("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `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: sari2.txt (m-teen/f-preteen, bd) Authors name: Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com) Story title : Sari and the Green-Eyed Goddess -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2002. 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. -------------------------------------------------------- The Sari Saga: Sari and the Green-Eyed Goddess by Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com) *** A further examination of the sexual awareness in a teenaged boy with the help of his little girlfriend. *** For the last three years, my prestigious private day school, became a boarding school from Monday morning at half past eight until half past four on Friday afternoon. Between these two extremities, we breathed, ate and slept, sat and listened, walked and talked Latin, French and German and English literature, mathematics, geography and physics, chemistry and biology. The point apparently being that the student's preparation work, done at home in the first three years, could be more strictly supervised by teachers in school in the evenings. There was no escape from it; we were dogged by teachers and haunted by rules, tables, formulae and declensions. It was a grueling regimen, but worth it in the long run, and, after all, the school had its own reputation to protect. Those pathetic specimens who were unfit for the task and the examinations that lay ahead were weeded out in the first year of boarding, and returned to day school to endure the taunts and jibes of fellow students and the snide remarks of masters, or consigned to a lesser educational establishment, which was supposed to be the greatest humiliation of all. The consequence was that I did not see Sari except at the weekends. She accepted the situation after she had been given a comprehensive explanation of why it was absolutely necessary, the clinching argument being that I was determined to get the necessary qualification for a highly paid job that would ensure a decent education for our own children! She laughed happily at the shallowness of the reasoning, but was determined to make the most of what time we had together. She was usually waiting for me when I reached home at half past six on Friday evenings, and gave me a clinging kiss when I left again at seven on Monday morning. Between these two parameters, either she slept in our house or I slept in the Kinnis place. I was flattered by her attentions - in a rather silly, self-satisfied, conceited way. But Sari had a penchant for coming up with the trenchant comment and for pricking egocentric bubbles. We often discussed sex in a cold academic fashion, its fascination for both of us, its dangers and its inescapable ramifications and commitments. We had become that close in our relationship, and it was truly sincere despite the fact that she was only nine and I was a grown-up sixteen. And it was purely theoretical without any practical experimentation, I can assure you. I had made some trite remark about my being her Prince Charming, the handsome young sex hero of her dreams. She smiled wryly. "I love you, Lor, and I really believe I always will," she said, staring at me with her dark penetrating eyes, "because you are you, not because you are a prince or in any way charming." She gave a little snigger. "And you are most certainly not handsome!" And then, again it happened like a firecracker being set off inside me. A couple of days before Christmas Eve, wearing the sugar plum fairy fancy dress costume she intended sporting at the village community party, she bounced over to our place early in the evening. She waved a silver star-topped wand under my nose to make sure she had my attention - as if it were necessary! The outfit truly took my breath away. "Shouldn't you wear something underneath?" I asked naively. Absolutely nothing was left to the imagination by the glistening white, skin-hugging, semi-transparent material. "Panties or something?" Not that I was objecting, despite the prudish tone of voice. And I had to admit it to myself: anything under the costume would have spoiled the whole effect. "I can see the slit of your Lady Cynthia!" I exclaimed with pretended horror. Lady Cynthia was our pet word for the female pudenda; the male organs in that region we called, believe it or not, Sir Roger de Coverley. Her entire blossoming figure was there for general scrutiny, the tiny, perfectly shaped swellings on her chest, the clearly defined sweep of her hips and her slender waist and those fantastic legs. I was reminded of the black cat ensemble she had worn when she was six and, oddly enough, of her cocoon when she was bound and tied up on her bed. 