afternoon.

The meeting had gone well enough, but to a large extent it just made him feel sad. The poor girl had been through so much, and he played his father role well, providing advice, asking questions, trying as best he could to give her whatever help he might, but being very careful and cautious with her as well, particularly with regard to anything sexual. This left him with an intense sense of longing and sadness and disappointment. Things really should not have turned out this way. They really were meant to be much more beautiful.

And so, as he stood there alone looking out at the heart shaped balloons, all the heart fucking shaped balloons mocking him mercilessly, he decided that what he really needed was a dirty woman to help satisfy his physical longing, so that he could devote his emotional attention to the needs of his young Jolie, the true girl of his dreams, who needed his help and his care and concern, so much more than he needed her physical attention.

Of course, it didn't seem very likely that he would encounter an available woman at a Valentine's ball, but, hope springs eternal, as they say, and so he slowly made his way to the bar to order a scotch on the rocks and a beer back, and he kept his eyes open as he walked, looking for anyone who might fit the bill for the evening. As luck would have it, he did see someone who seemed to be an interesting option. She was a petite little woman, just how he liked them--short and slim, and, given her outfit, perhaps looked a little dirty as well; she was dressed, from head to toe--or at least head to bottom--in a kitten outfit. She had a black kitten mask that covered all of her face except her mouth and chin and eyes, which were sparklingly visible as they reflected the lights of the mirrored disco ball; she had on black cat ears as well, with adorable pink insides. She wore a plain and simple black minidress, and from her backside protruded a most becoming tail, sticking up in the air with a certain appealing perkiness. Almost instantly he felt a familiar stirring as he contemplated how interesting this young woman might be, were he to get her to his hotel room.

Oddly, she also seemed to take an interest in him. She seemed to be watching him as he made his way to the bar, and after he had given a polite smile to Danielle and tipped her love interest handsomely for his drinks, Ms. Catgirl seemed to make a point of coming closer to him and giving him a little smile.

"Hello," he said to her. Her blue eyes twinkled behind her mask in reply. He followed up his greeting with, "You want a drink?"

She cocked her head to the side, looking at him, and lifted her hands in the air in front of her, curled forward in a little kitty-paw pose. "Nyah," she said, with a barely-noticable shake of her head.

"Alright," he said, not wanting the conversation to end just yet. "How about a dance?" Her eyes twinkled again in reply, and she reached a paw out to him..

She proved to be as lithe on the dance floor as her kitten visage would imply, and he found himself becoming entranced. She was beautiful, and sexy, and fun, and while she didn't say much he could tell that she was smart as well. All the things that Jolie was to him. She did not seem to be with any date at the party, which didn't really make much sense, but he decided that perhaps she was a volunteer from the homeless shelter, or maybe she was unlucky enough to have a date like his? Regardless, they danced the next song together, and the next, and as they eventually made their way to a table in the corner of the large room, he discovered that his heart was beating harder than he would have thought from the dancing. He was becoming quite enamored with the little kitten that had made a sudden unexpected appearance in his life.

They sat at a table, warm and flush from the dancing and, a disinterested observer might note, also from the excitement of their new affair. After a bit of small talk--"This DJ's hot, huh?" "Yeah, he's playing great songs tonight!"--and a Coke for her and another whiskey and ice for him, she squinted her eyes through her kitten mask and asked, in a husky purr, "Have you ever seen the inside of a cloak closet?"

"Huh?" he said in his genuinely dumbfounded voice. Not a particularly charming or seductive air.

"I don't believe I've ever seen the inside of a cloak closet, and I've always wanted to know what they are like. Will you show me?"

"Um," he stammered, still dumbfounded.

She stood up and reached a paw in his direction. "I know where a cloak closet is. Will you show me the inside?"

They barely made it half-way into the closet--really a rather large storage room with temporary clothing racks, filled to the brim with the winter coats of hundreds of guests. Whoever it was whose job it was to staff the cloak room was gone, and the man and his kitty cat barely made it half-way into the closet before they were kissing, deep, energetic kisses as if they had been in love for years. And they found in the dark forest of coats, in the back of the room, a table. And the kitty cat lifted the little black skirt of her dress and pulled her little white panties down and leaned over on her stomach on the table.

And then Anthony Bailor became her tomcat, and mounted her. In the darkness he could barely see her petite little pale round bottom, and as he busied himself unbuttoning his trousers, the kitten reached between her legs and spread her pussy open and helped him to find his mark.

Oh, glorious sex! Her womanly lips were warm and loving as they wrapped around his cockhead and welcomed him inside her. As he pushed in, he was amazed at how tiny her sex was. He could barely fit. The little thing was moaning softly as he worked his way in and out of her, and then she grunted when he reached his full depth, her lips hot now and splayed open around the base of his cock.

