| Carly, Chapter 1 I am a predator. I don't like the term. When I think of predators I think of mean and nasty flesh eating beasts like big cats and sharks. I'm not like that; mean and nasty, at least I don't think I am. I know there are many ways to hurt people other than physically. The pain and scars from those other types of injuries are often worse than the physical kind. As I look at the redhead curled up on the other side of my bed all wrapped up in the sheet, I think for the first time that maybe I can change. She's awakened something in me, some spark of deep emotions I haven't felt in years. I'm almost ready to say the word ... love. The funny thing is she started out like all the rest, a target, a victim, a lamb to be lead to the slaughter. Oh God, there's that awful analogy again. Funnier still is that she wasn't even the original target. It was her daughter. That pretty little teenager had fallen so easily into my web that I had to ask myself who was manipulating whom. I really needed to pee and, as I was walking naked across the room I noticed that the square bottle with the antique looking white on black label only had about an inch in the bottom. I made a mental note to pick up some more; it just didn't last like it used to... I decided that a shower would be a good idea. I'm about half painted in pussy juice. The shower, that's where it all started twenty years ago. I'd searched for my mentors for so long without success that I'd be hard pressed to tell you why I hadn't given up. With the life changing relationship that might be blossoming, I find myself going back; back to the other pivotal moments that brought me to where I am today. You'd never suspect, with all I've done, that I was a shy preteen, a wall flower. To make matters worse we moved the year I graduated from elementary school. I entered high school without a friend in the world. I couldn't even make a friend among my own freshman classmates. They'd all gone through elementary school together and the cliques were formed and full. If I'd been more aggressive or talkative, maybe I would have fit in with them more, but as I said, I was shy. I'm sure that was a result of the relationship I had with my mother, but I didn't want to go there right now, as I adjusted the water temperature of the shower. No, I wanted to recall the day I met Amy Mitchell... Amy was a junior, two years ahead of me in school, so it was strange that we struck up a friendship when I seemed to be unable to get any socialization happening in my own age group. You might think Amy was an outcast too, and that's what drew us together, but you'd be wrong. She was quite popular so when she initiated a conversation that day I felt honored. I was sitting, as usual by myself, out at one of the picnic tables during lunch break. She just strolled up and parked herself on the other side of the table as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She was blonde, out-going and popular; pretty much all the things I wasn't. She started asking me questions, like: where did I come from and where did I go to school before I came here, stuff like that. The conversation lasted maybe fifteen minutes and it was all about me. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had even cared to ask, much less listen. I was feeling so special that when she got up to leave saying that she had to get to class I was so disappointed I could have cried. She was walking away and in what appeared to be an after thought turned back and asked me if I liked to swim. I told her I did and she came back to the table and wrote her name, address and phone number on the front of my History notebook. "If ya wanna stop by for a swim on Saturday, give me a call," she said. Then she turned and was gone. I didn't need to think about it, but if she'd stayed she might have had to wait for an answer only because the offer took my breath away. I was so excited the rest of the week seemed to drag on forever. I was up early on Saturday morning and looked at the clock about every two minutes wondering how early I could call. I managed to wait until ten even though it nearly killed me. I had mentioned the invite to my mother earlier in the week. She, of course, had asked a million questions, most of which I didn't know the answers to. She looked down her nose at me like she often did and reluctantly, as if she was doing me the biggest favor in the world, agreed that I could go. That was the first time I can remember having the thought that, no matter what she said, I was going. As well as being shy I was a very obedient child. I hadn't disobeyed an order since I was two, but this was important enough for me to step out of my compliant 'good daughter' persona. Fortunately that wasn't necessary. I probably don't need to tell you that the woman who answered the door on that fateful Saturday morning looked as if she were an older version of Amy. Her hair was darker, I think