("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: imogen.txt (M/f-pre-teen, ped) Authors name: The White Rabbit (white_rabbit27@hotmail.com) Story title : Imogen's Transformation -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2001. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Imogen's Transformation (M/f-pre-teen, ped) by The White Rabbit (white_rabbit27@hotmail.com) *** A nine-year-old girl unexpectedly starts menstruating. She's freaked out by the experience and it falls to her male babysitter to explain it to her. However, one explanation leads to another, and soon her curiosity is piqued. Author's note: This is a work of fiction. I have never had sex with a minor, and I would strongly urge readers not to try to act out fantasies such as this in reality. *** I first started baby-sitting for Imogen when she was seven. Her mother, Wendy, was a close friend of my then current girlfriend, Suzy; and, as Wendy was divorced and on her own, Suzy sometimes baby-sat. I got the impression, in fact, that Wendy got someone to baby-sit most evenings, and spent very little time herself with Imogen. I'm not saying, of course, that a mother should put her life on hold for her child; but being a parent (mother or father) brings a certain amount of responsibility with it. Wendy didn't seem to feel that. One evening, Suzy phoned about six o'clock in a fluster. We were due to have a date that night (it was still the dating stage of the relationship) and had realised that she'd also promised Wendy to baby-sit. I calmed her down, and pointed out that the main reason for the date was to see her; and I could do that perfectly well anywhere. So the upshot was, we had our date in Wendy's house. At least, that was the idea; but actually I spent a good deal of the time playing with the enchanting little seven-year- old I met for the first time, while Suzy watched TV. I don't think I'd enjoyed myself so much for years. At last, when Imogen was finally in bed, accepted that she'd had the very last story read to her, and fallen asleep, Suzy and I had a spectacular fuck on the sofa. I was vaguely aware of something more erotic than usual in the air, but I couldn't place it, and soon forgot about the feeling. We baby-sat quite often, after that: it was a while before I really convinced the girls that I actually did enjoy this. Imogen grew to be very special to me. I suppose, being objective, she wasn't the prettiest girl I ever met, or the most intelligent, though above average in both departments; but she had such a sunny, engaging personality that I was completely helpless to resist. After a while, Suzy and I split up. Fortunately, there were no big rows, no open warfare: above all, no reason for Wendy to take sides. We both knew that we weren't suited to stay together; and, when Suzy had a job-offer in Brussels, we agreed easily that she should take it, we'd keep in touch, we'd stay friends. I also stayed friends with Wendy: at times, I didn't altogether like her, but I stayed friends for the sake of seeing Imogen, to continue baby- sitting. It was one evening when Imogen was nine. Wendy had just left, and we were settling down to watch a TV programme we both loved. Imogen had rushed up to the loo, before it started; and, before I knew it, there came a shriek from upstairs, and she came rushing down the stairs, sobbing, and flung herself into my arms. I held her as she buried her face into me. "What's the matter, sweetheart?" I asked softly. Raising her head slightly, her face tragic, Imogen whispered, "I'm dying." After a very quick check to ensure that there was nothing obvious to support this claim, I felt an impulse to laugh; but I resisted. I had always tried to give Imogen the respect I'd have hoped for, and this didn't include laughing at such a statement. "Why do you think that?" I asked, caressing her head. "Because I'm bleeding to death," she said, still not meeting my eyes. For a few seconds, my eyes instinctively ran over her little body to find the injury; then, some instinct combined with realisation that part of her distress was shame, made me realise what was going on. "Sweetheart," I said quietly, "are you bleeding from down there? Between your legs?" She nodded miserably, head down, face flushed. I stroked her head a little more, then tipped it backward, so she had to look up at me. "That doesn't mean you're dying, sweetheart," I said. "In fact, it just means you're growing up quicker than most." That really got her attention, and she stared straight at me, her tear-filled eyes open wide. "What do you mean?" she asked. I hesitated, wondering if I should start on this. It should be a woman explaining it - hell, it should be Wendy. I considered the likelihood of