("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `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 two) -------------------------------------------------------- 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 two) by Lor Oldmann (jamwad@hotmail.com) *** "I have decided to go away for a while!" Cheri Kinnis made the remark while nibbling a finger of richly buttered toast. It was truly incredible how this woman could transmute such a mundane act as eating into something so hypnotically sensuous. She usually transformed the otherwise desolate breakfast table. So she was going away for a while. Big deal! My earliest recollection of the Kinnises was of them, Cheri and her husband, 'going away', setting off on a safari in a tailor-made Jeep loaded to the gunnels with a million and one bits of tropical gear and gimcracks, and enough artillery to start a civil war in an African republic. And, I know it's hardly likely, and it may well have been another occasion, but they seemed to have returned wearing ski kit. That was in the days when the Kinnises were as close as you could get with a married couple. Even after Sari arrived they were always in the process of going away for a while to exotic places or returning from fabulous holidays. The woman had wakened Sari and I with a kiss. "Come on, you two," she chirped brightly. "Breakfast will be ready in about two and a half minutes. So move it!" She threw open the curtains of my bedroom. Even that simple act seemed replete with sexual innuendo. It did not seem to strike her as untoward in the least that her ten year old daughter was naked in bed alongside a naked seventeen year old. I felt embarrassed in the knowledge that, during the night, Sari had 'joggled Sir Roger' with the ease and delicate touch of a fairy queen. My heart hammered. I was convinced that, had I not been so besotted with Sari, I would have been madly in love with her mother! Cheri even drew the covers back from the bed and laughed at our protests before skipping from the room. "As soon as your parents get back, I have decided to go into a clinic to dry out!" She sighed. It was the same incidental sound made by her daughter; it served to emphasise or italicize the words they used. She explained in forthrightly concise terms how and why she had reached this decision. Her drinking had got out of control, she felt that she had allowed her husband's desertion to get through the normal barrier of her indifference, she was aware that she had not been a terribly good mother to Sari, and so on. Her eyes moistened. She pointed a long, well-manicured finger at my face. "And I want you, Lor, to take good care of Sari while I am away!" I nodded. I spluttered. "I also have something to say." The uneasy, queasy sensation in the stomach persisted, and my voice trembled. "I think you should know." I hesitated, then blustered it out. "I asked Sari to marry me, and she said she would as soon as she was old enough." The total absurdity of the situation did not seem in any way pertinent. Rather, I felt a great relief sweep over me. I simply had to tell someone, and who better than the child's mother. And then the idea rooted and sprouted at the back of my mind: my 'something to say' had been a sublimated confession - it was really intended to purge me from any feeling of guilt for having had Sari work her magic on me with her hands. Deep down inside me, come hell or high tide, I knew that 'kissing Lady Cynthia' and 'joggling Sir Roger de Coverley' had to become a regular feature when Sari and I were alone together. I knew within my heart of hearts I wanted it that way, and I was equally convinced Sari wanted it too. And, for the time being at least, I knew that I would be satisfied with this. Cheri was silent for a full two minutes. The queasiness spilled over from my gut to my chest. Breathing had become extremely difficult. Had she guessed the guilty secret? I had other reasons for believing that the woman, like my antique grandmother Jaksen, was psychic. Quite suddenly she rose from the breakfast table and kissed Sari again. And me. A long lingering kiss. And it struck me that neither mother nor daughter knew how to kiss other than with passion and with fully sensual lips. Thereafter things began to happen with overwhelming rapidity. The telephone rang and Cheri answered it. That was how it was with us; we were equally at ease in each other's homes. She spoke quietly for about ten minutes before returning to the breakfast table. Her face was somber as she announced, "That was your dad, Lor! Your grandfather Jaksen died early this morning. I'm truly sorry. I liked the old man." My fondest recollections of 'the old man' was of him chasing Cheri around our back garden and of the pair of them indulging themselves in a wrestling match on the croquet lawn. "The funeral is on Tuesday." Tuesday? I had the last of my written examinations on the day before with the practical on Wednesday