they call it dishwater blonde, and it was shorter, but the resemblance was remarkable. She greeted me with a huge smile. "You must be Carly! What an adorable name for an adorable girl." As she spoke she leaned forward and took me by the shoulders. The green dress she wore was a simple shift made of thin cotton. I think some people refer to them as house dresses. When she leaned down to look in my eyes the neck of the dress fell away and I found myself looking at her pendulous boobs hanging inside. I could see all of them; all the way to the large dark reddish brown caps. In fact, I could see almost all the way to her waist. It gave me a really funny felling in my tummy and instinctively I knew I shouldn't be looking down there. When I looked back at her face she was still smiling at me, but the smile had changed in a way that I can't describe. Missus Mitchell stayed in that bent forward position for quite a few more seconds before she finally stood up. I couldn't help taking another peek down her dress as we stood there in the front doorway. I don't know why it affected me the way it did, except that my mother would never walk around like that; without her underwear on, I mean. I had never seen my mother (at least not that I could recall) anything but
fully clothed. "The girls are out back by the pool ... I'll show you the way." Amy's mother put her arm around me and guided me through her very rich looking home. As we walked I could feel her full unfettered breast squishing against the top of my shoulder. She opened the patio doors that went out from a room with couches and chairs arranged around a big hearth. Amy was sitting on the pool deck beside another girl in a lounge chair. I had seen her red haired companion around school but I didn't know her name. Amy noticed me and lit up. "That was quick," she commented. It had only been about fifteen minutes since I'd phoned her. "Got your suit?" I was immediately embarrassed. The two older girls were wearing pretty revealing two piece bathing suits. I was admiring their figures and wondering if I'd look like that in two years, when my new friend asked about my suit. I thought about the juvenile one piece I was wearing under my shorts and t-shirt and probably started to blush. "Yeah, I got it on," was all I could say. I just stood there beside them holding the little knap sack I'd brought with my towel and underwear in it. "Pull up a chair honey," the redhead on the lounge invited. They were both wearing really cool sunglasses and I didn't have any. "This is Agnes," Amy introduced the other girl as I pulled one of the deck chairs over closer to the lounge. "Why don't you get down to your suit ... it's hot out here!" In spite of the fact that it wasn't quite eleven o'clock she was right; the day was going to be a scorcher. "Hi" I greeted her other guest then I pulled my t-shirt over my head and undid my shorts. I told myself that it had to be my imagination; the other girls weren't really staring at me. I couldn't actually see exactly where they were looking because of the glare off the lenses of their shades. Another wave of shame washed over me as I stuffed my clothes into the beach bag. I remembered arguing with my mom when I got the red, white and blue one piece last year; trying to get her to let me at least try on the two piece suits. She wouldn't hear of it. To make matters even worse, the suit was getting a bit small. When I bent to stow my clothes I felt the seat ride up into my crack, exposing half my ass. I stood up and was trying to tug it down when Amy shifted positions. She'd been sitting on the deck sort of hugging her knees. Now she laid out supporting her weight on her arms extended out behind her. Treated to the full length view of the very nicely developing sixteen-year-old body, my tummy did another flip that I interpreted as jealousy. As soon as I sat down all my hard work adjusting the butt of the suit was undone. I could feel the synthetic material trying to disappear between my cheeks. Amy was speaking to Agnes. "Did you see the new girl in Missus Carter's class?" she asked. "Yeah, I think her name's Marianne or something like that," the redhead replied. "Hasn't she got a great body?" our host asked. "She sure has big tits," Agnes commented in reply. "They're not any nicer than yours," Amy countered as she got to her knees. "Hers are bigger than mine," the redhead on the lounge returned. "I don't know, yours are pretty big," my new blonde friend said. She was kneeling beside the lounge looking directly at Agnes' chest. I was totally shocked by the direction the conversation was taking. My friends and I (when I'd had friends) were checking each other out constantly but we would never have had the nerve to actually discuss our observations. 