that, and I wasn't encouraged. Anyway, Wendy wasn't here; and one look at the confused, unhappy little face in front of me told me that Imogen needed answers now. "Well," I said cautiously, "what do you know about how babies are made?" She frowned, in puzzlement and thought. "You mean, the egg and the seed?" she asked cautiously; and when I nodded, she said, "Yes, we did that at school." So, cuddling Imogen on my lap, I tried to explain menstruation in terms that she'd understand but wouldn't patronise her. I'm not sure if I entirely succeeded; but I don't think I did badly, for an improvised effort. She asked a few questions, mostly quite intelligent ones; but, otherwise, she listened in silence, never once taking her eyes from my face. When I'd finished, she was quiet for some time. Finally, she asked, "Why didn't they tell me about it before it happened?" "That's a good question, sweetheart," I said; "but you've got to understand, most girls don't get to this stage till eleven or twelve, sometimes later. I don't think anyone quite expected you to grow up so quickly." That seemed to satisfy her, as I'd guessed it would. After another long silence, she said timidly, "Andy. My panties are getting a bit uncomfortable. If everyone gets this, I suppose they must know what to do about it?" Clever girl. I explained briefly about towels and tampons, and suggested tampons wouldn't be a good idea till she was older. "We could go and get some now from the supermarket," I suggested. Imogen agreed; so I drove her quickly over there, and we picked out what she needed. We got a few funny looks, a man and a little girl (she showed no signs of maturity otherwise) buying sanitary towels. So what? We had a perfectly legitimate reason for it. No need to be worried by busybodies. By the time we got back inside, Imogen was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, her face screwed up. "Andy," she said, "I've got to do something now. How do they work?" I hesitated. "Well, sweetheart," I said, "I've never actually used one, of course. Normally, girls' mums or big sisters or someone help the first few times; but..." "I need help," Imogen insisted. Her voice had a touch of whining in it, but I thought she could be forgiven that, after what she'd been through this evening. "Can't you help?" "Sweetheart," I said, unsure how to handle this, "I would, but... do you really want to take your knickers off when I'm there?" She looked up at me, her eyes wide. "Andy," she said simply, "I don't mind you seeing my pussy." I had several reactions all at once: surprise (and a little shock) that she had a more extensive vocabulary than I'd thought; amusement at the way she'd put it; and (strangely, it seemed then) a little catch at the heart at the statement. Anyway, the upshot was that I helped her change her panties and position a pad in the new pair, then show her how to pull them up carefully, keeping the pad in place. I got quite a good view of her pussy, noting how sweet it looked, still with a little of its baby puffiness and not a trace of hair. Imogen seemed quite happy for me to look, and I'd swear she deliberately opened her legs a little wider than was strictly necessary. Her face was very red, though, by the time we were finished. By that time, it was strictly speaking after Imogen's bedtime; but I had no intention of sending her straight to bed, after such a traumatic evening. Instead, we both cuddled up on the settee with hot chocolate, and watched something mindless on TV, which wouldn't prevent us from talking. After a while, though, Imogen grew silent, her face setting into a frown of concentrated thought. I could tell that she was working up to saying something. I also knew, from experience, that it would be pointless to try to get it out of her before she was ready. Finally, she looked up at me, her face worried. "Andy," she said. "You know how this means I've got the eggs now? Does that mean I'll be having a baby?" "Of course not, sweetheart," I reassured her quickly. "It's entirely up to you when and if you decide to have a baby; but most girls don't start till they're at least twice your age, if not more." "But..." She hesitated. "But suppose it happens by accident? I might not even notice." I tried hard not to laugh at the thought of it happening by accident, and managed to keep a straight face. "No, baby," I told her, "I can say quite definitely, it won't happen without you noticing." She put her head on one side. "So... how does it happen?" I felt the moment of panic that probably everyone feels on hearing those words from a child. But I could always pass the buck. "Darling," I said, "I think it's really up to your mum to tell you about that." Her face screwed up in agony. "But