("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `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: hidden.txt (M/g+, ped, voy, inc) Authors name: GM (gm@mrdouble.com) Story title : Hidden Benefits -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 2004. 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. -------------------------------------------------------- Hidden Benefits by GM (gm@mrdouble.com) *** Panties in the Playground with eight-year-old Angie Raymond and her adult cousin, university student Brad Wilson. Angie persuades her two little friends to join her on the Jungle Gym, Brad lays plans to have all three at the same time... (M/g+, ped, voy, inc) *** The following story depicts explicit sexual contact between adult and under aged participants. Those offended by graphic descriptions of pedophilic/incestuous relationships should read no further. This is entirely a work of fantasy, and does not advocate the abuse of minors in any way, shape or form. All characters and events represented herein are completely fictional. PART ONE: THE WHITE BALANCE Summer in Chamberlain was hazy and idyllic. The city had the down-home atmosphere of a Norman Rockwell print; a sleepy patchwork of tree-lined avenues and painfully green lawns. The streets droned with cicadas and the ponds with dragonflies, their streamlined bodies glittering like emeralds in the morning sun. Its picket-fence suburbs were perhaps the most American of the regional townships. On a fine, clear day, you could almost smell the heady aroma of apple pie drifting down the sidewalk; a cinnamon wave exhaled from a thousand kitchen windows. Kings Domain extended over the eastern ridge of the city, bordered by Memorial Drive on one side and Chamberlain Heights on the other. A large, rambling parkland crisscrossed by jogging paths and pine groves, it claimed a history dating back to pre-revolutionary times (hence the anachronistic title). The Commemorative Fountain at the middle of the Park was a favored meeting place with the Sole Parents Society, mainly due to its close proximity to the Adventure Playground. Bradley Wilson couldn't be described as a sole parent, although he'd recently 'inherited' responsibility for an eight-year-old child. His young cousin Angie Raymond had adopted him as a defacto father over the past few months, a role he'd grown into with a certain degree of rueful satisfaction. A second year Humanities student, Brad had originally joined Sole Parents hoping to free up his weekends via the care-giver exchange. Much to his surprise, he'd discovered a network of support entirely missing from his immediate family. He'd made several friends within the Society - mostly women his own age, quietly sympathetic towards his unusual situation. His weekends were still as busy as ever, but the hidden benefits were more than adequate. And, if nothing else, it had provided numerous playmates for Angie, the proverbial blessing in disguise from Brad's viewpoint. The air was crisp and still as they made their way through Memorial Gardens. They were cutting through the Wildlands, a low, rolling pine glade riddled with bike tracks and mystery walks. Most Saturday mornings, the Playground was overrun by hordes of yowling children. Brad could hear their excited howls echoing along the trail. Sounded like a full scale riot, even at this distance. The majority would be little girls from the Heights district; pixie- faced angels decked out in pastel pinks and yellows. Brad felt his temperature starting to rise. Angie scampered along beside him, swinging happily from his right hand. Her bright red sun-frock clung to her waifish figure, hemline sweeping about her knees with each capering step. She'd been looking forward to this outing all week; most of her friends from playgroup were going to be there, along with some of the girls from her school. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day. They were going to have a picnic on the grass with the ladies from Sole Parents, followed by a splash in the Fountain and a game of hunt 'n' catch in the Fort. Best of all, Bradley had brought his DIGITAL CAMCORDER (that was how she actually thought of it; in capitals and italics), the one with the LCD DISPLAY and the AUTOZOOM. Brad had bought it down at Radio Shack a couple of weeks ago so he could tape her playing on the swings and slides and monkey bars. They often watched it on Brad's DVD before she went to bed; it was becoming something of a family tradition. "Are you going to film me playing in the Fort?" she chortled, betraying her impatience to get the morning underway. "Sure will," Brad replied offhand, glancing off into the pinewoods. "What about Lindy? Are you gonna film her too?" Angie demanded, tugging energetically at