'Is this what older girls talk about' I wondered. What happened next nearly floored me. Amy put her hands on Agnes' breasts and began to squeeze and knead them. I felt like someone or something had suddenly grabbed me between the legs. I actually had to bit my lip to suppress a squeal of shock. "What do you think Carly? Doesn't Aggie have beautiful boobies?" As she said this, the kneeling blonde pulled the bra cups down and to the side exposing the redhead's very well developed mammaries. The large misty pink areolas were visibly getting darker when Amy's hands started playing with the bared flesh. "Oh Amy ... you're gonna make me all hard and pointy," the redhead was saying and it came out something like a groan. "I know I like 'em like that ... don't you Carly?" This time she actually looked at me when she asked the question. I could see her thumbs moving the flexible pegs she'd raised back and forth. I was really hoping the question was rhetorical because the butterfly swarm in my tummy had slipped lower and I was now having embarrassing urges rising from my cookie. I was sure that if I tried to speak that my voice would give away the feelings I was having. My own nipples were tingling in sympathy with the tweaking Agnes was getting. "Oh God ... oh God Amy ... you're gonna make me make a mess in my bottoms," the redhead sighed. I noticed her head was tipped back and her eyes were closed but she wasn't doing anything to prevent our blonde friend's caress. "Then we should take them off ... we should all take our suits off." So saying, she reached behind her back and pulled out the bow that was holding her top in place. As soon as it was released she pulled the neck string over her head and tossed her bathing suit top aside. A thunderbolt struck directly between my legs and this time I couldn't prevent the little squeal from escaping. That's when I first realized that what the girl on the lounge was wearing was more like a sun suit than a swimsuit. There was a fairly big bow tied in the yellow material between her exposed breasts. Amy pulled the bow out and completed the removal of Aggie's top. When they both started to skin off their bottoms, I thought I was going to faint. It happened so fast I had no time to prepare. Both of my new friends, my new older friends, were naked. Amy stood up to get the lower half of her bikini off, and now she was walking over to my chair. I couldn't keep my eyes from going to her crotch. There was a small tuft of blonde curls above her delicate pink folds. Of course, I had never seen another girl's sex before except for very furtive glances in gym class; hell, I had barely looked at my own. Now Amy's pussy was no more than two feet from my face. I'm sure my mouth was hanging open and that I was a shade darker then your average ripe tomato. My nervous stomach was churning and the sensation between my legs was like nothing I had ever felt before. Occasionally in the last year I had touched myself down there, usually when I was in the bath or shower, maybe once or twice in bed. The sensations and feelings I got kind of scared me, so I always stopped pretty quickly. Now those same kinds of feelings were gnawing at my cookie without any physical contact; except maybe this was worse. When I touched my pussy I could always stop, but I didn't know how to stop this. "Come on Carly ... you get naked too," Amy said, as she pulled the straps off my shoulders. It was surreal. My mind refused to believe this was actually happening. In fact, the recording portion of my brain was functioning perfectly, because I would later recall everything that happened, but at that moment I had turned into a zombie. The naked blonde peeled the juvenile swim suit down to my waist and then put her hands under my arms and lifted me out of the chair. I was looking down at her as she pulled it the rest of the way over my hips and legs, down to my ankles. She was kneeling again when she lifted one foot after the other threading the one piece completely off. Standing in the shower in the present, under the warm water, I was shivering now just as I'd done that day beside the Mitchell's pool. I was running my soapy hands over my breasts as the images of that day, so long ago, swirled in my mind. My right hand automatically went to explore the yearning at the apex of my thighs. Fighting for recognition was a feeling of inferiority as I looked at Agnes' filled out form on the lounge. She had one hand behind her head and watched with obvious interest as our mutual friend stripped me. Her large boobs lolled to the outsides of her chest. I looked back at Amy who'd gotten to her feet and was now standing in front of me. Her boobies were smaller and the plump mounds rode high and stood out proudly from her chest. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop myself from looking down at my own breasts. It had only been in the last six months or so that they even deserved the title. The small protrusions topped with the pink 'half ping pong ball' caps were barely a handful even for me. In the tittie derby Aggie was the clear winner, Amy was second by a couple of lengths and I was a distant third. I had to fight the modesty reflex that would have caused me to put one hand over my crotch, my arm across my boobs and hunch up in a ball to hide my nakedness. My older role model friends were displaying their charms without the slightest hint of embarrassment—so why couldn't I? The answer of course was that I had so much less in the charms department to display, at least in my mind. It would have shocked me at that time to know that a lot of people would disagree. One of them was Amy's mother. "She has a nice little body don't ya think?" my blonde assailant asked our redheaded friend who was still reclining on the lounge. "Mmm-hmm," Aggie agreed, and the affirmative hum sounded quite enthusiastic. "Let's go skinny dipping!" Amy suggested. "Last one in has to kiss the first one's pussy!" She was in motion toward the water before she even finished issuing the challenge. Obviously she was first. I was standing and so had an advantage over Agnes; but in my shocked, nervous, embarrassed, zombie like state it wasn't nearly enough. The redhead executed a smooth dive into the shimmering blue water before I had even digested the rules. We swam around for a couple of minutes before Amy hoisted herself on to the edge of the pool and said, "I'm ready to collect my prize." The swimming had loosened some of my tension, but seeing my host sitting on the edge, feet dangling in the water, with her legs wide apart took my breath away. I put my feet on the bottom and noticed that my legs were like jelly. If it weren't for the buoyancy I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to stand. After what seemed like a long time of me standing there trying to catch my breath, Amy called out, "Come on ... be a sport!" I was back in that trance again, the one where none of this was really happening; or at least it wasn't happening to me. I waded across the ten feet between us in water up to my armpits. My host obviously knew her pool well and had judged my height accurately too. As I approached it was apparent that her cookie was exactly at the right level. The explicit view of her girlhood mesmerized me and I just stood there gazing at it for what, again, seemed like a long time but it was probably only seconds. For some stupid reason I thought it looked like ham on a bun. The thin slices of ham were all folded and protruding from the bun of her outer lips. Viewing it as food, my distorted mind wondered what it tasted like. I leaned forward and planted a very tentative gentle kiss on my sandwich. The wet crinkly pubes on my nose did sort of spoil the illusion. I wondered if it was like kissing someone on the mouth. Yeah, believe it or not I had never done that. I thought I heard Amy sigh. The contact was very light and probably didn't last a whole second. When I looked up at her I saw an expression that I didn't recognize at all. Some time later I would come to know it as lust. Our eyes met for an instant and then I swam off. I'd sort of thought I'd be disgusted, but I wasn't. It shocked me to the core that I actually wished there was a reason to do it again. Swimming away I noticed missus Mitchell on the patio, maybe thirty feet away. She had a cigarette in her hand and was watching the action in the pool. I wondered if she'd seen what I'd just done to her daughter. I didn't know about the photographs until much later. My heart skipped a beat thinking she was going to start ranting about the three of us paddling around naked, but she just stood there smoking and sipping on a beer. My mother would have had a massive heart attack followed by a tirade of epic proportions. Recalling the first time my lips had ever contacted a vulva coincided with my fingers engaging my clit. I stroked the firm nubbin, feeling the wonderful pleasure sensations wash over me blotting out the pulsations of the cascading shower. Remembering my initial terror at seeing Amy's mother watching us dampened things for a moment. I regressed to applying more soap to my tender breasts, and tweaked the hard points as I continued my trip down memory lane. We swam and goofed around like the teenagers that we were for the rest of the afternoon. I was in heaven being treated more or less as an equal by the two older girls. I sort of felt as if I was their little sister. There were times that I almost forgot we were naked. Missus Mitchell didn't. We'd collapsed onto the lounges and were resting enjoying the warm sun when Missus Mitchell brought out snacks. I saw her walk across the patio toward the pool. The sun shining through the thin dress made it clear that the cotton shift was all she had on. I was ashamed of myself when I felt disappointed I wasn't in position to look down her dress again when she put the tray down. "Can you stay for dinner Carly?" she asked me before she turned back toward the house. I so wanted to say yes. I was having so much fun I never wanted it to end