Labors of love

It is a common thing among lovers. The male is built to dominate, to impale. The female is made to receive and submit. In their little night-time games, in their liasons during the day, a dervish of lust can overcome them. It can push them to push each other to new heights of dominance and submission. And so it was with Chip, and with Ginger. They lay together in her bed. Her big Raggedy Ann doll stared senselessly at them from her bedroom chair, the one she used to sit in when her mother would count her toes and braid her hair for her. Chip stirred. His cock felt like it would become rigid again. He liked the feeling and he felt her legs draw apart a little beneath him. Her tummy was hot and smooth and soft and his belly pressed against it. He had hair on his belly but hers was like satin. Only a sheen of her sweat covered it, from their lovemaking. Their breath mingled. Chip kissed Ginger on the lips. She opened them and he thrust in his tongue. His hands ran along her body and he found them under her wiggly ass. Delightedly he cupped the soft childish cheeks and he pulled them hard apart and he heard her yelp. He lifted himself up off her to give his growing cock room. He lengthened, filling the space between them. Despite her discomfort at being so harshly separated, the cheeks of her fanny feeling like they would pop apart, she opened her thighs for him and offered him her virginal dell. She was tight. He had to work hard to get his erection inside her. She moaned and lifted her legs and kicked her heels against his ass, as if to protest his entry, but she was quite helpless now, pinned under him. In a series of short, urgent strokes he filled himself with her. And then he set himself to the labor of shafting her as many times and as hard as he could without spilling into her small little womb. They bathed together afterward. He hoped she was keeping up with the Pills Annette had given her for, in a frenzy of lust, he’d cum in her, and he had no idea how he’d explain to her father why. Yet his lust for her was growing and when she knelt in front of him and washed his cock, he felt an unbearable desire to possess her forever. “There’s a club downtown,” he said to her. His voice was deep and her hands upon him were small and infinitely gentle, washing his penis as if it were her favorite toy which, since she was only 12, it may well have been. As she handled him so carefully it inflamed him and he felt a roaring need to make her completely subservient to himself. One might have thought that a small, delicate creature, treating him kindly, would arouse compassion in him. But instead it heightened his need to utterly and totally dominate her and to force her, somehow, into the most obscene demonstration of submission to him that his wicked mind could envision. After their shower, as she stood naked, letting him pat her dry with a towel, he told her how he wished to make her his complete and total slave. It was the most perfidious form of slavery, for it was not a slavery of mere work but of the body itself, of her body, of her sexual organs. It would involve her breasts and her tongue and her bottomhole and her pussy. And it would necessitate him forcing her to his will and beyond her will, for there was no point in being a slave if everything was agreeable. Ginger bit her lip and nodded. She consented. But of course she was only 12 years old, and could hardly consent to what they’d already done, let alone this, being his private, personal sex slave. He stroked her cunt and he watched her shiver and it scared him, for suddenly he had her completely to himself, and he felt a strange sense of responsibility wash over him. But he was determined to force her to submit to a total and complete slavery all the same, for he was young and lusty and increasingly wild.

Since Chip had gotten out of the Army he’d let his hair grow. It was almost shoulder length now, and Ginger’s, which had been shoulder length, now hung halfway down her back. She’d started out with short pigtails but now her pigtails were long and sensuous. He glanced at her in his car. He hadn’t shaved and he had a rough look. He felt increasingly lawless. The Army, which he’d joined at 17 with his parent’s permission, sick of school, sick of being in their house, had trained him well. He was never to have anything to do with minors, or men’s wives for that matter, or, increasingly, any of the women who were in the service with him. Yet since getting out of the Army he’d played with Dave’s wife, Annette, and now he had little Ginger sitting beside him in his Camaro, and he was not taking her to the playground. They were going downtown, and she looked lovely in her starched white blouse, like a little Catholic school girl, except now even girls like her, who went to public school, were made to dress in uniforms, so men seeing them walk home from school would know most definitely that they were not women but only little girls. Ginger had some taffy and she drew it from between her lips and as Chip watched her play with it, he knew the uniform, in her case, was quite superfluous. Even a blind man would have been able to tell that she was a minor. “Try not to get that taffy stuck to the inside of my car,” Chip warned her. “Why, will you punish me for it?” she asked without looking at him. Her voice was high and there was no mistaking it for a child’s voice. A police car passed them, in the other lane, heading down the street. Her school was two blocks behind them. Large trees dappled the windshield of Chip’s car with shadows. They ran up the glass and darted on over the roof unseen and more raced up behind them up the polished hood of his car. He always washed it just for her and he’d spent hours waxing it and although he couldn’t afford a new paint job for it he was proud of the work he’d done on it. “Just don’t get my car all sticky, okay?” he asked her. Just then she pulled her taffy a little too far and suddenly it was stuck to the inside of the roof of his car. “Yikes!” she proclaimed. She let go of it and then grabbed it anew and tried to pull it off the ceiling but it only stretched farther. Chip hit a bump and the taffy dangled about like some stalactite hanging down, or perhaps like a penis. Ginger laughed. “Damn bitch,” he swore. But he didn’t strike her, despite a sudden desire to, for he knew she’d be quite sore before the night was out.