I won't be able to ask her till tomorrow," she told me tragically. "I've got to know now, Andy. Please." That was it, I've never been able to resist Imogen, when she puts her mind to it. "OK, sweetheart," I said, "snuggle up to me while I tell you." When I had her sitting half on my lap, her head leaned against my chest, my arm tightly around her, I began, "Well, you know where the egg comes from now. You know that a boy's got, um... something else between his legs, don't you?" Imogen gave me a look of total scorn and pity. "His willy," she said. "Of course I know that, I'm not a baby." "Well," I said, ignoring the put-down, "the seed comes out of a man's willy." There was total silence for a moment. "You're having me on," she said uncertainly. "They pee through their willies." "Think about yourself. Your pee-hole's really close to your pussy-hole, isn't it? With a man, there's two tubes going through his willy. One carries pee, the other carries the seed: it's in a sort of gooey white stuff. Only one of the tubes can work at any one time." "But..." She looked totally mystified. "But how does it get inside me?" "Well... The man has to put his willy into the woman's pussy, and then shoot the seed out." She stared at me in disbelief. "Oh, come on now. I don't believe you. A willy's all soft and squishy. How would it get inside something as little as a pussy?" "Sometimes a willy can get really big and stiff," I said. "When a man's feeling sexy?" She screwed up her face questioningly. "Imogen, is there anyone - a boy at school, perhaps, or... a teacher? Or someone you see on the telly, who makes your tummy go all funny in a nice way? You might feel like you're getting butterflies, and you might feel really warm and a bit damp down below." As I spoke, I could see Imogen going bright red, and she turned and buried her face against me. "I'm not asking you to tell me who it is," I said quickly. "I just want to know if you recognise the feeling." She didn't take her face away, but I felt her nod. "That's good, sweetheart. Everyone gets like that, when they see someone they think is really sexy and beautiful. Only when men feel sexy, their willies get stiff. That's nature's way of preparing, just in case they get a chance to put it inside the woman's pussy. And if she feels sexy too, her pussy gets very wet, so that his willy slides in more easily. Then he can push it in and out, and the rubbing feels so good that both of them suddenly feel really incredible all over. That's called an orgasm, or coming. It's good for both, but part of a man's orgasm is that his seed spurts out of his willy and into the woman." "And makes a baby?" "Sometimes. But more often it doesn't, and there are things you can do to stop that happening, if you don't want to have a baby just then." She didn't answer for a moment; then she asked, "What does it feel like, this org- org-, this coming?" I hesitated. "I can't really tell you what it would feel like for you. Imogen, do you ever play with yourself? You know, rub your pussy to make it feel good?" She jerked her head up and stared at me, total horror on her face. "I did when I was little," she admitted, turning red again. "And... once or twice... a bit..." "Sweetheart," I said quickly, "there's no need to be ashamed of it. Everyone does it. Women play with their pussy, men play with their willy." She stared at me incredulously. "You don't, do you?" "Of course I do, sweetheart. When you do it, find a little knob right at the top of the slit, and rub that. You should find out what an orgasm's like." She giggled suddenly, and her eyes filled with mischief. "I can't imagine you playing with your willy. I'd love to see that." Warning bells sounded in my head; but I hadn't thought of an answer yet, when she continued, "What you were talking about, where the willy goes... you know, in... Was that what you and Suzy used to do, when I'd gone to bed?" That was a real bombshell. Of course, Suzy and I had often taken advantage of being alone, once we were sure that Imogen was asleep. But how had the child known? "What makes you say that?" I asked uneasily. "Well, one time I woke up, and there was a noise coming from down here. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I came down, but you were both lying on here. You were on to of Suzy, with your trousers down, and you were, sort of, pushing up and down, and you were both making these gasping noises." "So... what did you do?" I asked faintly. "Well... I felt a bit scared, and I was sleepy, so I went back to bed. But it's OK, now I know what you were doing." She considered for a moment. "You were in love with Suzy, weren't you?" I nodded. I didn't feel awkward talking about Suzy, but I wasn't sure where this was leading. "Do people have to be in love, to do it?" I thought quickly about what I should say to this. "They don't have to be," I said at last. "People do it... It's called making love, and people do it for different reasons. Sometimes it's because they're in love, sometimes they really like each other, and get turned on by how sexy each other is. That's OK too. But it's best if you're doing it with someone you're in love with." "Oh." She thought for a moment. "Andy? What does a willy look like, when it's stiff?" "It... um... well, it..." I was really floundering now. How do you explain something like that to someone who's never seen it? "I know," she said suddenly, clapping her hands in joy at the brilliant idea she'd just had. "I could look at yours, and you can rub it so it feels sexy and gets stiff." "Uh... Whoa, sweetheart." That really threw me into a spin, not least because the back of my mind was vaguely aware of my cock immediately hardening. Where was that coming from? "You can't just go asking men to show you their willies. It's not right." She looked totally gobsmacked. "But you've seen my pussy," she pointed out. "So what's wrong with me seeing your willy? Fair's fair." I couldn't deny that she had a point; and, as I struggled in my head with the arguments, I began to realise that part of me was hoping I couldn't find a convincing reply. What's the harm? a voice was whispering inside me. It's only educational, it's not like I'm going to do anything. And if she doesn't get what she wants from me, she might ask someone who can't be trusted. "All right," I said at last, warily. "But you mustn't tell anyone. Some people might not understand. Promise?" "Promise," she agreed quickly, her eyes shining. "It's a secret, cross my heart and hope to die." She a little away from me, watching expectantly. "Come on," she said, "get it out." Feeling absurdly awkward and shy, in front of this little girl, I undid my trousers and pulled them down. I could see Imogen's wide eyes following my every movement; and she gave a little squeal, that was between joy and consternation, when she was able to see that something was making my underpants stick right out in front. "Oh, Andy," she breathed, "it's getting sexy already. Let me see, please." So I worked the underwear down over the healthy erection I was sporting, and sat with my stiff cock sticking almost straight upwards, while Imogen stared, holding her breath with excitement. After a moment, she reached out a hesitant hand until she'd almost made contact, then snatched it quickly away. She looked up at me doubtfully, sucking her lower lip. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "Can I touch it?" No way, I said, it's wrong, and I don't want to go to prison. At least, that's what I thought I was saying, until I heard my voice coming out with, "OK, if you want to." She reached again cautiously, while I sat and wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. I felt her little fingertips brush against the head, and it gave an entirely involuntary twitch at the sensation. Imogen snatched her hand back with a little scream; but, almost at once, she was reaching out again, more confident this time. "It's so big," she said. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Well, beauty's in the eye of the beholder; but I'd never thought of a man's cock as beautiful. Like most men would, I felt a surge of pride at having mine described as so big. I did feel a bit of a fraud at this reaction, though, aware that almost any adult cock would seem big to a nine-year- old girl. "Touch it again, if you want to," I suggested. I think it was at that point that my nagging conscience gave up in disgust. "You could rub it, if you like." She nodded abstractedly, as she ran her fingertips more confidently over the shaft, giggling as she found that the foreskin drew back from the head. Exposing the reddened knob, she played with it for a bit, investigating the little slit at the end. "Is that where it comes out of?" she asked, glancing up at me. I nodded, unwilling to trust my voice to answer. I'm not normally a quick shooter, but I was definitely close to coming. I'd never in my life experienced anything a fraction as erotic as this sweet little girl playing with my cock, half like a baby, half like a slut. Imogen giggled again, out of sheer joy, and partly, perhaps, the dim realisation of just how much she was able to control this grown-up. She started a regular rubbing motion up and down the shaft, making up in hard wanking what she lacked in skill. she even brought her other hand round, and started playing with my balls. It only took a minute or so of this, before I felt them tighten and the spunk surging up my cock. Then