but I didn't need to make the call to know what the answer would be. "No I'm sorry I have to be home by around five," I replied with real regret. "Well you better come in right after your snack then 'cause it's already nearly four." "It's OK I've got my clothes out here," I told her. "You really need to come in and get the chlorine off or it'll make your skin really dry." I didn't argue and she wasn't insistent. I did think I saw Amy sort of roll her eyes when her mother said about rinsing off but I put it down to my imagination. It was a nice snack with carrots, celery and green pepper spears on one platter with a cucumber dill dip in the middle. There was another platter with fruit and plain yogurt for a dip; that and a pitcher of a delicious fruit punch. I was thirsty and downed the first tumbler of punch in about two gulps. After that I felt kind of dizzy. I ate more than my share of the cut up fruit and veggies while more carefully sipping a second glass of juice. We were chatting about various things while we munched but by the time we finished I was having trouble concentrating. I thought I was just tired from all the exercise. The heady experience of being befriended by these two gorgeous older girls had also made me feel lighter than air all day. "Carly ... it's almost four-thirty" Amy's mother called from the patio doors. I was surprised at how spastic my fingers were when I tried to wrap the towel around myself. I finally managed to get it secured above my tiny boobs. When I bent over to pick up my bag I nearly went head first into one of the lounges. I said my 'good-byes' and 'see ya Monday' but my tongue didn't seem to work right either. I couldn't remember when I've ever felt that unsteady on my feet and for a while, crossing the patio, it seemed like the house was getting further away. When I reached the house Missus Mitchell was waiting for me just inside the door. "The shower's right over here" she said, then took my bag and added "Let me help you." I felt like saying that I didn't need any help to take a shower but I wasn't actually sure that was true. We went into a room that was all tiled in natural tones and textures with a huge shower stall. There were jets from every direction and my blonde friend's mother turned it on creating a vortex of sprays. I had never seen anything like it and just stood there transfixed by the sight. She was smiling sweetly at me when she loosened my towel and took it off. I nearly stumbled again as I started toward the focused nozzles. "Whoa..." she said grabbing my arm to steady me "I better go in with you. I don't want you falling and have your parents sue me." She pulled her house dress over her head as if she did it twenty times a day. Even through unfocused eyes she was a sight to behold. I wasn't ashamed any more when a big power surge went through my cookie. I was fascinated by how her pear shaped boobs moved when she guided me into the intense spray. Thinking back on it later, I did recall noticing the camera set on the tripod; I just didn't make anything of it at the time. Amy's mother moved me to where I was more in a mist than a direct spray and began to apply a soap or lotion (I'm not sure which) all over me. Her hands felt so wonderful that I really thought I was floating away. She squeezed my breasts and played with my nipples until they were really hard. Her slippery fingers teasing those sensitive buttons made my cookie ache and beg for attention. My head was spinning and I nearly keeled over again. Missus 'M' guided me over to a platform. I don't know if it was a bench or a shelf. It was pretty high to be a bench. I felt pretty comfortable now that I was sitting. By comfortable, I mean I wasn't afraid of falling over anymore, but the crampy tightness between my legs just kept getting worse. The older woman was kneeling in front of me, pushing my legs apart. I didn't resist even though somewhere in the back of my mind a little voice was saying 'you're not supposed to let anybody look down there.' That was OK because Missus 'M' didn't look for long. When her tongue penetrated the outer lips and began to caress the inner ones, a wave of heat rose up from my crotch that made me think I was going to burst into flame. The hot flush was immediately followed by a tingling feeling all over like electricity on my skin—under my skin. It didn't really follow the heat, because the heat was still there. It was more like it accompanied or was added on top. When her tongue pressed on my clit (I didn't know that's what it was at the time, just that she was poking and prodding something near the top of my pussy) an explosion like I couldn't have imagined shook my body and brain. I think I screamed—I know I passed out. In my simple single head shower back in the here and now, my orgasm was very pleasant but nothing like the consciousness taking explosion of my first. Recalling that unbelievable sensation, I wondered if it could ever be achieved again. I'd come close (pun intended) but damn-it I sure wasn't through trying. With a deep shudder from an aftershock I got out and dried off. I slipped a cotton shift over my head and I was good to go. Little trick I learned from an old friend. That thought amused me and I chuckled. 