+---------------------------------------------------------------+ | *** DISCLAIMER *** | | | | This is a story of pure fiction. Any resemblance to persons | | living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or | | imagined, is purely coincidental. | | | | IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ FURTHER. | | | | No part of this story may be reproduced on any media of any | | kind without the written permission of the author. | | | +---------------------------------------------------------------+ - 5 - I gradually became conscious of the beads of perspiration sliding down my forehead, over my nose, and dripping onto my lips. I licked them. Salty. I felt like a fish, a freshwater species that had somehow strayed into saltwater. Peter continued to annoy Zoe. Little by little she slid closer to me, away from his probing fingers. He was pushing her toward me and he didn't even know it. Ha! Peter stretched out his legs. His toes broke the bubbling surface just a few inches from Zoe. She slid closer still. I watched Peter's face as one of his floating feet sank beneath the water. It was a U-boat hunting a target. He focused on Zoe. She looked at him, then down into the water. His foot must have found her because she squealed and, as she did, she grabbed Peter's leg and yanked with all her might. Zoe slid hard against my leg and Peter lost his seat. He plunged under the water, sputtering all the way. I think he was surprised that Zoe could, or would, pull him that hard. Zoe held his foot high in the air. Peter was all the way under and couldn't get his balance and couldn't get a grip on anything. With this application of simple physics, Zoe controlled Peter's fate completely. "Maybe he can't breathe." Did I actually say that? Zoe shoved Peter's foot and the little wet kid surfaced, thrashing about, gasping for air. He slipped and went under again, then stood up boldly in the center of the spa. "You're crazy!" he sputtered. "Crazy!" Zoe didn't move. Her smooth leg was pressed tightly against mine. Peter made a symbolic lunge at her. She grabbed on to me. She swung her leg over mine and held on tight. My cock stiffened again. She couldn't see it. Her leg was only inches away from it. I wanted to pull her into my arms but I held back. Peter sat down again, brushing the excess water from his face. He glared at Zoe. He looked at me. Could he tell how aroused I was at that moment? Probably not. I allowed my hand to come to rest on Zoe's leg, the one she still had hooked over mine. The water, the chemicals, the bubbles. I don't know. Maybe it was the combination. The skin on Zoe's leg felt like electric silk. I found my fingers grazing lightly over the surface of her flesh. I tried to move my hand and arm in a way that didn't show above the water. Zoe didn't move her leg. My fingers explored the shapes on her delicate little knee, then down the front of her leg. Now back up again. Peter's face had changed. No longer angry. No longer harsh. He looked at Zoe. His eyes, sad and appealing. "You could have asked," said Zoe. "You're always pulling me or pushing me. You never ask." "All right. I'm asking, okay?" "Asking what?" "C'mon, don't make me. Not in front of him." I guessed I was the 'him' in this conversation. I had suddenly become a third person in every way. "All right," said Peter. "All right." He mustered his courage. "Please. I'm asking, see? Please." "Please what?" giggled Zoe. "Zoe!" "Please what?" "Please..." He was struggling. "Please... come here." That was it? 'Please come here.' That was all? Zoe giggled again. "Well," she said with a smirk. "Since you are asking..." And she pulled her arm from around my neck and slid away. As she went, she slowly dragged her leg across mine, allowing my hand to pass smoothly over her skin. She moved across to Peter and knelt close in front of him. Peter reached down around her waist. "Turn," he said. And with his hands still on her slender waist, Zoe turned so her back was to him. Then Peter pulled her toward him. They both looked at me, their little faces quite serious. Was I supposed to look away? Was I supposed to go away? It didn't seem to make any difference whether I stayed or not. Zoe bent over slightly and put her hands on her knees. She started to move slowly, rhythmically, up and down against Peter. The same bubbles that hid me from them before, now reciprocated. But I could imagine. I imagined Peter's hard little cock, stiff and straight as a wooden broom handle. And I imagined that it fit nicely in the tight space between Zoe's ass cheeks. And I imagined that Zoe was caressing Peter's cock with her ass. And I imagined, no, I knew that Peter was enjoying it. And I imagined myself in Peter's place. And as I watched Zoe I focused on her face. She was strangely serious. It was as if she had a job to do and she was doing it. I began to rub my own stiff cock. I rubbed it in time to Zoe's movements, pretending that my hand was some part of her. Any part of her. Her ass, her hands, her lips, her breasts, her knees pressed together, anything. So I stroked myself. And I looked into Zoe's eyes, she into mine. Peter slid his hands from Zoe's hips to her waist. He pulled her closer and her hands came off her knees. She continued to move up and down, faster now. I followed along. I could barely contain myself. Peter slid his hands across her tummy and up to her chest. His hands completely covered her little breasts. He palmed and squeezed them. "Ow! Not so hard," cried Zoe. But Peter didn't care. He was rubbing himself against Zoe now. Faster and faster and with more and more force. Little noises came from his mouth. Zoe frowned and winced from Peter's rough treatment. The incredible sight of these children was carrying me beyond any control. Then, suddenly, Peter pushed Zoe away. He turned her so she faced him again and pushed her down. "No!" she exclaimed. "Not under." Peter's face was pleading. He was in agony. Good! Torture him, Zoe. Torture him. "I'm not going under." "Then here," panted Peter. And he pulled Zoe next to him on the fiberglass seat. He took her hand and forced it under the water. From the motions of her arm and body, I could see that she was rubbing his cock with her hand. I pretended it was her hand on my cock too. Zoe watched Peter's face. Somehow she knew all about this. She rubbed faster. Peter's look of anguish and his gradually arching back said it all. He started to buck and twitch. Zoe rubbed faster. Peter let out a loud moan, bucked again, then was still. He panted. Zoe panted. She smiled at him. He shoved her away and stood up. His cock was half-erect now and tremendously long. He rubbed it once or twice, then climbed out of the spa. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and without drying off, stormed out. I didn't know what to say. Zoe was dejected. She looked down at the water. "What about me?" she cried. "What about me?" My cock had gone limp, yet unsatisfied. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her it was all right. Everything was all right. I was vaguely conscious of holding my arms open for her. She flew into them. She climbed up on my legs, each of hers straddling mine. She threw her arms around my neck. She didn't just cry, she wept. Her little body heaved as the tears flowed. She pressed against me, sending a warm stream of delight through my entire body. -+- I don't know how long we stayed that way, Zoe and I. Locked in a loving embrace. I know that her tears gradually subsided. She had slid herself so close against me that her tiny slit now rested against my limp cock. But now it started to grow, responding to the sensuous life pressing on me, flooding me with desire. My cock grew and grew and there was nothing I could do to stop it. There was no way to keep this precious child from feeling it, short of throwing her off me into the middle of the spa. That would have been Peter's technique and I wanted to do nothing that would be associated with him, not even remotely. So I breathed slowly and deliberately and the fairy creature on me came to life. She released her grip around my neck and sat upright. She put her hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. The sound of the bubbles and the water was deafening. My cock was now fully erect. Zoe's tiny slit was pressed hard against it. Could she know? How could she not? Her legs were spread wide because of the way she sat on my legs. I could feel her cunt and the slit, also spread wide open, as it engulfed the base of my cock. It was warm, warmer than the surrounding water, and slightly sticky. Zoe looked down. She was trying to tell me she knew how I felt. "He hurt me," she pouted. "Here." And she looked at her chest, just to one side of her breast. I looked too and, yes, there were reddish marks where Peter had grabbed her. "Look," she said, and twisted herself slightly, bringing her breast within inches of my face. "It doesn't look too bad," I managed to get out. "It hurts." I wanted to kiss her hurt and make it better, the way countless hurts of children are always made better. But I knew that would be a dangerous move. A move like that would send me, us, down a road from which there could be no return. Then a miraculous thing happened. "Kiss it," she said. My heart stopped. I saw gray. I recovered. "What?" "Kiss it." she repeated. "My mother always kisses hurts. It always makes them feel better. Always. Kiss it." I was at the fork in the road. Each choice was a one-way street. I knew the one I wanted to take. I knew the one I was supposed to take. Maybe I was wrong, but I sensed attraction here. Me for Zoe. Zoe for me. I wasn't a child. I couldn't remember. Was I misreading her? She always fought against Peter, but often gave in. Did she feel sorry for him, or did she really want what he offered? What did she want from me? I knew what I wanted from her. I couldn't force her, ever. I couldn't trick her. Oh, I could, but I would never, ever. Not to her. Not to Zoe. "Please," she cooed. So I took the path, my path, and no looking back. I bent my head forward and Zoe lifted herself up slightly and turned. The marks from Peter's fingers were red but not too bad. They'd be gone by tomorrow. Would I be given the credit for the miraculous healing that was about to take place? I brought my lips to Zoe's skin, conscious of the tiny breast only millimeters away. I can't remember if it was me or if it was Zoe who closed the final distance, but my parted lips pressed lightly against her hurt skin. She jumped a little. I looked up into her eyes. She smiled at me. I don't know why, but I began to lick her skin over the red marks. A lion licking its cub. Stupid thought. Her skin was moist and slippery and I moved my open lips all over the spot. Zoe threw her head back and let me do it. Again, my tongue painted her skin. I was astonished when, without warning, Zoe turned slightly. Was it an accident? More like an accident of fate. I didn't move my head at all. Instead, Zoe's turn brought her budding breast against my lips. My tongue was out and her hard little dot of a nipple rubbed across its sensitive tip. I looked up at her again, expecting anger. Instead, I saw a smiling child who nodded once and pressed herself even harder against my face. My tongue licked a narrow circle around the smooth pink disk that now seemed swollen with desire. Zoe moved herself back and forth across my lips. She pressed hard, much harder than I would have thought felt good. I pursed my lips and sucked lightly on the pink skin. I rubbed the little nipple with the tip of my tongue. I wanted to do so much more. My cock was about to explode. I was ready to do anything for this beauty. Anything except listen to the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Another splash with the ice bucket of life. Steven was home. Zoe turned her head around. She gave a deep sigh, then looked at me. "You're staying over, right?" "I'm staying. Yes." Only fast flowing lava could get me to leave this house tonight. Zoe bent down and kissed me quickly on the lips. She rose from my legs very slowly. As she did, she dragged her cunt, still open, still warm, all the way up my hard cock. She knew. Oh yes, she knew all along exactly what I was feeling. This girl was definitely smart. Zoe climbed out of the spa just as the sound of the front door opening and closing broke the dreamy silence. Steven was in the house. Mozart still played from the walls and Zoe moved like a ballerina, and I wished I was made of white terrycloth. Zoe retrieved her dress and panties. She spun around on one pointed toe and waved at me. Then, with a toss of her head, she was gone. I looked at the floor where she had stood. Water, her water, covered the wood slats. Water that was on her, in her, all over her. On the bench, her little black shoes sat, surrounded by two wet white socks. They looked like they were waiting for a bus. And then there were the sounds of a kitchen coming to life and the delicious smell of cooking chicken drifted in on a breeze. * * * ------------------------- (End of Chapter 5) ------------------------- ------------ (Comments, pro or con, are always welcome) --------------