("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `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: sari3.txt (m-teen/f-preteen, mast, youths)
Authors name: Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)
Story title : Sari and the Simon Pratt Affair (Part one)

--------------------------------------------------------
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 Simon Pratt Affair (Part one) 
by Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com)

***

The continuing unfolding of a teenaged boy's growing 
sexual awareness, and further proof that the female of 
the human species is better equipped than the male to 
deal with the emotional crises in life.

***

It was a panoramic view of the garden party. From an 
upstairs window, I watched infants devouring homemade ice 
cream by the cubic litre and grown women giggling over 
the punch bowl and fingering themselves and thinking that 
no one noticed. A couple of teenagers, considering 
themselves well out of sight, were having it off in the 
gazebo. I watched the boys manhandle Sari. I fastened on 
that. It was a game the kids had become accustomed to 
playing at every party my folks arranged for them.

I had long since stopped worrying about it. On the 
contrary, the game seemed to animate Sari; she became 
even more exuberant and it was then truly exciting to be 
in her company. And, increasingly of late, I had become 
aware of Sari's boundless sexual potential. And it was 
directed at me! It was mine, all mine! And it kept me 
from veering too near the edge of insanity in the strict 
routine of my prestigious boarding school. A healthy 
young male, after all, in close confinement, has to find 
something to do with his hands in his spare time!

My parents never needed an excuse for a party, and there 
seemed to be one almost every other weekend now when I 
was home. This latest orgy was supposed to celebrate 
midsummer. Appropriately, there was a Stonehenge maze and 
a Camelot bouncy castle, both of which, initially at 
least, promised to be highly successful in keeping the 
younger children out of any other more malicious 
activity.

After twenty minutes or so the polystyrene Stonehenge was 
reduced to millions of white pellets which the boys 
considered ideal for stuffing down the necks of little 
girls' frocks, sweaters, knickers, or whatever else they 
could prise wide open. No one complained; it kept the 
brats occupied, on and off, for the remainder of the 
night. The Camelot Castle became decidedly lop-sided when 
one of its panels was set alight by some of the older 
kids who were smoking a joint on the lee side of it, away 
from the prying eyes of the adults. 

There was supposed to have been novelty sack races and 
some obstacle circuits for the older kids. These events 
did not materialise. There was a kind of blind man's buff 
that did take place. Topically, the blind man was a 
Druid, whose legs had been bound with rope from the knees 
to the ankles. He was armed with a shepherd's crook, and 
was expected to chase and catch all and sundry and tie 
them to sacrificial posts placed around the garden.

This game lasted for a further ten minutes and resulted 
in a broken head, the dress torn completely from a 
fourteen year old girl, a ten year old girl in a fit of 
hysteria and two twelve year old boys at each others' 
throats - a squabble which continued until the party 
broke up some time around ten o'clock. An hour after the 
druid game had been abandoned, because of these accidents 
and the increasing use of mature adult language by the 
youngest children, some of the women were still trying to 
unravel the knots and ropes from around the neck of a 
screaming six year old who had become decidedly blue in 
the face and had already soiled his underpants. 

The tying bit of the druid game came alive again with a 
vengeance. From my upstairs window I noticed that the 
boys - there must have been about seven or eight of them 
around her - had forced Sari to the ground and were in 
the process of securing her hands behind her back with 
what appeared to be a pair of trouser suspenders; this 
suspicion was supported by the sight of another small boy 
outside the group vainly attempting to hold his trousers 
up while several slightly older little girls were 
determined to remove them.

Sari appeared to be enjoying herself thoroughly, so I 
left well alone. Since the incident involving the 
Winnings, tying up had become a regular feature of Sari's 
play, and the little green-eyed goddess had been well and 
truly put in her proper place. I knew it was only a bit 
of serious fun as far as she was concerned.

And, as already suggested, after every such incident she 
became so much more cuddlesome and intimately 
affectionate. The manual exercises done at school had 
been brought home with me and were infinitely more 
pleasurable with this little bundle fast asleep in my bed 
and cradled in my otherwise unoccupied arm. The outcome 
of these finger exercises was generally, captured in one 
of Sari's panties, albeit not very effectively, I must 
confess. A couple of times, on the following morning, she 
would eye the soiled garment quizzingly, but she never 
commented...