'I learned almost everything I'd ever need to know from that one blonde lesbian with the irresistible daughter.' I went back in the bedroom and kissed my red-haired bedmate on the top of her head and struck out for the studio. The studio I am renting is only about six blocks from the house where I used to live and work is located. After ten years of running my photography business out of my home, I decided to get a separate studio. The whole ten years weren't in the house on Maple Avenue. I was only there for about three. What convinced me to separate my business from my home were nosey neighbors. I was starting to feel like the steady flow of young women and girls was attracting too much attention. It wasn't the first time I'd had that concern. As a matter of fact that's why I left the place previous to Maple Avenue. I don't like moving and though I may have to relocate the business for similar reasons at least it won't (shouldn't) affect my residence in the future. I just don't want to end up like the Mitchells. The session with Lisa wasn't due to start until three-thirty but I had some tidy up to do with the sets and needed to touch up the photo's from the session with Megan and the adorable twelve year old she'd brought with her a couple of days ago. 'What was her name... ? Charlotte! Of course how could I forget? Her friends called her Charley ... Charley and Carly ... who'd believe it?' As soon as I opened the file and saw the first picture of her and Megan kissing, my pussy went into spasm. 'Oh you're really ready for a grown up monogamous relationship; aren't you?' The spasm turned to a throb as I loaded the photos into the editor; each one a little more explicit than the last. I had several sites I could sell the work to but I wasn't thinking about that as I fixed up the lighting and color balance. I was thinking how easy and relatively safe it had become to do kiddy porn. That was the Mitchells downfall—I thought. It was all hard copy and labor intensive to get the material out there and make a buck at it. The risk was almost unimaginable to me in the age of the net. I reminded myself to check my schedule for the legit' and marginally profitable part of the business. I thought I had a wedding or something this weekend but I really couldn't remember. That mainstream business comes to me. I make no effort to solicit it at all. Most often, it's referrals and references from former clients. 'Why don't you do a shitty job so nobody will recommend you?' I often asked myself, but I knew the answer. First was my OC personality that wouldn't let me do anything 'half-assed'; second was my artistic integrity and pride; finally there was the fact that I needed some above board work as a front for the porn. 'If you didn't get the referrals you'd have to go out and advertise or put some effort into sales one way or another ... that would be a pain. Yeah ... but do you have to be so good that you win awards? I guess not.' I agreed with myself looking at my trophy case. The trophies had come in handy more than once convincing some nubile young teen that this was all for the art. They were definitely not 'good for nothing'. They'd certainly helped with Lisa. She is the first African American girl I've shot in quite some time and I have my lover's red haired daughter to thank for it. Thinking about the up coming photo session with the black girl I couldn't help reminiscing about meeting the fifteen year old redhead and later her mother; the woman who was on the verge of changing my life. I met her at the petting zoo. Frankly soliciting new talent that way gave me the willies. It's so dangerous, but I had a shortage of talent, and orders too fill. It was the same situation that faced me when I had recruited Tracy at that art show in the park a year or so ago. Tracy still did shoots sometimes but she'd gone kind of mainstream. I knew she had a boyfriend—I wasn't sure how far they'd gone. All in all I'd been lucky. I had five girls who were regularly available to do shoots. The problem was they grow up too fast. Only two of my five regulars was still young enough looking for the more discerning clientele. The more discerning clients were, of course, the ones who also paid the most. The ideal way to recruit new talent was through the girls themselves; bringing their friends along. Like Tracy had done with the adorable and so cooperative little Lucia. I had exhausted my current stable's existing contacts and was forced to go on the prowl. It was definitely the hair that first caught my attention when the cute fifteen year old strolled near where I was taking photos of the baby goats. By her