his hand. "Yeah, if she's wearing a dress," he answered offhand. Angie didn't bother asking the most obvious question; she already knew the answer. "What about Jane?" she inquired, bouncing about at the end of his arm. "She always wears shorts," Brad observed laconically. "Not this time!" Angie exclaimed in all seriousness, "I told her she had to wear a skirt today!" Brad almost laughed despite himself. What else had she ordered Janey Glover to do? "OK, then" he agreed magnanimously, as if conferring some vast favor. Flexing the tendons along his forearm, Brad hefted the girl off the ground, dangling her from his wrist with her feet waving in mid-air. He carried her along the trail for some twenty odd paces, then dropped her lightly onto her feet. She skipped along the path singing a hopscotch chant he recalled from his childhood: "Tom-and-Becky, sitting- in-a-tree-K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First-comes-love, then-comes- marriage, then-comes-Tom-with-a-baby-CARRIAGE!" He smiled at the memories the song invoked: fresh-faced school girls with yellow ribbons, tartan skirts and white cotton underpants. They were young, they were animated, they were hauntingly beautiful. And not one of them could have held a candle to Angie. They walked on a little further until they came to a sunlit clearing with a log bench at one side. Bradley took a seat, turning the digicam over in his hands and flipping the cover off the lens. Angie ambled on for several paces, then looked around when she realized she was walking alone. Turning back to join him at the bench, she scrutinized her cousin with a quizzical expression. "What're you doing?" she asked. "I think it's time we took a white balance," he answered, looking experimentally through the viewfinder. Angie knew what he was talking about, he'd been teaching her how to use the camera around the house. The WHY-BALANCE was the first thing you did after you switched the power on. Trouble was, they couldn't set the highlights out here on the bike trail. Everything was the wrong color. "We forgot to bring the big white card," she said, absently kicking her feet through the woodchips. "Well, we'll just have to use your panties then, won't we?" Brad replied, snapping open the LCD. Angie's expression changed. Her little mouth gaped open, her cheeks flushed with surprise as she registered his words. Her skin started to tingle, a storm of butterflies erupted through her belly. Her fingers dropped protectively to the front of her dress, as if it was preparing to spring up by itself. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do, and it made her head spin with embarrassment. "Brad!" she cried, looking 'round the pine-glade, "we can't do THAT!" Her voice dissolved into a stream of helpless giggles. He couldn't be serious. Not here, not now. "Why not?" Brad asked, testing the auto focus, "I've seen your undies before." "But that's differENT!" she protested in righteous indignation, although he was completely right: he had seen her undies like a zillion times before). "How?" Brad retorted, arching one eyebrow inquiringly. "I don't know, it just IS," Angie sputtered in girlish exasperation, "anyway, you CAN'T set the why-balance off my panties." "They're white aren't they?" Brad asked reasonably enough. "Well, yeah..." she replied, blushing wildly. He was teasing her, she could see that now, but she sensed something hidden beneath the good-natured ribbing. This was more like the games they played most nights, upstairs in bed after they'd finished watching TV. Angie loved Brad's games; they were always cute and funny and deliciously naughty. Three nights ago, he'd filled her tummy button with chocolate sauce (putting a cherry on top for good measure). The sauce had been unbearably cold, but she'd enjoyed it immensely - especially after Brad started licking it out with his tongue. She'd screamed and kicked and squirmed in his arms, but after he'd finished, she'd begged him to do it again. And again. And again. [he'd done something else to her that night; something which also involved his tongue and a bottle of chocolate sauce - but she knew they wouldn't be doing anything like THAT until they got home this afternoon] "Well, yeah . they are," she finished, shuffling from foot to foot in an agony of indecision. "Well, I guess it's settled then," Bradley said, lifting the camera to eye-level. Angie could feel her defenses crumbling; Brad was waiting expectantly, and part of her secretly wanted to please him, the way she did at home. She was already tugging at her hemline, raising the dress to mid-thigh. Her arms were buzzing with gooseflesh, her heart drum- rolling with anticipation. This was so incredibly naughty: despite her tender years, Angie knew that