They arrived downtown. He parked across the street from the club. He walked her across the street feeling like her uncle, hoping he looked like her uncle. Her long luscious auburn pigtails bobbed around her shoulders as they walked, dancing down her back. She’d learned to walk by crossing her legs and her bottom wiggled salaciously. She had on a skirt from last year and it was shorter than it was supposed to be and it hugged her hips. Her blouse was soft and he watched it press up against her bosoms when the wind caught them from the front. She had breasts that seemed to grow by the day. He felt his palm growing moist as he held her hand. She squeezed his tightly. She had no idea what he had planned for her. Her taffy still hung inside his car. It was, perhaps, her last act of independence. From now on she would be completely and totally his.

It was ‘New Couples Hour’ at the club. Because it was mid-afternoon there were less people there than usual, and it was a specialty of the club to devote this time to people who were new to bondage. They could come and experiment, without being excessively pressured. They could explore, test their limits, and not have to go beyond them if they didn’t wish to. Another advantage for Chip was that the owner was more liberal with the ages of the participants. As Chip entered the club with Ginger he saw some couples who were clearly just kids, not even out of high school yet. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. But still he was a little worried, for his girlfriend was the youngest of all, a mere 12-year-old. No one would mistake her for 17, or even 16, and she squeezed his hand with the quiet fright that you’d expect of a mere 7th grader, even a precocious 7th grader, in a place like this. The club was tastefully decorated. Like the club that sponsored group gropes, it could only be entered secretly. An elevator in the lobby of the building went down instead of up if you pressed all the buttons in rapid succession and then entered 7-11-13. The numbers reflected the philosophy of the club’s owner. Age 7 for playing doctor, age 11 for petting, age 13 for sex. Well, Ginger was short a year, but he hoped the club’s owner didn’t mind. The Blonde Widow had told him about the club as he sat on his hands in her Prowler. “Such a little boy you are,” she’d teased him, purposely hitting bumps in her Prowler to make his journey more painful. He had only half-listened at the time, thinking she was just taunting him, but somehow, despite his scorched buttocks, he’d remembered the building the club was in, and the code for the elevator. “You should go downtown to Club Virgin,” she’d laughed. “That would be the place for you. You’ll have to take someone with you, though. Stags aren’t allowed. Perhaps you can find some little miss on the playground who wants her cherry popped. Hmmmm?” “Fuck you,” Chip had replied, not knowing she’d dump him out when they got back to his car, and he’d never see her again. “Newlyweds go there, and teens sometimes. Just hop in the elevator and press 7-11-13.” She’d explained the numbers’ meaning. “Mostly it’s just a regular bad-ass bondage club, but in the early afternoons ‘newbies’ can play there. The code changes for regular business hours.” She didn’t tell him that code, only the one for “virgins and ‘newbies,’” as she’d laughingly put it. He’d dismissed her chatter from his mind at the time. He thought she was making it up. Yet here he was! The walls were panelled in oak and there were tables made of expensive cherry wood, with carved wooden chairs that had plump cushioned seats. Up on stage a woman was stripping. She looked like someone’s new wife, and seemed a little nervous. Chip watched her with interest, almost forgetting Ginger for a moment. She tugged on his hand to remind him of her presence and pointed at the entryway to a bathroom. “Sure,” Chip replied, as he watched the woman on stage reveal a pair of sumptuous bosoms. Ginger darted away. He found a table for them amidst the half-crowded room and sat down. A waitress appeared. She wore hotpants that were made of white fabric and slit unhelpfully up the sides, showing her bare hips underneath right up to her waist. She had on a blouse that she’d tied under her breasts to leave her belly bare. It was flat and her body was slim and she looked no older than 19. She had a small hat perched on her head and her hair, which was red, was pinned up underneath it. A smattering of freckles decorated her cheeks. She wore too much lipstick. “Hi!” she said brightly. “Are you new?” She set down a drink which Chip thought was a glass of water but when he picked it