my head flew off into outer space, and I felt spurt after spurt of sticky come shooting out to splash her hands and my legs. "Wow," she breathed, "you did a come." Then she looked down at her spunk-covered hands. "Yuck," she commented, though without any obvious disgust. "This is it, then?" Cautiously, she raised her right hand to her nose, and sniffed. "Is it safe?" she asked after a moment. "Completely safe," I reassured her. "Unless, of course, you're intending to stick your hand up your pussy in the next few minutes." I'm not sure what made me say that; but I do know that I felt my cock twitch again, as I spoke. Imogen wrinkled her nose and looked at me as if I were mad. "Of course not," she said. I cleaned us both up with tissues from a box that Wendy keeps beside the settee (thanks, Wendy), and then Imogen got back on my lap and we cuddled very tightly in silence. It didn't occur to me until she was on my lap that I hadn't pulled my trousers up; but she didn't object, and I wasn't going to disturb her. After a while, I could tell, from the tension in Imogen's body, that she was working up to saying something. I just held her close, caressing her hair and her body, waiting till she felt ready to speak. Eventually, her face still buried deeply in my chest, Imogen mumbled, "Andy?" "Yes, sweetheart?" I said. "You know I said there's someone who makes me feel sexy?" "Yes," I said, wondering what she was going to tell me. "It's you," she said; then buried her face even more deeply. That gave me a few moments to take in this bombshell and think about my reaction. And what was my reaction? I'd only just discovered that the little nine-year-old I'd adored and looked after these two years gave me a hard-on. Now I was faced with the news that I'd been making her horny, too. How did I handle this? I suppose I didn't really make a decision, just left myself to fly by the seat of my pants. "Sweetheart," I said gently, "that's got to be the most flattering thing you can say about anyone. I feel really honoured that I make you feel sexy." Imogen lifted up her head and looked at me gravely. "You really don't mind?" she asked. I shook my head, and she smiled a suddenly sparkling smile. "That's great, isn't it, Andy? We both make each other feel sexy." "Hang on," I said, suddenly sensing a trap closing. "Who said you make me feel sexy?" Her eyes suddenly clouded, and she looked about to cry. I felt a real bastard, especially since she was absolutely right. "But," she protested uncertainly, "your willy got stiff when I asked to look at it. And when I rubbed it, you had a come-thing." I knew that, for Imogen's own protection, I really should be ruthless; but, looking at that stricken face that I loved so much, I couldn't bring myself to lie to her. "You're right," I said, avoiding meeting her eyes, "you're an incredibly sexy little girl, and being with you makes my willy hard." She giggled. "I know," she said, "I can feel it." I realised, with a shock, that I had another erection, and Imogen must be feeling it pressing into her bum. "Andy, will you put into my pussy? Please?" She must have read the shock on my face, because she went on quickly, "Well, I'm old enough for that now, as I've started getting eggs and bleeding, and we both make each other feel sexy, and... and I love you, and I always have, and... and... don't you love me?" So, of course, I just had to take her in my arms and kiss her. It started as an ordinary kiss, the kind we've shared plenty of times before; but it quickly developed into a passionate snog, mouths open, my tongue pushing into Imogen's mouth and dueling with her little tongue. When, at last, we separated, Imogen sat gazing at me, head slightly on one side, one of her sparkling smiles lighting up her cute face. "So we can do it?" she asked. "Sweetheart," I said, wishing desperately I could make her understand, "I really would love to," (would I really? I thought, as I spoke) "but it just wouldn't be right." Imogen's mouth turned down at the corners, and her eyes took on that basilisk expression that only little girls do exactly right. Then, very suddenly, her face cleared. "Our teacher talked to us once," she said slowly, "about bad touching. I didn't really understand it then; but I suppose she must have been talking about people who want to put their willies up girls' pussies. She kept saying that we'd got the right to say no." "She was right," I said urgently. I knew I'd opened a can of worms, and the one thing I must do was to ensure that she understood this lesson. "All of these sexy things are great, if it's what you want, but you should never let anyone do anything like that to you if you don't want it, or if it's making you uncomfortable. Do you