and Thursday and a possible oral test on Friday. What a week it was destined to be. Then Mrs. Grafton entered the kitchen. She is the woman who helps mum clean the house at weekends, Fridays and Saturdays, sometimes Sunday, less frequently on Monday mornings. She is also the gossip column for the village as far as we are concerned. As she was removing her hat and coat, she directed the question to the draining board at the sink. "Have you heard about." All Mrs. Grafton's news started with this preamble. I had visions of her worst nightmare: she would be imparting her priceless jewels of information to someone who had already heard from another source. ".Julie Pierce at the big house?" "The big house?" I joked. "I thought we were the big house." Although I did not in the least feel like joking. Mrs. Grafton looked up from the sink with baleful eyes. "And so you are," she said, "but not the only one. There's Marmonsby and Teesford and Hornton Manor." "Hornton Manor is miles away," I reminded her. "About Julie Pierce," Cheri Kinnis prompted. Mrs. Grafton shifted her eyes sadly to Cheri. "She's gone and got herself pregnant, that's wot. And she's only just turned fourteen!" She tutted and turned her attention to the pots and pans in the sink. "Had her birthday party only last week. I ask yer! And that fat boy Pratt has gone and built himself a hut of sorts behind his father's scrap-yard and Mr. Jordan next door is objecting because he wasn't allowed to build a garage next to his house, and he's taking Mr. Pratt to court, and Mrs. Selby in the village shop is going off on holiday this week, so if you have anything you want to buy there you had better be quick about it." She attacked the pots with a teeth-grating enthusiasm. "And what about this dark stranger what has been lurking about in the village?" It was purely rhetorical. She did not wait for any response. "Up to no good that's for sure, anyone who prowls around, especially at night! Best to keep your doors locked if you ask me. Can't afford to take no risks these days, wot with all them terrorists about and them murders and bombs in the city streets and wot..." No, we hadn't heard of the dark stranger. I tended to sneer inwardly. Last summer it was 'the man with the glaring eyes', and during the winter prior to that there was mass hysteria about 'the alien who abducted little boys'. Silly rumours like this were spontaneously generated in every village community from time to time. The man with the glaring eyes turned out to be an ancient tramp with a thyroid problem; certainly the old man had a liking for touching little preteen girls, but otherwise, he was harmless. And the alien was the local poacher, popularly known as Mr. Death. The man was, by nature, a recluse who made his living by supplying neighbouring hotels and city restaurants with freshly slaughtered country fare. He acquired his name by virtue of the fact that every time he was seen, almost always at night, something was destined to die, be it a pheasant on the moor, a hare in the woodlands or a salmon from the river. So far there was no reason to believe that he was in any way responsible for the death of a human. Anyway, the matter was dismissed as an exercise for idle tongues, the preoccupation of empty heads. Both Sari and Cheri accompanied me to the funeral. Both wore identical black outfits, mini-dresses and sheer tights, short capes and veiled hats, that made even the pastor goggle. A rather subdued Sari clung to me throughout the entire proceedings; it was her first close contact with the frightening fact of the inevitability of death. And she did not like it one little bit. Grandma Jaksen greeted Cheri like a long-lost daughter. The two of them always hit it off whenever they met, and their repartee of funny stories and counter-stories could keep a social get-together alive for hours. "Kindred spirits," my mother fondly described them. "And you. Little girl." The old woman crouched in front of Sari when the cold, matter-of-fact Lutheran funeral ritual had been completed. She kissed her face and held her close. ".had better take good care of my favourite grandson!" And she threw me a most peculiar sidelong glance. It was as if she had guessed the peculiar relationship we shared; it was also a grandmaternal blessing on it! I had to be away all day Wednesday and Thursday. I travelled straight from grandma's house to the examination centre. The final practical session lasted well into the evening, at which point I was told that the oral test would indeed take place on the following morning. When I returned home on Friday afternoon, all hell had been let loose. There were police officers searching the grounds at the Kinnis place with tracker dogs and over spilling on to our property. A detective inspector, who picked at his nose all the time he was speaking, wanted to know where I had been all day and was little more than contemptuously skeptical when I explained