up and tasted it, he found it was gin. “Yeah,” he said. “I saw you come in with your girlfriend,” she smiled. “Can I get you anything?” “Do you, like…” he swallowed hard. He hated asking but he wanted to possess Ginger more deeply than he had before. They’d made love in her bed and shared some adventures together and now he had a no-nonsense feeling about her, and about himself too, and he wanted to cut to the chase. “Hey! No pervs allowed!” a harsh voice rang out. Chip flinched. But then he saw the voice, which he somehow thought might be directed at him, was instead being directed at a man who’d just entered the club, alone. A bouncer went up to the man and ordered him out. The man protested. A second bouncer appeared, and between them they got the man back out through the club’s entryway and onto the elevator that was never supposed to go down, unless you knew the code. “They’ll have to change the code soon,” the waitress mused. She turned and watched and Chip was torn between watching the commotion and staring at her ass. Her hotpants were excessively short in back and they left the luscious lower halves of her ass exposed. She turned back to him. “The bouncers are supposed to stay by the elevator,” she said. “Unfortunately the bartender lets them sit and drink at the bar when the owner’s not here. I guess since she’s got the head of the Vice Squad on her payroll they figure they can loaf at the bar instead of guarding the door. Would you like some pot or coke or anything?” “Nah,” Chip replied. “But I was wondering if you had, like some bondage stuff we could play with?” “Sure, there’s plenty in back,” the waitress answered. “I will have to ask you for the $500 cover charge at this time.” “$500.00?!” Chip blurted. That could completely repaint his old Camaro in whatever color he chose, even gold, perhaps, or at least silver. “Or you can have sex onstage,” the waitress continued. She smiled at him. “I’m sure people would love to see you naked. I know I would.” “Thanks,” Chip breathed. He wondered if she was somehow inviting him to get into her hotpants after work. “But I’ll get you a mask if you want to go the free route, dancing onstage and making love to your girlfriend,” the waitress said. Ginger emerged from the women’s bathroom. She had apparently omitted to use a paper towel after washing her hands and was flinging her hands around in the air to dry them. “She’s pretty young, you know. Almost too young to be here, but I’m feeling generous, and you’re very handsome. Put on a mask when you go onstage.” “Okay,” Chip said. The waitress left. Ginger sat down. The woman onstage was having sex with a man now. Ginger turned and watched them. “She’s lovely,” Ginger said. Her voice sounded strangely mature. The woman lay on a mattress that was placed on an elevated platform on the stage. A man who looked like he might have been her husband entered her and she bucked her hips up at him. The crowd, half adults, half teenagers, applauded. Ginger clapped her hands and then slipped from her chair and went over to Chip and sat on his lap. Chip stroked her long pigtails. “I want to do that,” Ginger whispered. She wriggled her bottom and he felt himself grow hard underneath her ass. “Well,” Chip replied, stroking her hair. “I guess we’re going to have to. I don’t have any money for the cover charge.” Ginger turned and looked at him. Onstage, the couple climaxed. “You need to get a job,” she said to him seriously. “Yeah,” he said. “I just wanted, you know, to kind of get my feet back on the ground first,” he said. Actually he’d been too busy fucking her and every other female his penis led him to, but he didn’t want to admit that to her, or himself. He was getting pretty damn low on money. “You could be a gigolo,” Ginger said. She put a finger to his face and stroked it. The couple onstage was having another orgasm but they were both ignoring them now, Chip hard underneath Ginger’s soft ass and she not unaware of his state. “I like it when you don’t shave. Even if it does mean you’ve got yet more hair on you,” she said. The music accompanying the couple’s performance reached a crescendo. Yet it wasn’t the loud, deafening music heard in some clubs, as if some quiet space needed to be left for the audience, so they could make plans for themselves. “I want, well, I need to take you up on stage and…” Chip began. He hiked Ginger’s dress up her thighs. She had lovely tanned skin from playing out by her backyard pool. He pushed her dress up more, so he could see her white panties between her legs. Ginger kissed him. A small, child’s kiss. He eased her down off his lap. “Come on,” he said throatily.