skin coloration I could tell that if there'd been any adjustments to God's hair color selection that they were minor. Her pale lightly freckled skin was the kind that looked perpetually young; very young. Very young in my business is very good. The lessons I'd learned from Amy's mother always stood me in good stead. That and ten years of doing this on my own made me a pretty good judge of which teenagers and tweenagers would be receptive to the offer of becoming a porn star. It was never stated that bluntly. In fact, there were a few who had their whole careers pass without actually understanding what it was they were doing. In some ways they were the best. There was no need to encourage and coach them to look innocent and maybe a little scared; it came naturally. That's also why the first shoot—if I could get it explicit enough—was often the best. Caution was the watch word, because a misfire could spell disaster. I never knew for sure if that's what happened to Amy and her mom. I'd become a star in their stable and was soon hooked on photography. I often spent as much time during a photo session with Missus Mitchell asking questions and getting her to show me how she set up the shots and got the special effects as we did taking pictures of me performing the myriad of sex acts; sometimes alone, sometimes with Amy or Agnes, a few times with both. I lost count of how many shoots I did that year. Then one day they disappeared, vanished, gonzo! Agnes was still there but it wasn't the same. We hooked up a few times and I tried to convince her to let me shoot her with the camera I got for my thirteenth birthday, but she didn't seem interested. She graduated the next spring and went away to college. I never saw her again. Finding the Mitchells was very important to me right from the start. I knew their material was sold at the local porn shop. Being female and underage it was brazen of me to go into the place and it didn't get me very far. The pimply faced teenage who was behind the counter had dropped out of my high school the year before. He obviously wasn't going be of any help. I did manage to convince him to get the owner to call me. I had to show him my boob, you know like identification and I promised him that if he got the shop owner to call me that I'd show him my pussy. He held up his end of the deal I reneged on mine. The porn shop owner was a surprisingly nice man. Turns out he had a chain of similar stores. Mister Addams confirmed my suspicions, that Amy and her mom had caught the attention of the Federal authorities. Feeling the noose tighten they had gone in search of cooler pastures. He told me that he knew for a fact that it wasn't the first time and unless they got caught it wouldn't be the last. Mister Addams found out from the publisher who was their common link that the Mitchells were now the Morgans and were living in Denver; or so he thought. It wasn't easy in the days before the internet, and it took a long time, but I eventually tracked them down in Colorado. It took over a year. Just when I thought I knew their address and phone number ... poof they were gone again. I started a similar hunt using the tools and skills I had acquired the first time. This search took even longer and led me to Tacoma and the last name Murray; too late again. Last year I had solid information that they were in Duluth. But I'm getting ahead of myself. After they were gone I studied hard, and joined the camera club. Somehow I (we) managed to scrape together the money for me to enroll in the Academy of Art when I matriculated; which was about the same time that I was zeroing in on an Amy Murray in Tacoma. It was helpful that they kept their first names consistent. I was good enough to win a few scholarships which obviously helped. I really did love photography of all kinds, but my first love, the pornographic kind, was always in the back of my mind. Attending an art college, it wasn't hard to find people willing to pose naked for the sake of art. The escalation to sex acts and hardcore was a bit more challenging, but in time I was able to produce enough quality work that, in those explosive early days of the internet, I had sites calling me for material. As time passed and the competition grew, the prices for run of the mill porn plummeted. I tracked the Mitchells, who were now the MacMillans, to Kansas City. Meanwhile, some of my customers were asking for younger and younger models. They always said "young looking". And in most cases specified that the subjects in the photos had to be at least eighteen, but a few sites made it very clear that they weren't actually going to check. Not having documentation to prove the age of their models put them in a precarious position, but that wasn't my problem. The webmasters knew very well what they were selling (and more important to me buying). Many of them soon dropped the pretense of being legit and went full time into kiddy porn. That's