'For her own protection!' her parents had explained. I felt a now familiar stirring deep down inside me, but there was a freshness and a disturbing newness about the intensity of it. "Lor!" She simply threw back at me the wicked little smile that would make a grown man ready to kill for her, and crooned sensually, "I want everyone to know how lucky you are!" She skipped away, weaving her hips from side to side, dancing from foot to foot, when my dad called; he was giving her a ride to the village. Cheri Kinnis had lost her license on a perfectly justified (and, it has to be said, long overdue) charge of drunk driving, and her husband was oil prospecting in Cambodia or Thailand. Sari's dad was always away in foreign parts these days, and I couldn't help but get the feeling that his trips abroad on such work assignments would soon be a permanent feature of the Kinnis household. I felt sorry for Cheri and Sari; I also felt grateful that my own parents were the way they were - sometimes eccentric, often fusty and old-fashioned, but reliable to the core. I watched dad's automobile glide away from view, and became aware of a sickening twinge of the little green- eyed god (or goddess) in the pit of my stomach. I wished I had not been so impetuous in dismissing any suggestion that I go to the village party. I hate parties, but the mental image of other males eyeing up Sari and having the kind of thoughts that had slipped into my mind really bugged me. It was later that same evening when the Winnings arrived: they always spend their Christmases with us. And to be frank, I don't like any of them, neither parent nor progeny: Samuel, the son, who was twenty-six that year and Patricia who was six years younger. Their parents had been at college with mine, but where the Winnings started their family almost as soon as they graduated, my parents waited until they were in their late thirties. Hence the difference in ages between Sam and Pat and me. After the party, Sari slept the night at our place. Dad and her had stopped off at the Kinnis place to pick up some clothes, but Sari was still the sugar plum fairy when she arrived. I should have anticipated trouble. Sam and Pat made no attempt to hide or disguise their lasciviousness as they devoured the child with their eyes. Pat Winnings for all the world looked like a vampire who had beamed in on its prey. Her eyes glistened with sheer lust and unbridled sexual hunger. Little blobs of saliva gathered in the corner of her mouth as she licked her lips. And that her brother was as sexually aroused was equally evident. I noticed that Joe Winnings glared dangerously at his offsprings. At seven o'clock on the following morning Sari crept into my bed, shook me awake and declared, "I won first prize for my costume, last night." "The judges were men, I take it!" "I don't know," said the child happily. "It was the teacher, Mrs. Palgrave, who presented the prizes. She said it was one of the most authentic costumes she had ever seen." I grumbled moodily: "It was certainly authentic! There was nothing artificial on view there!" Sari laughed and cuddled into me. "You are a little demon out of hell," I told her, and kissed her playfully on the lips, "sent to try my patience, and I love you." After a late lunch, about two o'clock in the afternoon, with more than adequate to drink, the old folks decided to take a siesta before the really serious drinking started with the evening meal. Sari's mother, who had joined us, rather than face the hundred-metre trek between houses gracefully passed out in one of the massive armchairs in our library. I had faithfully promised, crossed my heart and hoped to die, spit on my grave if I tell a lie, to take Sari walking in the woodland adjacent to our property where we had already spotted some red deer. I went to her room, but she was not there. As I passed by, I heard muffled grunts coming from the bedroom occupied by Samuel Winnings. I shrugged. It was none of my business; everybody who knew them guessed that Sam and Pat were into something a bit more intimate than sibling love. Pat had been expelled from her ridiculously expensive girls' school because of acts of gross indecency, too outrageous to be printed in the local newspapers, with her two roommates. And Samuel's wife divorced him on the grounds of his adultery with her mother. Sam boasted that he belonged to an exclusive club whose motto was "Male or female of any species, of any age, in any place at any time!" I looked for Sari around the garden. I wondered if she had gone to Burke's Wood without me, and instantly dismissed the thought as unlikely; it was so untypical of her. Equally unlikely was that she had gone home without telling me. I went to the games' room, the library, and finally the toilets. It was at that precise moment, that the idea punched a hole in my head: the subdued moans from Sam's room - could they possibly be.. I raced upstairs, heels aflame, head even hotter! I burst into the room. And completely blew loose. Sari, wearing only the briefest pair of panties I could have imagined, was spread-eagled on Sam's bed. I tried later to figure why, having stripped her of everything else, they left on her knickers. Her wrists and ankles were secured to the bars at either end of the bed, the wrists with handcuffs, one ankle with an old school tie (Pat's), the other with a leather belt that was digging into the child's struggling flesh. She was gagged with a scarf, much the worse of wear, with the crest of a third rate university. The thought impaled itself on my wrath: this was the girl I was destined to marry; this was the girl who was going to give birth to my