There was a locker room in the back, unisex. The waitress showed it to them. She pointed to metal lockers, a bare wooden bench. The room was clean but spartan. There were a pair of sinks against one wall and three toilet stalls. A small curtained cubicle held a shower. “Naughty or nice?” the waitress asked Chip. He stood with a hand behind Ginger’s head. His fingers played with her pigtails. “Huh?” Chip asked. Ginger stared at the waitress’ hotpants. “Accessories, silly!” the waitress laughed. “You can’t just go out there completely naked. You have to, you know, be playful.” “Naughty,” Chip grunted. “Good,” the waitress answered. She leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. Then she turned and left. Chip drooled at the sight of her ass. “Quit looking at her bottom!” Ginger scolded Chip. To get his attention she slapped the bulge in his trousers. “Sorry,” Chip said. Then, looking down at Ginger, he added, “Show me yours instead. Get undressed.” Ginger lifted her hands to the top button of her blouse, obediently, where a small black bow circled her throat, completing her schoolgirl’s uniform. She loosened the bow, asked, “Are you getting undressed to?” “Yeah,” Chip said. He unbuckled his belt. She looked down at his hands, her eyes growing wider, watching his fingers on his belt. “I may have to whip you a few times with this onstage,” he said to her. He drew the belt out of his trousers. But she didn’t say anything, just kept undressing, turning away finally from him when it came time to unzip and draw down her skirt. The waitress returned with a small tray. Ginger was naked, hanging her clothes neatly in a locker next to Chip’s. He was naked too, but he held the belt from his pants in one hand. “Oh, my! You’re huge!” the waitress said to Chip. He looked down at himself. His cock was erect. Ginger turned and clasped a hand over the head of his penis, her fingers spreading apart to accomodate the thick throbbing bulb. “And he’s sticky,” Ginger commented. Chip felt pre-cum ooze onto her palm. The waitress set down her tray on the bench. She picked up a black mask and tied it around Chip’s face as Ginger watched. “What’s that for?” Ginger asked. “He’s going to be Zorro,” the waitress answered. “And you, my dear, are going to be a little maiden in peril, hmmmm?” “We’ve had sex before,” Ginger answered. “Good. Then you must not be a virgin anymore,” the waitress said. “I’m glad to hear it. How old are you?” “12,” Ginger replied. “Well you’re getting started early,” the waitress said. She finished tying Chip’s mask on. “We’ve already been to a bordello and I even went to some clubs by myself,” Ginger said. She poked Chip in his belly button. “Without him.” “I see,” the waitress said. “Well, I’ve got something special for you. Have you ever seen nipple clamps before?” “Hmmm,” Ginger said. She followed the waitress’ gaze down to the tray she’d brought in. “These are junior-type nipple clamps,” the waitress said. She lifted one from the tray and let it dangle from her fingers. She looked at Chip. “It ties on her instead of clamping, to protect her little teats. But it’s still weighted.” “Ummm,” Chip grunted. He almost spilled onto the tray, looking at the nipple attachment the waitress held up in front of him. She was still properly uniformed, he was buck-naked, Ginger was surprisingly docile and willing. He wanted to just grab himself and ejaculate on the two of them, but he instead took the nipple weight from her fingers. “And this,” the waitress continued. “Is for her tongue.” She picked up a sheath. It was in the shape of a tongue, or rather half a tongue, for that was the amount of one’s tongue it was designed to enclose. At the tongue-tip it had a spring, to allow it to be snapped shut. The open end of the tongue-sheath was designed to bite down on the tongue across its middle. “And finally,” the waitress said, picking up a small G-string, “This is something for her puss.” She ran a manicured nail along the part of the string designed to go between Ginger’s legs. It was round, like a rope. It looked soft as cotton but gnarled, as if designed to rub her between her legs and arouse her. The waitress handed the G-string to Ginger. “I expect you to do a sexy little dance in this,” she said. “I don’t like it,” Ginger said. “It looks silly with this big pink bow attached in back.” She ruffled a pink bow sewn into the back of the G-string’s waist belt where it connected to the part that ran up through her ass. “Where’s the rest of it?” she asked. “It’s a G-string, silly,” the waitress replied. “There is no ‘rest of it.’ You’re going to put it on and wiggle around in it onstage, with your pigtails flying, and then you’re going, I think, to get a good strapping for being so naughty from Zorro here, and then hopefully he’ll fuck you with that big thing of his.” Ginger blushed. She turned red from her toes to her forehead. “I could never do that,” she sighed. But Chip saw she was simultaneously excited by the prospect of being seen by so many people, of being the center of attention. Chip snapped his belt and it almost hit Ginger’s bare bottom. “Get it on,” he growled at her. She shivered and looked at him and he looked quite ominous unshaved, with his hair growing long on his head, and his chest hair standing up because the room was cool and both their bodies were chilly. Like a nude little baby Ginger stepped into the crotch belt. She drew it up her thighs and it was made of elastic and it became tight on her as she got it up around her hips. “It was tough finding a size that small,” the waitress admitted to Chip. He nodded. He felt impossibly criminal watching little Ginger fit herself into a G-string, but she was absolutely darling in it. Her bottomcheeks were split by the string, looking like twin apples ready for polishing. It sliced between her pussy lips. She complained immediately that it made her feel all wicked between her legs. She pulled the string out of her pussy and looked down at it. “It won’t stop RUBBING me!” Ginger whined. “Let go of it,” the waitress admonished. She unhooked Ginger’s little fingers from the string and it snapped back into place within her cunt. “Ooooh, I’m getting wet!” Ginger sighed. “Good. You’ll need it for his big thing,” the waitress told her. Chip was a man, but he was a young man, and he couldn’t help grabbing himself, looking at Ginger snug in her little G-string. Holding his belt in one hand, but otherwise naked, he put a fist to his cock and began masturbating himself. The waitress smiled. She put her hands to the front of her hot pants. She unsnapped them. “Do you think you could handle both of us?” she asked Chip. Her eyes were warm, bright. “Sure,” Chip groaned. He felt a tremor of need rush through him, right to the end of his cock, and he had to quickly let go of himself, lest he shower them both with his seed. “Good,” the waitress replied. She bent forward a little and skimmed her hotpants down her legs. Her bottom bulbed out at him, high and firm as Ginger’s was, but wider and more fully developed. She dropped her pants to her feet and stepped free of them, still wearing the new white sneakers that were part of her uniform. “I think it will be better for both of you if I appear onstage with Ginger. We can annouce that we’re sisters, and people will be less suspicious.” “Okay,” Chip agreed. He was hungry for her. Ginger pouted. “I don’t like sharing,” she said. The waitress sat on the bench in front of her and picked up a nipple attachment. “Just be good. We can’t let him get in trouble,” the waitress told her. She reached for one of Ginger’s nipples and caught it between her polished fingers. She tugged on the girl. Ginger stepped closer. The waitress tied the nipple attachment onto Ginger’s erect tit-bud. The girl looked down, watching. “Ooooh,” Ginger sighed, when the tit attachment had been securely knotted around her nipple. A small weight hung by a thread from her right breast. It made her high, firm pointy breast tug downward a little. Chip almost shot off, watching her. How lovely her perfect tit looked, drawn down by the thread, springing up in resistance, then sagging down a little again, then up! A precarious balance appeared between the weight and her tit, the weight fighting to pull her breast down, her breastflesh responding with an upward lilt. Every time Ginger moved her breast wiggled anew, and the weight and her teat fought a new battle. Carefully the waitress tied on the remaining weight. When she was done Ginger looked like some white-fleshed African princess, a captured Jane adorned with lewd ornaments. But Chip, her Tarzan, wasn’t about to save her. Instead he continued to aimlessly thrash his belt by his leg, while rubbing himself with his free hand. “Ooooh, I hate you!” Ginger scolded him. But those words were her last for the waitress picked up the tongue sheath and made her open her mouth and clipped it smartly to her tongue, making her gasp. “I- don- li- thi-,” Ginger protested, but the waitress only laughed, and Chip laughed, for she was quite captive now, unable to talk and with weights dangling tortuously from her breasts and a belt rubbing her snatch. Ginger flung her head about and her pigtails went flying. Perhaps she was trying to rid herself of the sheath, but it was quite impossible, that way. The waitress held her hands as she tossed her head about and when she was finished with her little soundless temper tantrum the waitress snapped a leash to her captive tongue so she could be led around by it. “Best use of a girl’s mouth I’ve seen in years,” Chip said. The waitress removed his hand from his cock and made him take Ginger’s mouth-leash in his hand. “It’s better than piercing, for a girl her age,” the waitress replied. She looked at Ginger. “You are too young for that, my dear, so don’t even think about it. No tattoos, no piercings, and no weird hairstyles either, okay?” Then, impulsively, the waitress bent