where the money was and, though I'm reluctant to admit it, so was my heart (maybe it wasn't exactly my heart, but you know what I mean). I was looking through my schedule and thinking that I should really get a PDA so I could carry it around with me when she walked in. The dark chocolate skinned tweenager was one to those precious ones that I mentioned before; the ones who seem to really buy into the idea that taking explicit pictures of their nubile little bodies was an art form. It was to me, but to the average citizen, and more importantly to law enforcement; it was a form of child abuse with dire consequences if you're caught. CAUTION! This was only Lisa's second time and the first had gone well but slowly. I had gotten her to lift her skirt and show me those adorable white cotton panties that looked even more sensual against her dark skin. She'd also permitted me to take a few shots with her blouse open but had balked a little when I tried to get her to take it right off. My ace in the hole was her socio-economic status. She was from a poor family. Today I would start dangling the green 'carrot'; the root of all evil. I have a large screen monitor. The thumbnails are big enough to be able to see some detail. I left the files I was working on open and opened the images produced from my black victim's shoot as well. "Your pictures came out looking really nice," I said to her as she shyly crossed the vast expanse of the studio. "Hi ... Missus LaRoche," she greeted in her timid little voice. "Carly ... please call me Carly. We're friends, aren't we?" "Uh ... yeah, I guess..." she responded stopping ten feet from me. She looked nervous as hell and twisting her hands in front of the pleated plaid uniform skirt. "Come and see," I encouraged. When she was at my side, more or less, I began scrolling through the shots I'd taken of her. "You're such a pretty girl ... you could really do well in this business if you want to." I pushed my chair a little away from the desk to allow her more direct access. Lisa moved forward and studied her own photos with wide eyed interest. I was thinking how fortunate it was for her that her school had adopted the uniform policy. I knew that it was implemented to eliminate the gang colors problem but as a benefit to the financially disadvantaged, it serendipitously leveled the playing field as far as wardrobe was concerned. According to my red haired, fifteen year old accomplice, Lisa only had about three other changes of clothes, beyond the mandatory uniforms. I was marveling at how prominent her butt was, pushing out the pleated skirt alluringly. My pussy started its quivering anticipatory overture. I looked up to Lisa's face to remove the premature visual stimulus when I noticed that her eyes had drifted, as I had hoped, to the thumbnails on the sidebar of my screen. I'd kept my samples conservative so as not to shock or scare her. The pictures were preliminary shots of Megan in progressive stages of undress. I let the slide show of her photos continue even though I was convinced she wasn't looking at it anymore. "I paid that girl two hundred dollars for that session" I informed her; acknowledging where her gaze had drifted. She gasped and looked at me, then back to the thumbnails. With a couple of clicks I had Megan's pictures cycling on the screen. The images basically showed the fourteen year old stripping. There were a couple of shots of her in fairly modest poses completely naked. The black thirteen-year-old's eyes got wider with each article of clothing Megan removed. "Would you be willing to do that ... pose for me like that?" I asked and began to stroke my prey's back. Now I could feel, as well as see, her accelerated respiration. The poor thing was nearly panting. Several seconds passed. "Do you need some time to think about it sweetie?" I offered while still running my hand up and down the back of her white cotton blouse. "T ... two hundred dollars!" she said in amazement and turned her wide terrified eyes toward me again. She didn't need to know that I'd take a hundred photos; the best of which would be worth easily ten times that much. "Uh huh" I confirmed. "And you could make even more than that. It just depends on how far you're willing to go." I imagined I could see the wheels turning and the gut churning as her learned modesty did battle with her also learned materialistic desires. Moments passed as Megan's toned down slide show cycled. "We could give it a try," I encouraged. "If you get shy or embarrassed we can stop ... how's that?" I had stopped caressing and held my hand still on her lower back. I could feel the trembling emanating from her core. When she finally said "OK", it was a whisper so faint that if it hadn't been as quiet as a church in my studio I'd never have heard it. I began rubbing her back again as I got to my feet. "That's great honey!" I said with real enthusiasm. "Come on over here and let's get started." |