little girls didn't just lift their skirts in public. Not on purpose, anyway. But then again... It wasn't much different to when Bradley filmed her hanging upside down from the Jungle Gym. Or when she came down the High Slide with her frock sailing around her waist. Or when she showed her friends how to do cartwheels on the grass. As a matter of fact, Brad had a small library of AVIs dedicated his little cousin. Angie getting dressed in the morning. Angie putting on her babydoll. Angie doing handstands in the backyard. Angie modeling her new underwear in front of the mirror; Angie dancing in her new underwear in front of the mirror. "A little higher now, Angel," Brad said, dropping to one knee in front of her. Angie looked down and discovered that she'd been twisting the frock between her fingers, unconsciously hoisting the curtain, so to speak. The hem was less that an inch from the tip of her panties. Her legs were trim and rather shapely for her age, the skin as pale as an English carnation. Angie stared up in round-lipped surprise, struggling to suppress her high, tinkling laughter. What was she DOING?! "Bradley," she sniggled breathlessly, unable to believe she was actually doing this. The front of Angie's skirt began to rise, just the barest flittering of red cotton. A sense of exhilaration filled her veins. She glanced away in childish denial, her cheeks glowing maraschino red. This was soooo embarrassing! Why did he always do this to her? "Come on, no need to be shy," Brad coaxed, gesturing with the camera. "we'll watch it tonight after we finish dinner." This was too much for Angie. Sputtering with repressed mirth, she hiked her dress up over her waist, her tiny feet dancing with excitement. White satin panties flashed into view, gleaming with an alabaster finish in the sunlight. Tight elastic trimmings dimpled her pearly flesh, floral lace insets embellished the hips. They were her prettiest undies; Brad had bought them for her last week, and she'd worn them especially for him, knowing he'd be watching her on the monkey bars this morning. Of course, she never dreamed she'd be offering him this 'sneak preview.' "All right, now - big smile for the camera," Brad instructed, pressing the zoom, "skirt right up to your chin, Angel-Girl." "Noooooooo!" Angie moaned, but the dress climbed up her bare torso all the same. Waves of sweet humiliation rolled through her tummy. He only needed her panties for the why-balance: why did she have to hold her frock so high? He didn't need to see her whole body, did he? Giggling uncontrollably, she posed for the digicam with her sleek, supple figure on exhibition. Brad tracked the camera up and down, marveling at the lush expanse of naked midriff spread out before him. Her nipples were dark and ripe, standing out on her chest in hard, crimson circles. They were surprisingly large for a child her age (perhaps announcing the onset of an early puberty). They provided Brad with literally hours of pleasure every week, particularly in early the morning. They'd been sharing a bed for five months now, almost since she first came into his care. Seeing them now - huge and red and throbbing with arousal - Brad began to wish they'd never left home. Much as he relished these Saturday morning expeditions, he could think of a few things he'd rather be doing at the moment (again, things involving his tongue and a bottle of chocolate sauce - as well as a more prominent section of his anatomy) Well, a promise was a promise, and Angie had earned her reward. He didn't want to disappoint her. Besides which, he needed new footage for the archive. Lowering his sights fractionally, Brad zoomed in on the girl's navel. Angie had one of those painfully cute belly-buttons that curved in like a tiny thimble. He'd always found it one of her most appealing features, and never lost an opportunity to explore it with a gently probing finger-tip. Even now, he couldn't resist tracing an index around its softly pursed rim. Reaching out with his right hand, he dipped his pointer inside her tummy- cup. Angie jumped in galvanic reaction. "Bradley, don't!" she squealed, jiggling her pantied hips, "that TICKLES!!" "Really?" he enquired politely, "well, how about this, then?" "NOOOO!! STOP IT! DOOOOON'T!!" Angie screamed at the top of her lungs. This was out and out torture; but for some reason, she didn't try to run away. The skirt remained poised at her shoulders, waving from side to side like a can-can dancer's petticoats. Chuckling under his breath, Brad continued spidering his fingers around her tummy, ignoring her shrieks and pleas. Stamping her little feet, Angie whipped her head from side to side, golden ringlets swishing around her face. "BRADLEY! STOP! DON'T TICKLE ME!! NOOOO!" The torture went