forward and kissed Ginger’s belly. She had a small, soft child’s belly, one that stuck out a little, until the waitress leaned forward to kiss it. “Oook!” Ginger protested, drawing in her belly. She felt over-loved, as if both of them were about to have her for their afternoon snack. The waitress ignored Ginger’s protest and yanked on her crotch belt, pulling it up. “Yeek!” Ginger cried. The belt was already tight in her pussy and the waitress pulling it up only made it rub her even more snugly. “I want to get pregnant and have a baby soon,” the waitress told Chip. “I- no- a ba-eee,” Ginger gurgled within her tongue-gag. The leash hung from her mouth and Chip tugged on it. “Come on, Little Miss Colorado,” he teased. “I’m not going to fracture your skull but I think I’m going to ram myself up your cunt.” He throbbed, his erection hard between his legs, his knees working back and forth a little from his lust to ejaculate. “Or sperm your thigh, if we don’t hurry,” he said. He looked at the waitress. “Are you coming?” She smiled and impulsively she rubbed her pussy. “Yes!” she breathed. She stood up, still wearing her waitress’ cap, and her blouse, which was still tied neatly under her breasts, covering them but baring the belly she hoped to get impregnated soon. She took Ginger’s hand and Ginger felt a little bit like a circus monkey walking between them, the shortest and smallest of them, with weights adorning her teats and a crotch belt rubbing her slit and being led by a leash hung from her tongue. But she walked docilely, bowing her head a little. The couple that had been enjoying each other onstage came down the small flight of steps from the stage, holding hands, the woman carrying what remained of her clothes in one hand, the man unassumingly naked. His cock, once hard, now hung limp between his legs. She walked with a pronounced wiggle, as if unaccustomed to having him between her thighs, or the recipient of what must have been a very vigorous fucking. The music stopped. Applause drifted down the stairs after the couple, they passed Ginger and Chip and the waitress, whose name Chip still didn’t know, and whose name he cared little about, watching her gorgeous jiggling ass. There were teenage whoops and hollars from the crowd beyond. Boldly, with brave little Ginger walking beside him, Chip mounted the steps to the stage. He could feel his big erection all swollen and stiff between his legs and he wanted to just throw Ginger down on the steps right there in the stairway and bang her brains out, but he knew there must be a performance first, featuring his Penis, Onstage. Either that or he had to very quickly come up with $500.00. Suddenly the stage came into view. Chip saw two maids hurriedly changing the sheets on the mattress that waited for them. Plastic sheeting, then white sheets were stripped off and new ones put on. Chip stepped onstage and heard wild applause and it was perhaps fitting, for his dick was joggling wildly and stiffly between his legs. He’d never felt so hard in his life and he felt Ginger lean in close to him, excited and scared at being seen in the all together by so many people. The maids finished making the bed and departed down stairs opposite the dressing room entrance. Chip turned, confronted the crowd. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, standing there naked, so he bowed. His cock bobbed as he bowed and the females in the audience loved his gallant gesture. Bras and panties suddenly flew onstage. A bouncer barked out that the audience wasn’t supposed to strip. Chip felt himself blushing and he wondered if his dick was blushing too but he had no time to look, for the waitress took him by his penis and batted her deep blue eyes at him and Ginger was looking at him all scared. He was led by the waitress over to the bed and Ginger tripped along beside him, led by her tongue-leash. The waitress slapped Chip on his bare buns. “Get up, both of you,” she told them. Chip picked up little Ginger like a sack of potatoes, rather ungallantly, after his noble bow to the audience, and tossed her onto the fresh bedding. Ginger yelped out some kind of a protest but the sheath over her tongue kept her from being understood. It made no difference; Chip was hard and desperate and he needed her legs apart. She squeezed them together but he grasped them and felt their exquisite softness and then, rudely, he yanked them wide open. “Eeep!” Ginger yelped. She looked at him with big eyes. He kneed his way up onto the matress on the platform. He knelt over her and, perhaps because the girls in the audience were screaming now, he humped the air, making his cock waggle all about like a big fleshy totem pole. The waitress came round to the head of the bed, still demurely in her hat and tied-up blouse. She held Ginger lightly by her frail thin small shoulders, tanned from the summer sun. Chip grabbed at Ginger’s white breasts and stabbed his penis between her legs. The crotch belt stopped