understand, sweetheart?" She nodded slowly, gravely. "Yes," she said slowly. "I wouldn't let anyone put his willy in me if I didn't want him to. But..." She looked at me very seriously. "If I've got the right to say no, doesn't that mean I've got the right to say yes, too?" As you might imagine, that floored me: it was an argument I'd never thought of before. "You're quite right, sweetheart," I said after a moment. "You've a perfect right to say you want to do anything that makes you happy. But don't forget, there are two people involved here." Imogen frowned at me again. "Do you mean?" she asked, "you don't want to do it with me? I thought you loved me." "Of course I love you, darling," I assured her quickly. "That's why I have to think about doing the right thing for you. You see, even though you're very grown up for your age, you're still a little girl. Sometimes, you might not realise how much you can be hurt by what you want, until it's too late. How could I say I loved you, if I didn't bother to make sure you're safe?" Imogen flung her arms around me, pulling herself close to me again. For a moment, I thought I was out of danger, until I realised that, once again, she was working up to saying something. Eventually, she said, "Andy, you know when we go to the playground?" "Yes," I said, puzzled. For a moment, I thought she was going to accuse me of looking at other little girls (I don't think I ever had); but she simply said, "When I go and swing from right at the top of the climbing-frame. That scares you, doesn't it?" "I didn't think you knew that, sweetheart. I tried not to make it too obvious; but I'm always afraid of you falling." "But you don't try to stop me, do you? You don't always think I have to be safe, when I'm having fun." There's no doubt about it: my little Imogen's going to be a lawyer when she grows up. I really didn't have an answer to her; and I was surprised how relieved I felt to discover that. Before that night, I'd have been horrified at the idea; but I knew now that what I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to be my sweet little girl's first ever lover, to watch her adorable little body shake and writhe and moan with orgasm after orgasm, knowing I was giving her that gift, to shoot my come in her pussy and her mouth and all over her soft, sweet skin. I wanted to do nothing else for the rest of my life but fuck little Imogen. I wasn't totally out of control, though. It was all happening too fast. I would sooner die than do anything to harm my baby girl; and what she wanted now, in the heat of the moment, might not be what she'd want tomorrow. Anyway, there were certain problems. "Sweetheart," I said, holding her more tightly towards me. She put her lips up to mine, and we kissed, long and sensuously. "If it's what you really want," I added, when the kiss finally finished, "there's nothing I'd love more. But," I forestalled her reaction, "it wouldn't be very nice while you're bleeding down there, would it?" She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head slowly. I think she'd actually forgotten about the bleeding, for a moment. "OK," I said, "here's the deal. If you still want this as much when you've finished bleeding, then we'll do it. All right? But remember this, darling: if you have any doubts about it, any doubts at all, you must tell me. Never let anyone do anything to you that you don't want. I'll still love you every bit as much if you change your mind. Do you understand?" Imogen looked at me very seriously, and nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Right," I said, "I think it's past someone's bedtime." "Oh, no, can't I just..." "You want your mum to come home and find you still up?" I gave her bum a playful smack. "Just because you're the sexiest little girl in the world, doesn't mean you don't have to go to bed." When I tucked her in, as I always did, she gazed up adoringly at me. "Andy," she said, "does this mean I'm your girlfriend now?" I smiled down at her. "If you want to be," I said. "I'd like that." And I gave her what started like our normal goodnight kiss, and finished up as though our mouths were making love. "I love you, Imogen," I told her softly. "I love you too, Andy," she murmured, half asleep. "I can't wait for next time." And, coming down the stairs with a hard-on I'd just have to deal with before Wendy got back, I acknowledged that I felt exactly the same. THE END *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* This archive does not condone child abuse, we also do not censor authors. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years "getting it up the butt" by a fellow convict in their local penitentiary. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 14