on for close to a minute (and would have gone on considerably longer if not for the imminent risk of discovery). By the time they finished, Angie was trembling from crown to heel, pink-faced, short of breath and somewhat short of temper. He hadn't needed to do a why-balance at all! He'd just wanted to see her panties. And tickle her belly button while her skirt was up. "You're mean!" she said crossly, dropping her frock back to a more dignified position. Her hair was a mass of wild blond curls and her left shoulder strap had slipped half-way down her arm. She slid it back over her shoulder, pushing out her lower lip in a classic teenie-pout. "You always tickle me too much, Bradley!" "Hardly tickled you at all," Brad remarked, closing the LDC with an echoing click. "Yes, you did! And it wasn't funny." "You look so pretty when you're sulking." "I'm not sulking!" "Come over here and give me a kiss." "No!" she refused decisively, but her eyes were twinkling with sweet blue mischief. She hadn't really been angry with him: like all little girls, she adored a good tickling in the arms of big, strong man; especially when she had no choice in the matter. She just wanted him to make it up to her was all. And yes, she wanted to give him a kiss - along with a cuddle and a great big hug - but she wanted him to make her do it. The same way he did when they snuggled up in bed together. Fortunately, Brad could read her mind as easily as he could read her expression. "All right, that's it!" Brad said, rearing up off the ground with his arms outstretched, "I think it's time for a SPANKING." Angie screamed and ran down the path, woodchips scattering in every direction. She knew he wasn't really going to spank her, but the only thing better than being chased was being caught. Her toes scarcely touched earth as she bolted out of the clearing, but fast as she was, Bradley was on her in an instant. He swept her up with an ear-splitting roar, tossing her high overhead in a twisting spiral of arms and legs. The world turned upside down for an amazingly long moment, then she was plummeting into his hands, her dress filliping in the updraft. Gathering her voraciously against his chest, Bradley angled her head up so that her face was only an inch from his. She struggled in his grip like the heroine in a Victorian Romance - but she didn't struggle very hard. "What's it going to be Angel-Girl?" Brad rasped in his best Jimmy Cagney, "a kiss on the lips, or a smack on the fanny?" For an answer, Angie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. It was little more than a chaste, virginal press of the lips, but it was warm and sensuous; as pure as the love of a child. The kissed, they smooched, they spooned and they necked until Angie remembered why they'd come down here in the first place and asked to be put down. Brad placed her carefully on her feet (not without some regret; his rock hard member was threatening to burst its denim constraints). Still, he had quite a lot to look forward to. "So - Janey's going to be wearing a skirt today?" he asked, taking her hand as they set off down the trail. "Yeah," Angie replied, beaming up at him, "that long blue Scottish one you like so much." Bradley's eyebrows went up towards his hairline. Little Janey Glover in blue tartan? His blood-pressure started to spike, nostalgia poured through his mind in a flood of half-forgotten words (Tom-and-Becky-sitting-a-tree- K-I-S-S-I-N-G!). Remembering those long vanished playmates with their plaits and their skipping ropes and their dainty white underwear, he was glad they'd decided to come out this morning. Quite suddenly, he couldn't think of a better way to spend a weekend. As he'd noted earlier, the hidden benefits were more than adequate. PART TWO: LINDY & JANE Rounding a long, sloping bend, they emerged on the far side of the Fountain and were immediately engulfed in a drove of stampeding children. They surged past in a rush of knees and elbows, almost dragging Angie off in the deluge. Brad steered a course through the human tide, navigating towards the picnic benches beneath the weeping willows. Four or five regulars from Sole Parents were reclining in the shade, sipping fruit juice and trading the week's gossip. Two of them waved in Brad's direction, beckoning him forward. Four of the usual suspects were present; Mary Glover and Deborah Lambert from the Westside, Carol Thompson from Newtown Playgroup. Cathy Everett sat to one side, keeping watch on the kids. The Rituals of Greeting were observed, the obligatory wisecracks made. The whole process lasted around a minute, then Brad was planted comfortably in the center of the group, basking in their good-natured acceptance. He'd grown quite popular over the past few months, being one of the