...until the night she woke and caught me red-handed, so 
to speak. She demanded to know what I was doing.

There is one thing I have to say about our relationship: 
it has, from the very beginning, always been open and 
honest. Except as an obvious practical joke, I have never 
once misled the kid with make-believe myth, fable or 
legend. She demands to know, I explain. And that is the 
sum total of every successful partnership. So it was on 
the night in question.

She listened to my explanation as to how and why, and 
insisted on a demonstration, which was given with some 
grudging reluctance. Satisfied, she went back to sleep, 
but a new word had been added to our vocabulary: 
joggling, and new phrase: joggling Sir Roger!

The biggest and oldest of the boys around Sari, a 
plumpish idiot, appropriately named Simon Pratt, fastened 
Sari's ankles together with a length of rope, then bound 
her legs, in the manner of a Roman fasces, up to her bare 
thighs. He rolled her over on to her back, lifted the 
skirts of her short dress, and studied what was 
underneath for a minute then thrust his hand up to her 
crutch. Sari wriggled.

She must have voiced her protest, for at least one of the 
masturbating women glanced disapprovingly. Simon wrapped 
a cloth of sorts around her mouth. The boys then carried 
Sari to a sprawling chestnut tree where they tied her to 
the thick trunk, wrapping ropes round her tightly from 
her shoulders to her hips. 

As usual, it had been my parents' idea to have the party 
for the village children. Mothers had been invited. That, 
in my humble opinion, was the second mistake - second 
only to having the party in the first place!

Then kismet took over: Grandpa Jaksen, that's my 
grandfather from my mother's side of the family, had a 
heart attack and was taken to hospital where he was lying 
in an intensive care unit with less than a summer 
snowball's chance of survival. Mum and dad had to flee at 
the last moment. Who was left in charge of their 
midsummer madness? I was, and I hate and utterly detest 
parties! And Cheri Kinnis, Sari's mum! And if ever there 
was a recipe for instant disaster, this was it. 

It has to be said, Cheri is an exceedingly beautiful 
woman, and the fact that her husband spends so much time 
in foreign parts suggests to me that the man is a total 
waster. Cheri is also brilliant to a point far beyond 
simple genius. She can work out 8.32% compound interest 
on a capital investment of 893,679 pesetas over a period 
of twelve years and convert it into dollars faster than I 
can switch on my computer. Or she can tell you the flying 
distance between any two major cities anywhere in the 
world. Cheri is also funny; she has a treasury of jokes 
for every situation.

But there is a flip side! Show Cheri the way to the 
drinks cabinet and all these assets are negated; her 
genius takes a flying leap at itself and evaporates. Her 
humorous stories remain, albeit in slurred and often 
distorted versions. And Cheri already knew the way to our 
rather numerous drinks cabinets.

Some of the mothers volunteered to organize events. That 
was the third and decisive mistake. Cheri did not wait 
for a higher bid; she sped off in the direction of our 
house. I made the required token effort to co-operate for 
all of ten minutes, then followed Cheri indoors. The 
party from that point degenerated into utter chaos, 
starting with the total and final destruction of 
Stonehenge and the attack on Camelot. The rear of a 
greenhouse with a prize vine inside had been shattered 
and one of the kids had all but drowned himself in our 
swimming pool. 

The boys with Sari now pretended to stack firewood around 
her feet. Presumably she was to Joan of Arc, or perhaps a 
seventeenth century witch. Occasionally, some of the boys 
glanced in the direction of their mothers, but the women 
were too deeply engrossed in their gossip while 
attempting to limit the ravages of a ring-a-ring-of-roses 
game with the girls and some of the younger boys. Simon 
Pratt, the marginal retard, groped Sari several times as 
he pretended to test the knots the other children had 
tied.

A couple of times he hauled up her skirt to give the boys 
a view of what was under it. And then he pulled the 
waistband of her panties away to stare stupidly at what 
was inside. Sari squirmed and mouthed what I took to be 
well-aimed obscenities. Finally, Simon decided on a 
follow-my-leader. He put his thick arms around the tree 
and pressed his ungainly body into Sari and humped in 
mock procreation. The other boys laughed and took their 
turn.

I decided to intervene. I played the part of host as well 
as anyone could under the circumstances. I distributed 
the gifts to the guests and saw them off the premises, 
before releasing Sari. The boys had done a great job on 
her; I gave up trying to undo the knots and resorted 
finally to a kitchen knife to slice through her bonds.