him. Chip swore. He let go of Ginger’s teats and grabbed the belt round her waist and yanked it down her thighs. It was wet with her dew but he was too busy to notice. He had to back himself down her legs a little to get it off her feet and as he did she kicked at his groin lightly, as if to protest her fate, but not hard enough to stop him. He had planned to spank her for the audience but now he was like a starved lion and she was wet and he’d lost his belt, leaving it somewhere on the floor, on the stage, out of reach. Instead of making Ginger turn over and show her bottom to him and giving her a good swatting, perhaps even plunging himself up her ass to her utter mortification in front of the audience, he simply tossed her crotch-belt at them and reclaimed her breasts with his hands. “Ooooh!” Ginger howled. Chip mounted her. Ginger’s heels found themselves behind him again and she kicked them against his bare ass. “Unnnhhh!” Chip groaned. He stuck her with his cock and he leaned forward hard. She was small, and wet. He was heavy. His length stabbed into her and he felt like a wild beast, eating prey. Ginger screamed. Her tongue was already sheathed but the waitress put a hand over her mouth to silence her further. Desperately, urged on by the crowd and feeling absolutely wild and unstoppable, Chip fucked Ginger mercilessly. She wailed and cried out but he knew she’d had him before and could handle him, tight as she was, small as she was. He ignored her flying pigtails and her wet teary eyes. He paid no attention to the way she tried to squirm out from under him. Chip plowed her. He was like a machine making deep furrows in the soft soil. He battered her with her cock and the waitress kept her hand helpfully over Ginger’s mouth. After he’d jetted once into her, finding himself still hard, still within her, he slowed his pace a little and gave Ginger kisses on her face. She began to buck against him in response. The waitress let go of Ginger’s mouth and, gaspingly, Ginger kissed Chip back, still gurgling under a flood of tears. But they were happy tears now, not frightened, woeful, pettish tears.

“You never did spank my bottom,” Ginger said to Chip in the car on the way home. Her taffy still dangled from her ceiling. Chip smiled. “Do you want me to now?” he asked. “No,” she replied. “I don’t like spankings. Anyway, I lied about my mom and dad not being home tonight. I was hoping you’d spank me and I’d come home crying and then you’d get caught and have to explain yourself.” “What?!” Chip asked. She looked at him. Her snub nose stuck up at him. Her eyes glowed in the darkness of the car. Passing streetlights flitted across her face. “Well, you’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she asked. “Yes, but–” Chip said. “I’m 21! I don’t even like picking you up at school. I’m not sure your friends think I’m you’re uncle.” “Well, anyways,” she said. “I liked the club you took me to tonight. It was weird, but–” she put a hand over her dress and he saw her wedge it down between her legs. “Wow.” “You liked that, huh?” he asked. She wrinkled her nose. She rubbed herself lightly. “I won’t admit I liked it,” she said frankly. “But I’m not going to trick you into getting caught by my parents.” “Thanks,” Chip said. “You need to get this taffy off your ceiling before you take me out again,” Ginger told him. She tugged on it. “Yeah.” “And get a job, too. I’m running out of candy,” she said. “We already discussed that,” he told her. “I want you to quit eating candy and eat healthy foods, like celery, and carrots, and–” He stopped his car in front of Annette’s house, so she could run home without her parents knowing she’d been out driving around with some guy in his car. He looked at her breasts. They bulged nicely into her starched school uniform blouse. “And drink lots of milk,” he told her. She leaned over and kissed him. “Get a job,” she said. She patted his crotch even as she deftly rubbed her own, her skirt between her underpants and her hand. “And get that thing all ready again, okay? I think I’ll be needing it soon.” “I love you,” he said to her. “I don’t know if I love you or not but you are really cool,” she said. “Did you ever think of getting a new paint job for your Camaro, though? My girlfriend says it needs one.” “I think I better get a new car if any more people catch on that I’m dating you,” Chip said worriedly. “Yeah. Get a job and then you can have a new car every time you pick me up from school,” Ginger told him. “Sure,” Chip said. She kissed him again. “Bye,” she whispered. And a moment later she was out of his car. He watched her dart across her lawn. Behind her the long brown pigtails that her mother wanted to cut streamed out behind her. “Bye,” he answered, quietly, only himself hearing. But he knew he’d be back in a day or two, perhaps sooner, and one way or another he was going to repaint his Camaro for her. And he was also going to somehow get her damned taffy off his ceiling.