about my practical and the oral examinations. "Bloody egg-heads," he grumbled to himself as he departed without telling me what the interrogation was all about. "Bloody clever dicks! Bloody snobs! Think they own the bloody world! Bloody poufs!" He had simply refused to give any reason or explanation for his questions. And he made no apology for his intrusion or his crudeness. It was only when the entire police force of the county had left the house, that my dad had an opportunity to put me in the picture. I knew there was trouble as soon as he laid an arm across my shoulder. "It's Sari," he said, and my stomach lurched. Before he said anything else, I wanted to be sick. Visions flashed before me in my vivid imagination, visions of Mrs. Grafton's dark stranger, the man with the glaring eyes, Mr. Death, and of Sari lying lifeless in a ditch. "She has been missing since lunchtime." My stomach muscles wrenched. "The school closed half-way through the morning." It was as if all my education and the recent examinations and tests had gone for nothing. "She left before noon, but didn't arrive home." My entire life was centred on Sari! Everything I did was for her. It had been almost three years to the day when another little girl, the same age as Sari, had been reported missing from the village. She was found dead several days later; she had been savagely raped and strangled, then bound with electrical conduit and wrapped in filthy sacking and left in a secluded ditch. It would seem that the killer had the vain hope of the young corpse being decomposed before anything could be done about it. The strategy had been successful in that the murderer had never been apprehended. Mrs. Grafton's 'dark stranger' seemed a lot less funny now. Mum and dad had heard the rumours almost as soon as they made it back to their front door. Then, they heard that the police were looking for a 'black stranger'. Then it was a turbaned black stranger with a long beard. Sightings were made in several towns and villages in the region and there was a ridiculous shuttling of police cars back and forth across the county. Two perfectly innocent men, one black and one with a long unkempt beard were arrested in local public houses. Another was caught boarding a bus in the village. Grandmother Jaksen had returned to our house with my parents. An understandably distressed Cheri Kinnis was with them when Mrs. Grafton appeared to offer condolences for Grandfather Jaksen's death, 'wot she only just heard about' and sympathy for the disappearance of Sari, 'wot she had only just heard about too' and to tell mum that she wouldn't be available for her cleaning duties for the next three or four weeks. "They've gone and changed everything at the factory," she complained in the same tones she had used to express her regrets about death and disappearance. Mrs. Grafton worked in the local enterprise unit in the village. Novelties were made there, mostly party fare like paper hats and streamers. "They gone and went all Christmassy," she declared contemptuously. "We have to make Christmas trees and paper decorations now." She tutted at the thought of it. "Christmas trees in the middle of summer, I ask yer!" She accepted the offer of a cup of tea. "So we have to clear out the factory and clean it from top to bottom and they're putting in the new machinery on Tuesday and everyone has to lend a hand and work fourteen hour shifts.." She prattled on about the injustice of it all. And then she slurped her tea and demanded of all of us, "Have you heard about that fat boy Pratt?" It took all of ten minutes to make sense of her usual gabbling gossip. Simon Pratt and another boy in the village had been reported missing now. "Proper epidemic!" stated Mrs. Grafton with incredible insensitivity. I could not put a face to the other boy, the name was unfamiliar. But Simon Pratt? "Missing?" demanded my mother. It was too much of a coincidence. "Boys don't go missing; they disappear for hours!" Simon had not been seen by his parents since early morning, Mrs. Grafton assured us, and the other boy had put in a brief appearance for lunch and immediately vanished again. Grandma Jaksen and Cheri exchanged glances. "That's it, then," declared the old woman. And Cheri nodded agreement. "That's what then?" demanded my father. "Where these boys are," recited grandma, "there be Sari. And I get the feeling she is not there of her own free will." The suggestion sent trembling shivers down my spine, and again I felt as if I was going to be violently sick. The picture of Simon Pratt feeling up Sari at the midsummer party, and his insane look of sheer animal lust came to mind. "Pratt built himself a gang hut." I yelled the information and ran to the door and back. "Behind his father's scrap yard!" I returned to the door. "Mrs. Grafton spoke about it last week." My father picked up the telephone as I raced from the room. Police cars, there were at least four of them, screeched