And then he fucked her. Back, and in, deep full strokes, a man taking full advantage of the little slut he just happened to stumble upon. He needed this, so fucking badly, physical release with not a string attached, and he took out his stress on that poor catgirl's pussy, pounding her hard. He had a hand on the middle of her back, holding her down face first on the table, and he ravaged that tiny little pussy. If he could just get get a week's worth of relief from her. A month's worth. Then he could focus on helping his dear sweet baby Bean.

Bean! Oh Bean!

Suddenly his mind was flooded with emotions and memories and moving pictures, and he didn't even notice the catgirl any more. She may as well not even have existed now, replaced entirely by Jolie Hardin in his mind.

And so he stopped. He couldn't do this.

The kitten looked back at him over her shoulder. "Why'd you stop?" she growled. "Don't!"

"I... I'm sorry, I was getting too rough..."

"Too rough?" Kitten hissed, "No! Certain people who shall not be named have been treating me entirely too delicately lately. Take me like you mean it! Use me, please, that's what I want!"

Duty bound now, he sunk his cock back into her. Deep penetration, all the way! All the fucking way! The warm tightness of her cunt gripped him fully and the kitten let out a wail. Back and sinking all the way in again, his balls slapping hard against her pubic mound. Wham wham wham!

And in his mind it was his little Jellybean that he was fucking now, but it was OK, because she wanted this. She needed this! She needed this as bad as him!

"Oh Jellybean!" he cried outloud.

He pushed down hard on the woman's back and hammered hard in her hot wet cunt. Her face was shoved into the table and she had a big smile across her lips and a dreamy glassiness in her eyes.

"Oh you little slut," he said with a hoarse whisper, "I'm gonna come!"

The little kitten managed to lift her head from the table and look back at him. "Give me your princely gift," she said in a deep purr. "Bathe my womb with your semen."

As he came, he's mind was flooded with hormones, which in turn flooded him with emotions, which in turn filled his voice, shouting "Bean! Jellybean! My dear sweet Jellybean!"

Needless to say, he felt a little sheepish when he pulled out of the woman after he had finished, having shouted the name of his girlfriend while making love, and again with great passion as he came inside her. She, however, didn't seem to mind. She smiled as she rolled over on the table, sitting on her bottom, reached down, and pulled her panties up. And then, with a funny little grin that he could barely see in the darkness, she asked, "So who's Jellybean?"

"Um, yeah, sorry about that."

"No problem," she said, the grin turning onto a sly smile as she stood to wobbly legs. "It was a fantastic fuck. So, she's your girlfriend then?"

"Yeah, in a way. More like the love of my life."

"Aww," she said with a genuinely warm smile. "Unrequited love?"

He smiled genuinely back. "That's right."

"Well then," she put a little paw quite tenderly on his arm. "Go requite it."

He wanted to say "I can't," but the words wouldn't come.

The kitten disappeared into the crowd after the incident in the cloak closet. He looked around for her for a little while, with a certain sense of shame and disappointment. But ultimately those feelings went away, drown in several more whiskeys and beers, until--Danielle, his erstwhile date, having left long earlier when the bartender's shift ended--he finally managed to drag himself out the door and stumble down the street to his hotel. He did have a vague recollection of having seen the little cat woman one more time that evening. Where had he seen her? He wasn't entirely sure. In his stupor he remembered wondering if she was working the cloakroom. Yeah, she got him his coat, right? They chatted for a while. Did he give her his spare hotel key? God what a drunken idiot I am! I hope my wallet's still here!

He meant to sit up and check for his wallet and his phone, and then he had the sudden thought that made his head pound a bit with the pressure of unexpected blood flow. Jolie! Fuck! I'm supposed to meet her breakfast!

But there was an odd contrasting feeling at the same time that calmed his aching head and generally sent feelings of warmth and pleasure through his body.

It was this second feeling that caused him to open his eyes, to look down, and there he saw her, the little catgirl from the night before, complete with her mask and ears and tail, down between his legs. Soft lips locked around cockhead, gentle tongue lapping at crown, feminine feline fingers lightly beating on thick hard masculine tomcat shaft.

As his head cleared of the leftover alcohol and the restless sleep and the various unfounded waking fears, it became full of another thought.

I must be dreaming.

