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My nice neices #4
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
MY NICE NIECES
Chapter 4
My adult involvement with kiddie sex was pretty much limited to
voyeurism until one day about three years ago, when my fondest
dreams began to come true.
As a professional author and an amateur photographer, I have to keep
certain important items well-organized and readily-available. The
chemicals and supplies in my darkroom are clearly labeled and safely
stored. My hard disk is backed up regularly and the backups are
stored in my rented storage shed. But I am generally a slob. My
clothes tend to end up piled, rather than hung, and my bed develops
a nest-like appearance as the week wears on. Although I love to cook,
I hate to clean up my cooking, so preparing a wonderful Thai meal is
almost not worth it unless I can figure out where to get a disposable wok.
Maria, my cleaning lady, is the only way I am able to survive, without
being buried in a mountain of junk. She arrives every Thursday
afternoon to do battle with the bathroom floor, the bedroom mounds of
clothing and the kitchen sink of dishes. She washes, irons, and
generally works miracles. To avoid interfering with her magic, I stay
out of her way, often leaving the apartment for an hour or two.
Understand -- I worship Maria. Like all the best professionals, she does
the work she gets paid for, she does it well, and she does it rapidly.
A Cuban, she doesn't speak English very well, but that works out fine
because I don't speak Spanish (or Cuban) very well either. A proletarian
chunk of female, Maria doesn't appeal to my prurient interests, though
she clearly has an impressive pair of breasts attached to her squat frame.
I never knew anything about Maria's private life until the fateful day
she found my photo album...
It was a Thursday, but I had been up all night, working on a story that had
to be emailed to New York to meet a deadline. Utterly exhausted, I had
fallen into bed at 9 AM. When Maria rang the bell a little after noon,
I stuffed myself into some sweatpants and stumbled to the door to admit her.
Mumbling something half-coherent (and neither English nor Spanish), I
ricocheted off the walls and into the bathroom for a quick shower and shave.
It wasn't until I had been in the shower for several minutes that it dawned
on me -- after putting a new photo in last night, I hadn't stashed my photo
album in the safe! Now, since 1980, possession of my little cache of
snapshots was enough to land you in Federal prison, no matter how harmless
a hobby it was. So I jumped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my
middle, and high-tailed it for the bedroom. As I rounded the corner, my
heart sank, for Maria had my album open on the bed, bending over it to
examine my handiwork.
My heart stopped and I stammered to explain, in a way that would bridge the
language gap and stop her from having me imprisoned. But Maria smiled
warmly at me and my protest sputtered to a confused halt. After telling me
she thought my photos were "very pretty," she told me she used to pose for
photos such as these in Ybor City, the Cuban section of Tampa. She
understood that some men liked to look at little girls and even touch them,
and she seemed to see nothing wrong with it, so long as the girls were safe.
As my heart slowed to sub-light speed, Maria looked at me slyly and asked
if I ever did more than "take the pictures." When I hurriedly assured her
I had never molested any of these girls, she surprised me with a little
frown. Then she asked me if I wanted to "touch a girl." With my heart
hammering in my chest again, I ventured a tentative nod. Maria rewarded
me with a huge smile, featuring a gold-rimmed bicuspid on the upper right.
"You touch my Rosa," she said with assurance. And then she totally floored
me by saying, "Only fifty dollars."
After some roundabout discussion in Spanglish, I agreed to provide a
much-needed supplement to Maria's cleaning wages, in return for an hour
or so of access to "her Rosa," who I understood to be her eight-year-old
daughter (at least I hoped "ocho" was eight and not eighteen or eighty).
As if I weren't already leery of the plan, Maria had one final requirement
that gave me pause -- she insisted she had to be present while I played
with her daughter. "In for a penny, in for a pound," I figured, so I
reluctantly agreed. Even with her mother present, the opportunity to get my
hands on a girlchild was too tempting to pass up.
On Saturday at 10, I was showered and shaved when the doorbell rang. When
I opened the door, Maria stepped in and turned to allow her daughter to
meet me. I almost called it off right then, because Rosa looked impossibly
young -- maybe five instead of eight. Her dark eyes shone cautiously from
beneath jet-black bangs. Her shoulder-length hair was gathered in two
pigtails, high on her head. She wore a simple, knee-length red dress,
with little white socks and tennis shoes.
Speaking softly in Spanish, Maria introduced me to young Rosa. I
impulsively took the child's hand and bowed low to plant a kiss on the
back of it hand. This silly gesture broke the ice, as Rosa and her
mother giggled delightedly.