to a skidding halt in front of the Pratt property on the other side of the village. They were barely seconds ahead of us. A gorilla in a sergeant's uniform smashed open the gate of the scrap-yard and the door of the hut with less effort than he would have needed to flatten a cardboard carton. The entire structure shuddered as it was invaded by a dozen policemen. Several torches lit up the untidy space. Sari was illumined as she knelt on an empty cable drum. She was trussed up like a turkey ready for roasting, arms, wrists and ankles bound tightly behind her. Her panties were around her knees. Her school dress had been hauled up around her middle so that her navel was exposed, and the neat little groove of her tight vulva. She was gagged with a filthy handkerchief and blindfolded with what appeared to be thermal lagging from water pipes. Then I noticed, in the sharp contrast of lights, that she wasn't kneeling at all; she had a harness around her chest and armpits. It was this that kept her frock up above her middle. The apparatus was suspended from the roof by a black, heavy duty electric cable. The effect elongated Sari's abdomen and pubis, which in turn made her slit the 'piece de resistance'. Her knees were clear of the drum and she swung, ever so slightly, like a pendulum of a tired old grandfather clock. Oddly enough, though, the thing that ripped into my thinking at the sight was that I had bought the panties, as a set of six, with a matching shortie night-dress and an underskirt, for Sari. The idea of another person actually touching the garment was a profanity and it outraged me. I was restrained by my dad and by the nose-picking detective inspector as I lunged forward; otherwise I might have committed bloody murder. .for in one corner squatted Simon Pratt. He was holding his face in his hands in the way an infant does, seeking to be hidden from view. The other boy - I now recognized him as one of those who had bound Sari to the chestnut tree at the midsummer party - was shivering with fear and sobbing frenetically in another corner. There were signs of recent masturbation on their clothing and on the floor at their feet. Simon's companion had wet himself, repeatedly by the look of his trousers. A policewoman had managed to release the harness and peeled away the gag and the blindfold. Sari blinked at the strong beams of light and gasped for breath. She was sobbing and again my brain had changed to a smouldering stick of dynamite. I broke free and tore madly at Simon Pratt. Sari screamed. "Lor! No! Don't hit him! He hardly touched me." I froze and stared malevolently at the other boy who instantly burst into an amplified fit of sobbing. "Lor, I'm all right," Sari yelled. "They didn't do anything bad to me. Really, they didn't! I'm fine!" The policewoman at last managed to cut through the ropes. Sari stood up for a moment, uncertainly, on the cable drum. She pulled up her panties and smoothed down her dress before stepping down gingerly. She quickly regained her balance and bounded across to me and flung her arms around me. I held her close. A policeman hauled Simon Pratt to his feet and dragged him across the hut to pull the other boy upright. Both boys were howling. The policeman accidentally banged their heads together. "They just didn't know what to do," stated Sari. There was pity in her voice. But also an edge of contempt. "After they tied me up they joggled, and when I laughed at them they put a cloth around my mouth and that horrible jaggy stuff around my eyes." She gazed up at me. "But really, they didn't do it to me!" When the boys were dragged from the hut, she asked, "What will happen to them?" A note of real concern was added to the contempt and pity. The detective picked his nose and examined his finger. "They'll be charged with abduction of a minor," he replied with an air of complete indifference. "And probably with indecent assault." "But they didn't touch me," insisted Sari. "Not really!" The detective inspector was not interested. "And bloody well wasting police time!" He shuffled out into the cool summer night air. "And any other bloody thing we can think of..." "But they really didn't do anything to me." Sari held my arm tightly. "They tied me up." She looked up again, with those deeply penetrating eyes, into my face. "They pulled my frock up and pulled my panties down." The torchlight was rapidly fading. "Really! They didn't do anything terrible to me. They just looked; they didn't do anything to me! They didn't know how!" That night in bed I checked. Not that I would dare disbelieve anything Sari ever said. As I was kissing Lady Cynthia, I prised the lips apart and gazed my fill. It was true. They hadn't done anything to worry about. And Sari was aroused as an outcome! I had serious doubts about how long I could wait. And I still wanted to kill Simon Pratt. The other boy was a complete nonentity. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 19