But as he felt himself nearing the edge of bliss in this superb, expert mouth, he realized that if this was in fact merely a dream, it was the most fantastically realistic dream he had ever had in his life. And so he lay there enjoying the pleasure; whether it was a dream or no, he would enjoy this experience as much and as long as he could, and so he just lay there and let his little lover from the night before bring him to the most wonderful glorious orgasm that you could ever imagine a man having. The kitten lapped up his semen, taking the entire load into her mouth and swallowing repeatedly, even as he continued to shoot more down her throat.

As he pulled away, she sat back on her knees and wiped some of the come off of her lips with the back of her hand, then gave him the sweetest little smile from underneath her kitten mask.

"How...Uh, Thanks..." He reached out to her, wanting to touch her in welcome and gratitude. But with the smile still on her face, she turned and found a little sign at the foot of his bed, one of those hand-lettered cardboard sign like the homeless beggar kids have on every street corner. Scrawled in black marker in large letters was the message,

LITTLE KITTEN
FREE TO A GOOD HOME

And then with most wonderful adorable look of happiness on her face, she pulled her kitten mask off.

He stared for a moment before he could form any words. "Jellybean?" he finally said, quietly. "Jellybean!" he said much louder, his face erupting with pleasure. "My Jellybean!"

"My Antoni!" the love of his life said back to him.

Anthony Bailor stood with his feet apart, his hands on top of Jolie Hardin's head, holding her like she was a precious possession as she worked magic on his cock. Her tongue of velvet softness lapped, encircling his tingling head as best the little muscle could. Tasting, slurping, coaxing come from him. And as she sweetly lapped, she sucked, lips locked tightly around the base of his crown, suck; lap; suck; lap. He pulled her head towards him, hopeful that she was willing to use her throat today, and she looked up at him with big bright shining eyes, then closed them lightly, inhaled, and let him pull her into him entirely.

His cock sank down her throat, balls nestled against chin. He pulled back, and pushed in, holding the little girl in place while he used her throat. When she started involuntarily gagging, he pulled out entirely and she swallowed hard and took several gasping breaths.

"I'm sorry, Bean," he said. "Too much?"

Her only response was to open her mouth wide and invite him back in.

It was Valentine's Day, the anniversary of their first love-making in the cloak closet at the homeless shelter. As a present, he had bought her, among other things, a little pair of heartsy panties, white with little pink and red hearts and a little bow at the top. It was the only thing she had on right now.

Her breasts were still quite small, but they were much larger than the little things he'd first enjoyed in those clandestine moments in the park. They were now plump and round and wonderfully fun, even though they were not at all large, and they swayed womanly as she rocked back and forth on his cock. Her nipples, too, and matured, becoming more defined; no long little pale puff-balls, they now had thick pink nubs standing up proudly.

After the little kitty from the masquerade ball had revealed her true identity to him, she refused to return to the shelter. "I will run away again, to the streets, if you take me back there," she said, her arms crossed in defiance.

And of course Anthony put up little resistance. Instead, he called his friend Danielle and explained the situation to her--well, a situation, not necessary the situation. "I was walking past the shelter this morning and a girl on the steps asked me for money so I offered to buy her some breakfast... And she told me she won't go back to the shelter, she hates it there. I don't want her to run. What do you suggest?"

"Well, don't let her go back on the streets," was Danielle's answer. "It's a hell of a life out there for a young teen. Keep her safe for now, OK?"

That began a long process of working through the legal wranglings of foster parenthood for a runaway girl who steadfastly refuses to tell the authorities anything at all about her past. But she has stayed with him the whole time.

"Let's get those heartsy panties off," he said to her, pulling his cock out of her throat for the second time.

She gasped for air again. "Yes, Papa. But..."

"But what?"

"But... will you take them off for me? With... your mouth?"

Anthony laid a path of Valentine's chocolates down Jolie's chest and belly, with a final one resting atop her panties on her pubic mound. She was giggling the whole time. "It tickles!"

He began kissing her neck, moving down.

"Wait," she said, and she reached down and slipped the last chocolate inside her heartsy panties. "That way you have to take them off to get your treat. Both of your treats."

With a huge smile on his merry face, Anthony moved down and ate the chocolates from the chest and belly of his love, pausing of course to cover pink nipples with slurpy chocolatey kisses. When he reached Jolie's little special Valentine's panties, he gripped the little pink bow at the top of the waistband with his teeth and pulled down.

Jolie giggled as she lifted her bottom in the air to help him.

He found his last chocolate, nestled in a little tuft of blond pubic hair. "What's this little treasure?" he said.

"Candy for you, my Antoni."

He plucked the chocolate from its beautiful girlish nest and savored the taste of it in his mouth.

"It's good!"

"There's more candy down there, you know."

"Yeah?"

Jolie smiled down at her man. "Uh huh. Candy for grownups!"