When I asked, in my broken Spanish, if they wanted a cold drink, Maria
became all-business.
"No," she said. "You pay for touching Rosa. You touch Rosa." Speaking
again inaudibly to her daughter, she led her to the center of my living
room and began to unbutton the front of her tiny dress.
"Wait," I gasped. "Let me do that."
Smiling with understanding, Maria stepped aside, gesturing that I should
take her place. Once again, little Rosa turned her trusting eyes to me.
Kneeling before the child, I reached out to caress her. Moving slowly,
I touched her shiny hair, cupped the creamy flesh of her tiny chin and
ran my hands down her bare arms. Continuing the motion down the outsides
of her dress, I reached flesh again below the hem, stroking her bare
legs from knee to ankle, all the while maintaining eye contact. Rosa
seemed to accept my touches, perhaps supported by the continued Spanish
murmurings from her mother nearby.
With my hear pounding so loud I was afraid the neighbors would hear, I
reversed my caress on Rosa's bare legs, reaching behind her calves to
stroke slowly up to the forbidden little-girl area hidden by her skirt.
As my big hands progressed toward the top of her thighs in the back, I
could see a hint of confusion in Rosa's eyes. Glad that she was not
afraid of me, I reached the beginnings of her panties. From the softness
of the fabric, I could tell they were cotton, with elastic around the
legs; but her underpants fit snuggly around her firm little buttocks,
allowing me to feel the tight musculature there as my hands reached a
stopping point.
My heart was hammering in my chest and my dick was uncurling in my lap.
I was dying to yank this little girl's underpants off and bury my face
in the bald split of her naked, eight-year-old crotch. But I wanted to
make this last.
Still gazing calmly into her eyes, I extracted my hands from under her skirt
and continued the unbuttoning her mother had begun. As the dress parted
at her chest to reveal the pale stripe caused by the top of her swimming
suit, I became painfully aware that my cock was interrupted in its attempt
to stiffen down my leg. When I used one of my hands to rearrange my
underwear and give my nine-incher room to grow, Rosa's eyes followed my
motion. A blush colored her olive complexion as she realized what I was
doing. I smiled gently at her discomfort, but her mother apparently
called her attention to the condition of my member, because she looked
down again and blushed more deeply.
Returning to undressing my little Latina lover, I pushed the fabric off
her tiny shoulders, pulling the sleeves off her arms until the dress was
a red puddle around her ankles. Her plain-white underpants hugged her
skinny hips and pouched formlessly around her crotch.
I noticed some goose-bumps on Rosa's upper arms as the cool breeze of my
air conditioning washed across her near-naked body. But I also noticed
her brown-pink nipples remained merely circles on the pale band across
her suntanned chest, their failure to stiffen confirming just how immature
Rosa really was.
I was startled out of my lusty contemplation by the voice of Rosa's mother.
"Can I take him out?" Maria said, in her fractured English. By her
gesture at my crotch, she made it clear that she was offering to extract
my cock for her little daughter to see. I was startled, because I hadn't
expected to have any sexual contact with my chunky cleaning lady. But
the idea of a mother showing my penis to her tiny daughter was so exciting
I felt my cock quake.
"Sure, go ahead," I said, standing from my kneeling position to give her
easy access to my fly.
Standing carefully to one side, so her daughter could observe everything,
Maria unzipped my pants and reached inside. As she moved close, I felt
the soft mass of her large breast press into my side.
In a moment, I felt Maria's warm hand wrap around the throbbing, fleshy
pillar extending down my leg. She measured it with successive grabs down
its length. Whispering Spanish in an awe-struck voice to her little girl,
Maria realized she would have to unfasten my trousers fully to release
the beast within.
It excited me tremendously to see this eight-year-old child, clad only
in her underpants, lean unselfconciously forward in fascination as her
mother pulled my blood-filled prick into the open. Babbling excitedly,
Maria ran her hands over the nine-inch length of my cock, reaching below
the surging rod to extract my balls for her daughter's education.
To my utter and complete delight, mother reached out to daughter, drawing
the child closer and pulling her hand into contact with my raging hard-on.
Wearing only her socks, shoes and cotton underpants, the little Cuban beauty
followed her mother's lead, gently touching my balls and trying to wrap her
hand around my massive shaft.
I became aware that Maria was breathing more heavily. She was pressing her
breasts against me. Her manipulations of my cock were becoming distinctly
masturbatory, putting me in immediate danger of spewing a huge load of
sperm all over my carpet and my guests.
"Let's get back to Rosa," I said, reaching down to remove both sets of hands
from my equipment.
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