Society's few resident males. However, it was Angie who was the definitive center of attention. Kisses were lavished on her freckly cheeks; teasing fingers skittered over her neck and shoulders. Angela squealed with pleasure, lapping up the attention, then ran over to hide behind her cousin, blushing to the roots of her hair. Brad nodded along in casual satisfaction. None of it was empty flattery, his cousin was an unusually beautiful little girl. He'd noticed that young, single mothers were particularly susceptible to her huge, liquid eyes and baby-soft features. Any one of them would have been happy to pack her up and take her home for the weekend. "You want a drink of Fanta, honey?" Deborah Lambert offered, trying to coax her out from Bradley's shadow. Angie wasn't budging (she knew full well that Debbie only wanted to snatch her up and gobble her tummy), but her smile melted every heart within visual range. Brad checked the settings on his camcorder while the drink was poured, glancing discretely out towards the Playground. The Indian Fort was swarming with sun-dappled figures, clambering over the rope bridge and body surfing down the high-slide. A small party of boys congregated at the bottom of the monkey bars, yelling taunts out to the girls and making half-hearted attempts to chase them around the teeter-totters. Business as usual, in other words. Brad raised the digicam and clicked on the power. "There you go, sweet-heart," Debbie said, handing over a cup of garishly bright orange sludge. Angie stepped tentatively forward, reaching out for the saccharine horror. "What do you say?" Brad prompted without looking up. "Thank you," she trilled in her fluting soprano, then retreated before those girl-snatching hands could descend on her. This was, in fact, a much beloved game, one she'd played countless times before. Deborah Lambert was a world class tummy-gobbler; half the fun was evading her clutches until the end of the picnic. Angie stepped back behind her protector, placing a hand on his shoulder while she solemnly emptied her cup. Brad finished his preparations and slid the LCD into position, tracking slowly across the playing field. Just at that moment, Angie heard her name being called in sprite, keening tones. Everyone turned towards the Playground, grinning at the source of the disturbance. Two little girls were approaching at breakneck speed, their voices overlapping with exhilaration. Abandoning her cousin without a second's hesitation, Angie ran out to meet them, her hair whipping out in albino streamers. Lindy Thompson and Janey Glover came racing over from the swings, faces glowing like a pair of storm lanterns. Knees pumping and ponytails flying, they threw themselves onto their small, blond friend in a veritable gale of affection. Faces were kissed, bottoms were patted, and gigantic hugs exchanged all round. Words tumbled over each other in a geyser of liquid childspeak: Hi Angie we been playing over on th' swings and on th' slides and on th' bigspinnything andAlisonMillerwasdoingcartwheels andTommyNorbert felloffth' highslideandTracyDwightsaidthis andJeannieSaltersaidthat- And so on. Brad caught them on the display, tinkering with the contrast to capture their delicate skin tones. Both were wearing skirts and dresses, just as he'd been hoping. He couldn't stand seeing shorts on young girls, especially ones their age. Chamberlain's Municipal School Board had a lot to answer for, with its ass- backwards feminist policies and ugly unisex dress codes. Well, no matter; it was the middle of summer, school was out, and they could dress any way they pleased. He panned slowly down their lithe figures, taking in the lush curves, the trim, supple limbs. Both girls were extremely pretty - not quite as beautiful as Angie, in some respects - but sweet, saucy and endearingly cute all the same. Lindy was wearing a canary-yellow sun frock, the kind with a high, nipped bodice and a key-hole neckline. Jane's ensemble included a loose white top and a blue plaid skirt clipped at the waist with a big silver safety pin. Brad inhaled in a long, silent breath, feeling a subtle warmth spreading through his bloodstream. All three were standing in a conspiratorial huddle, exchanging whispers and naughty girlish snickers. Their bottoms poked out at luscious, tempting angles; Brad zoomed in to record each one in turn. Lindy's dress was so brief that it barely covered her underpants, Angie's so sheer that her pert, ripe cheeks were visible through the fabric. Jane's skirt was neither brief nor sheer, but the blue tartan was indescribably sexy nevertheless (Tom-and-Becky-sitting-a-tree, K-I-S-S-I- N-G!). Brad's manhood started to pulse in time to his galloping heartbeat. He couldn't wait to see what they were