"You enjoyed yourself." I didn't know whether I had asked 
the question or made a statement.

Sari threw me a coy look. "It was all right!" The wicked 
little smile withered. "but if that Simon Pratt ever come 
near me again," she snarled, "I'll tear his eyes from 
their sockets!" Then she laughed and grabbed my hand. 
"Come on!" she exclaimed. "I need a bath." And she pulled 
me towards the house. "I feel soiled and polluted. You 
can help bathe me and oil and perfume me."

It was nothing unusual; I often helped Sari out of her 
clothes and into the bath. Always there was some sort of 
joke to go with the ritual. I would tell her that I 
wanted her so clean all over that I could kiss her 
backside. She would laugh happily at this. I often also 
helped scrub her. And dry her. I liked the chore, indeed, 
I looked forward to it. I performed the task well that 
night! Playfully I spanked her backside in the direction 
of my bedroom. And went off to find her mother.

Cheri was in our library and in her cups, very nearly at 
the seriously unconscious state of drunkenness. I helped 
her to our main guest bedroom. She was its most regular 
occupant. I stripped her to her panties and tucked her 
into the king-sized divan. 

What struck me close up, when she was all but completely 
naked, apart from the woman's quite staggering beauty, 
was just how youthful she was; I was convinced that she 
could have passed as a late teenager, a sister to Sari. 
Later I was to discover just how near the actual truth 
that conviction was.

Then, quite suddenly, it was truly weird how Cheri's eyes 
lost their alcoholic glaze and focused on me in much the 
same way that Sari looked at me. "You're a good boy, 
Lor," she murmured. "And Sari loves you!"

I felt slightly embarrassed. I liked Cheri, I really and 
truly liked her, and usually I felt as comfortable in her 
presence as I did with anyone. But she also made me feel 
guilty. My mind raced back to the joggling Sir Roger 
conversation with her daughter.

"She talks of nothing else when you are away," said 
Cheri, now surprisingly coherent. "And lives for the 
times you come home from school." Then she repeated. "She 
really loves you, Lor!" She closed her eyes. I assumed 
she had fallen asleep. She purred the way Sari did, 
opened her eyes briefly and said, "Be good to her, Lor! 
Be good to her!"

"I will," I promised.

Cheri gurgled in satisfaction, the way a baby makes the 
sound, and turned on her side. I crept from the room.

Sari was lying naked on the top cover of my bed. She was 
reading a comic magazine left over from her last visit. I 
gazed at her in real affection. After her bath she was so 
fresh and fragile like a budding flower, so clean and 
pure. It struck me again at how much she looked like her 
mother. She was certainly destined to be every bit as 
beautiful.

"Sari!"

She let the paper drop from before her face. She looked 
at me with those magnificent eyes. She radiated 
enchantment. I was her slave for life.

"Will you marry me?" It wasn't really what I had intended 
saying. Nevertheless, I meant what I said, even though it 
came from deep within my subconscious.

She smiled. "I fully intent to, Lor, as soon as I am old 
enough." And she lifted the comic to her face.

I threw myself on to the bed beside her. Brushed aside 
her comic paper and kissed her half-open mouth. She 
responded. I kissed her shoulders, her chest, her belly 
button and her pubis. She spread her legs and I kissed 
Lady Cynthia full on her lips. Sari's hips jerked, 
imperceptibly at first, then more deliberately. And I 
swear it, Lady Cynthia was vibrating and her lips were 
opening for my tongue.

"I love you, Lor," she said later when we snuggled close 
in bed. It was the first time we had slept completely 
naked together. 

"I meant it, Sari," I assured her, "when I asked you to 
marry me."

"I meant it too," she replied in that seductive croon. 
The tone changed. "And if Simon Pratt, or anyone else 
ever again touches me, the way he touched me tonight, 
I'll tear his face to ribbons..."

And I did not for one moment doubt the sincerity of her 
words. I drifted into pleasantly reassuring sleep.

"Lor!" It must have been about half an hour later when 
Sari shook me to that limbo of half-wakefulness. "Lor!"

"Hmmm?" I tried to prise open my eyes, but they were so 
heavy.

"Can I joggle Sir Roger?"

And suddenly I was fully awake!

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