children. The facts that she was nine and I was seven years her senior seemed to be totally irrelevant at that time. I loved this kid! Patricia was already naked and sitting on the end of the bed. She was running her long, witchlike fingers up and down Sari's legs. It struck me as a gesture of envy, for the older girl's legs were no match for Sari's. The child struggled from side to side to get away from the exploring fingers, but she was so severely stretched that her bonds allowed free movement only around her middle. The resultant lifting and twisting of her hips and buttocks only made her movements more erotic and sensual, which incited Pat to be more adventurous and more extensive in her caressing. Sam was undressing when I burst into the room; he was already naked upwards from his boxer shorts. He had his trousers around his ankles and was pulling one leg free, a position that definitely placed him at a disadvantage. Now, to let you understand: the one and only non-academic activity tolerated at my prestigious school is a form of self-defense called Li-tchai; a combination of the Korean martial art tae-kwon-do and the better known kung-fu only twice as lethal as either of these - as much to the practitioner as to the person at the receiving end of any of the manoeuvres. The Li-tchai classes were conducted by a Japanese psychotic, who had a hang-up about his country's involvement in the Second World War, and a marginally less stable Indonesian who hated everything that moved or did not move fast enough. What complicated the issue, but made the classes much more entertaining was that neither instructor could agree on anything including the time of day! At the expense of becoming black and blue in various quarters in the process, I had achieved a black and purple belt, which is the highest novice grade, and had been admitted to the master's grade. This I now put to good use, despite the strict oaths piously mouthed in the classes at school. In passing, I wrenched Pat from the bed by her hair and broke her nose. Sam, trousers still around his ankles, unwisely decided that attack was the most effective defense. He hobbled in my direction, fists clenched, arms swinging wildly, but impeded by the trousers at his feet. I threw him over my shoulder, breaking his wrist on the way. He landed with a truly blood-curling crunch on his back and screamed in agony that I had fractured his spine. Pat, blood pouring from her shattered nose, was screeching rape and murder as loudly as her impediment would permit. I had a mental image of my teachers - the kamikaze Japanese and the mad Indonesian for once in their complicated existence nodding their unqualified approval. Sari had lifted her head to watch the proceedings; her eyes were as wide as I have ever seen them. The noise was horrendous. I was not in the least surprised when my folks appeared at the open doorway. Mum stared in disbelief at the child on the bed. Dad eyed the bodies on the floor. Both demanded, "What on earth is going on?" Then Joe Winnings pushed past my parents. He stood astride his son, pointed indignant fingers, and yelled, "I've had it with you two..." After receiving medical attention, the offending pair were allowed to stay the night in widely separated rooms. Early in the morning on the day before Christmas, a private taxi drove them away into shamed obscurity. I never saw either of them again. Nor did I ever regret the fact! As I watched them go, dad pulled me aside and said, "You'll really have to learn to control that temper of yours!" There was glistening humour in his eyes as he added, when Sari slipped into view, "And those hands!" Sari appeared at the side of my bed that night, and demanded, in a voice that was not to be ignored, "Lor! Are you awake?" She shook me. It was kind of emphasis to her words. And when she was satisfied that she had my attention: "I just wanted to say that perhaps you are my Prince Charming after all!" She laughed. The sound reminded me of the gurgling, tinkling water in the marble fountain in the school quadrangle. She climbed into bed beside me. She snuggled up closely. After a long pause she giggled. "And perhaps you are just a little bit handsome!" "Thanks" I grunted in acknowledgement. With Sari at my side, I was in that happy limbo of contentment that comes immediately before sleep. There was a long, long pause. "Lor!" she stage whispered in the darkness. "Yes?" "Tomorrow." was followed by another long silence. "Yes?" I was ready for the question, what did you get me for my Christmas? and was hastily trying to think of a really smart answer. But I was really tired and there was an edge of irritation in my voice when, the long silence continued, I repeated, "Yes?" "Will you tie me up like the Winnings did?" The full import of her words struck me after a full minute. I sat up and stared into the blackness. "Sari!" I voiced my shock. "Do you realise what you are saying?" There was silence, so I repeated the question with a greater sense of urgency. "Shhh!" she responded indignantly. "Lor, I'm trying to sleep!" END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life in anyway shape or form. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 19