wearing underneath. Well, he'd be finding out soon enough. The conspirators had almost finished their scheming; whatever they had planned, they were almost ready to begin. He could tell by the furtive glances they kept casting over their shoulders. Fingers pointed, feet shuffled and eyes twinkled as a decision was reached. What was it going to be this time? The Indian Fort? The Fireman's Pole? The Spider's Nest?! Under normal circumstances, Brad would have laid odds on the Swings. Little girls have a scientifically documented preference for swings, he'd read about it in the Harvard Journal of Medicine. Of course, Bradley knew better on this occasion. He knew his cousin. "OK, let's go play!!" Angie declared, practically bursting from her skin. Lindy and Jane squealed their approval, dancing back and forth in barely suppressed enthusiasm. Linking hands from left to right, the three girls spun towards the playground and tore off toward the Jungle-Gym. PART THREE: THE JUNGLE GYM "Last one up has to kiss Tommy Norbert!" Lindy yelled. Screaming with laughter, they streaked across the turf, hemlines whipping about their thighs. Angie's heart was racing in her chest; a warm, mellow glow pervaded her features. Releasing her grip on Janey's hand, she sprinted forward as fast as midnight lightening, eager to reach the bars first. Her frock molded around her girlish form, the front kicking up over her waist. She made no attempt to hold it down: shy though she was, she was completely swept away in the excitement of the moment. The Climbing Grid was a complex iron scaffold at the center of the Fort. A tall, looming structure fully ten yards long, it was teeming with children, mostly girls from Angie's neighborhood. Close on a score swung precariously through the trellis, chortling with pleasure. The older ones wore oversized t-shirts and those awful spandex bike shorts that had grown so popular this summer. Only a few had deigned to dress au femme that morning, but they seemed to be attracting more than their fair share of interest. A smattering of boys bolted to and fro underneath, grabbing at their heels and daring them to cross the gauntlet. Reaching the Grid slightly ahead of her friends, Angie hauled herself up two bars at a time: two-four-six- eight-SLAP. The Jungle Gym seemed implausibly steep, a vast, rambling tower overlooking most of the Domain. Once at the top, the three girls perched together, gazing out towards the weeping willows. Somewhere in the middle distance, Brad stood at the edge of the playing field, filming them as discretely as possible. The girls swapped shy, giggly smiles, their eyes positively gleaming with anticipation. Who was going to go first? Who was going to lead the way? What they had in mind was so indisputably naughty they couldn't decide one way or the other. Jane and Lindy finally ganged up on their pretty blond accomplice: the whole thing had been Angie's idea, so she had to go first. Nibbling on her lower lip, Angela dropped through the bars and made for the center of the Grid. A chill breeze seemed to flitter up her dress despite the heat of the day. In a few seconds she'd be hanging upside down with her flimsy white panties on full display! Every boy in the world was going to see what she was wearing! Worse still, she knew most of them; half the kids in her grade seemed to be scrambling 'round beneath her feet. Looking back over her shoulder, she noticed her cousin kneeling on the grass about thirty feet away, his face masked by the camcorder. The zoom was tilted upward and the little red light was blinking. Evidently he'd moved in closer for a better shot. Angie giggled, knowing what he must have been seeing. This was all so unfair! None of it had been her idea, it had all been his! Why did she have to go first? She pendulumed back and forth beneath the bars, grinning impishly as the dress rode up to the tops of her thighs. Brad almost fumbled the camera as Angie splayed her legs. The view was utterly heart-stopping from this angle; her silky white gusset was stretched taut between her open thighs. He fine-tuned the resolution, bringing the gauzy satin into sharp focus. The hem skipped a little higher. For one breathtaking moment he could see the tight elastic trim encircling her waist, then the frock dropped back down into place. It was just the barest glimpse, but Brad felt the fever blazing through his system like a brushfire. This was going to be good. Angie swung nimbly across the Grid with the boys nipping playfully at her ankles (Tommy Norbert almost made off with her left shoe), dodging through the crowd with practiced ease. Pausing half way across, she threw Brad a secret, teasing glance, then kicked her feet up over her head. Hooking her knees over the bar, she slung herself upside down - and the show began. Thick blond tresses swept towards the ground as Angie's dress billowed inside out. Her panties went on public display; sheer white full briefs with dainty lace traceries on the front and sides. The gossamer fabric shimmered like platinum in the mid-morning sun. Angie wriggled her hips. The frock slipped another four inches down her midriff, baring her torso far as the belly-button. Half a dozen boys gawped up at the spectacle, their expressions dazed and startled. Brad was similarly frozen to the spot. Breath catching in his throat, he zoomed in for an extreme close-up, relishing the creamy smoothness of her thighs. Her flesh was unbelievably soft, particularly around the tummy and bottom (the latter of which was going to be spanked bright pink the moment he got her home and naked). The plump mound of her labia was bulging through her panties. He could just make out the shape of her cleft beneath the filmy satin. He panned back to a mid-shot, scanning for her full figure (if only those damned bars weren't blocking the view) and discovered that her dress had inverted all the way down to her throat. Having no real waistline, it clung to her shoulders by nothing more than a hope and a prayer, threatening to fall off her body at the merest touch. Her tiny nipples poked out from her ivory chest, their tips sharpened to straining red pins. Brad exhaled silently, recalling how he'd tweezed them between his teeth earlier that morning. Returning the lens to her underwear, he noticed some movement off to the right and moved the camera to investigate. Brad's pulse-rate almost flatlined with surprise: it was the other two! Lindy and Jane were clambering over to join her! He'd forgotten all about them the second Angie's frock went south. Brad repositioned himself, shifting back a few paces to catch all three in frame. This was too good an opportunity to miss. Most of his footage consisted exclusively of his cousin: now, two of the prettiest girls in Chamberlain were about to bare their panties! Clicking over into steadycam, he balanced himself for the shot. Lindy went over first. Tilting her head back, Linda drew her knees up to her chin and slipped her feet through the rungs (offering Brad a generous view of her prim cotton gusset in the process). Easily the oldest of the three (eleven last spring), she had reached that slim, coltish stage where her legs looked impossibly long and limber. Their length was further emphasized by the stripy black stay- ups she habitually wore. Bradley felt his jeans tighten around the cup. She really was one sassy little miss. If she'd been his daughter . Well, best not to go there right now. Voicing a high, giggly squeal, Lindy doubled her legs over the bar and dropped herself into position. Her short yellow sundress inverted over her head, unveiling her flimsy cotton panties in the wink of an eye. They were high-cut bikini briefs with a rather spicy floral pattern. Brad's eyes widened with surprise; they looked entirely too mature for such a petite young thing. Lindy had recently developed a preference for cheeky, feminine underwear, and appeared to be taking great pleasure in showing them off. Pawing lightly at her dress, she toggled her bottie-cheeks from side to side, bubbling over with excitement. The inside lining of her frock slid down another six inches, peeling away to her rib-cage - And then it was Janey's turn to uncover her panties. Nine year old Jane Glover was a slim, lean-legged child with an alabaster complexion and red-gold hair. Normally rather demure, the thought of hanging upside down from the Jungle Gym made her head spin with embarrassment. As Brad had noted earlier, she usually wore shorts to the Playground, careful to safeguard her dignity from wandering eyes. Yet here she was, dangling from the grid in her long blue skirt with half the boys in Chamberlain looking on! The temptation had simply proven too much for her. Well, too late to back out now - her friends would never let her get away with it. Folding sinuously from the waist, Janey swept her legs up in a graceful arc, pointing her toes at the sky. Her kilt fell away at the back, exposing her panty-clad bottom in a flutter of indigo pleats. Locking her knees into place, she released her hands and hung topsy-turvy from the bars. Tinkling, girlish laughter floated through the Playground: the front of Jane's skirt was caught between her thighs; only HALF her panties were on display! Face burning beet-red, Janey reached down and started pulling the kilt up at the sides. Such shamelessly modest behavior couldn't go unchallenged. Lindy's hand darted out, snatching at the tartan wrap. Jane slapped it away with a shriek, then turned to fend off Angie's sneak attack. A brief struggle ensued. The hapless redhead never stood a chance, needless to say. Two sets of fingers snagged the plaid material, and the skirt was finally (and irrevocably) dislodged. All three screamed in delight as Jane's silken panties were revealed in all their glory. Brad leaned forward and zoomed in for another penetrating close-up. Candy-bright nylon suddenly filled the LCD. Janey's full-brief undies clung to her skin like the world's mildest sunburn, glittering with iridescent highlights. A dainty pink frill encircled the waistband, intricate lace traceries adorned the hips. The gusset looked as though it had been airbrushed onto her pert little vulva. Brad shifted uncomfortably, feeling his erection spiking upwards (he'd have to be careful to adjust his clothing when he stood up later. Deborah Lambert had eyes like a frigging hawk, and he couldn't afford to trigger any maternal alarms). He tracked the digicam 'round in a wide circle, targeting her shapely thighs, her snowy white tummy. She had one of those impudent little belly buttons that poked out like a ripe raspberry. Brad moistened his lips with the edge of his tongue, trying to imagine how it would taste. He'd have to figure out some way to get her over for an evening; maybe a slumber party or a video night. Then he could have all three under the same roof. Wouldn't be too difficult to arrange, considering his sterling reputation around Sole Parents. Brad paused, lowering the camera slightly as he turned the idea over in his mind. Because suddenly, the idea didn't seem so far fetched. Everyone in the group trusted him, knew he was prepared to share in the child-minding roster. Carol Thompson had even broached on the subject a few times, asking if he'd like to register for the babysitter's exchange. In addition, most of the women would probably sell their souls for a night out on the town, free from the domestic grindstone. Yes, Brad thought, a video night would be just the thing. If he could get Angie to invite them over next Friday . They'd watch Mulan or The Lion King or some equally vacuous Disney offering, then he'd take them upstairs, where the evening's entertainment would REALLY begin. He'd undress them one at a time, stripping them down to their briefs and then to their bare flesh, kissing and stroking and fondling as each layer came off. He'd herd them into the bed, naked and helpless as new-born babes, and climb in after them with his massive weapon primed and ready. And then he'd FUCK them. Each in turn, he'd drive his cast-iron member into their warm, moist pussies, making them wail in pain and ecstasy. Angie first, panting and moaning and gasping his name; then Janey, her indigo-blue eyes brimming with tears; and finally Linda - weeping and sobbing as he opened her legs and shoved his harpoon up inside her. And once he'd finished with her . he'd start again. He'd have them the whole night long, groping and raping and feeling and fucking until the room grew light and they collapsed in barely satisfied exhaustion. All in good time, Brad reminded himself. He still had to get through this morning with its Indian Forts and picnics and endless games of tag. He stood up and stepped back a couple of yards, trying for a wide-angle shot to capture the whole scene: the wrestling battalions over by the merry-go-round, the mad scuffles in the Lookout Tower. Mary Glover would want to see the playback (she always did), so he'd need to show her some footage that didn't resemble a pedophile's wet- dream. Especially if I want to fuck her daughter next week, he thought, savoring the obscenity for no apparent reason. He panned across the entire playing field, focusing on nothing in particular, willing his erection to subside before he returned to the picnic tables. This would prove to be a slow and rather difficult process; his constantly eyes circled back to his young cousin, still oscillating under the Grid with everything on show. Once again, she was the cynosure, the center of attention. Seemed like every gaze in the park was directed at her. Lindy and Jane looked utterly mesmerized by her presence. Who could blame them? Angie's charms were little short of captivating. It had taken her only a matter of seconds to persuade them to bare their panties on the Jungle Gym - even Janey, who hardly ever wore skirts to the Playground. Brad suspected they'd do just about anything she asked them. A dark - and rather rapacious - smile crossed his features. This was going to be easier than he thought. TO BE CONTINUED EMAIL ME FOR NEXT INSTALLMENT: THE VIDEO NIGHT. gm@mrdouble.com *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. 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 prison. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 27