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Nifty - Lesbian - Adult Youth - Little Izumis White Panties

 
Date: Sat, 4 May 2013 10:37:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tony Williams <tonywill9999@yahoo.com>
Subject: Little Izumi's White Panties

There are five girls who always sit on the front row of my English
class, one white, two black, a Muslim and an Asian. The prettiest is the
Muslim girl, but everything is covered up, from her headscarf to her ankles
and all I ever see is her angel face with her amazing dark eyes. What a
waste of beauty! The black girls are twins from Jamaica, unruly, noisy,
but quite mature for their age. The Asian girl is a recent immigrant from
Japan who's struggling with her English. Of the five, three are sitting
provocatively with their legs splayed, showing off their underwear. Guess
which three - not the Asian. She has her knees demurely together and she
never takes her eyes of me. There's a rumor going round that she has a
crush on me. She's pretty too, with her black bangs and slender figure,
but in a different, more innocent way.
None of my class has reached puberty yet, so they're mostly easy to
control, but that'll change when they go on to high school and start taking
an interest in boys. The Jamicans and the white girl are slouched in their
seats, trying to look disinterested, which they think is cool. Belying
this, their open legged posture just screams for attention, inviting me to
look up the skirts of their uniforms, which I'm more than happy to do.
The've been doing this upskirt display thing for a few days now, pushing
the envelope to see how far they can go before I call them on it. They've
got a way to go yet. I make a point of deliberately looking at them while
letting my own knees part a little, offering my dazzling smile in
encouragement. My desk is just a plain table and they can see underneath
it. Their panties are different colors each day, but mine are always
white, blinding white, sometimes cotton, sometimes nylon. The shortness of
my skirts has been commented on by the school principal, but fuck him! He
doesn't appreciate the attraction of a nice pair of legs, and to him,
preteen girls are just students. You'd think that in his job, a fondness
for young girls would be a pre-requisite, just to keep him focused. I, on
the other hand, think of my girls as perfect examples of the beauty of
nature.
One day, Izumi, the Japanese girl, will let me glimpse up the skirt of
her uniform. A little peek is all I ask. I'll bet they're white. All
Japanese schoolgirls wear white panties, on the internet, anyway.
Today, just before the bell rings, I tell them their homework
assignment. "An essay on 'My favorite color'."
"What's you favorite color?" asks Sandy, the white girl.
I pause, to get their full attention. "White," I say. "The color of
purity, of cleanliness, of innocence."
"Or virginity," quips one of the Jamaican girls. There's a ripple of
laughter.
"Exactly. Two hundred words by Thursday." The bell rings and there's
an immediate burst of conversation as they scramble to their feet, grab
their backpacks and head for the door. "Can you wait a minute, Izumi?" I
call over the racket. The room empties and she comes and stands beside me
as I sit at the desk. I put my hand on her hip and draw her towards me.
"Your English grades aren't good, but you'll soon catch up. I know it's
difficult, sweetheart, but eleven isn't too old for you to learn a new
tongue fluently. English is a crazy language, I know, with it's stupid
spelling, but you're doing fine. If you think it would help, I can offer
some one-on-one tuition after school and you wouldn't have to pay. Would
you like that?" I look up at her and her eyes go bright.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure it would help, Miss Williams". Her English is
heavily accented.
"You can call me Antonia, or Toni, if you like." She's blushing. I
think the rumors about her crush might be true. "I can call your parents."
"No, you don't need to. They're divorced. I live with my dad. He
doesn't get home until late evening so it doesn't matter when I get home.
There's not going to be anyone there, so I might as well be here. . ." she
pauses, ". . .with you, Toni." My heart skips a beat.
"That's great. I'll see you back here at three, then, Izumi." Her
name means "fountain". I give her a squeeze then pat her butt as she steps
away from me. I have to be careful, even a pat on the butt can get a
teacher into trouble in these days of pedophile witch-hunts. She looks
over her shoulder and gives me a smile. I can't wait for three o'clock.

________________________________________________________


Looking up the skirts of schoolgirls is generally associated with
dirty old men. Why is this? They don't have a monopoly. Young girls
attract all ages and all sexes, even some of my gay male friends tell me
they don't miss an opportunity to look up a little girl's skirt. As a
child, from the age of about six or so, I was acutely concious of the
effect of displaying my panties had on men of all ages, especially my
brothers. My uncle was an ardent fan of my panties, and he wasn't old or
dirty. I was thrilled when people looked at me as I showed off. (I still
am.) There were many situations, like wrestling and tickling games, or
doing cartwheels, or climbing the jungle gym or a tree, chances to let guys
gaze at my panties, always white, always immaculately clean. One trick I
used was to lift up the hem of my dress to clean my glasses and another was
to pull up my panties from behind, somehow "accidentally" getting my dress
caught by the waistband and walk about "unaware" that my butt was on
display to the whole world. And it wasn't just men or schoolboys who liked
to look at me. Some of my female teachers, a couple of aunts, a few
neighbors and the attendant in the city's swimming pool girls' changing
room would look transfixed as I did my little acts, telling me how "cute" I
looked when the word they really meant was "sexy". I showed off well past
the age when I could claim naivite and pretend that it was all just
carelessness. Even at ten and eleven, I was . . .okay, I'll say it . . . a
fucking exhibitionist. Better yet, a little prick-teaser.
My dad was not imume to my charms. He'd look up my skirt, especially
as I got older. One night, at bedtime, I climbed out of the tub, dried
myself off, and came into the living room, still naked. Dad was sitting at
the computer, so I sat on his lap and put my arm round his neck. I was ten
years old. "Am I pretty, Daddy?" I asked in my little-girl voice.
"You're adorable, Sweetheart." He put one arm round me and ran the
other over my chest. I looked down, spread my thighs and said, "I don't
have any pubic hair yet. It's still smooth. Feel." He couldn't help
himself and he ran his hand over my mound and his fingers touched my lips.
"That feels nice," I whispered, and he jerked his hand away and gently
pushed me off his lap. I guess he felt guilty. "I love you, Toni, but I
shouldn't do that."
"I don't mind," I said, giving him my most seductive smile, but the
moment had passed. He never molested me in any way, but he never stopped
looking either.
Contriving to get looked at was only half the story. It was just as
thrilling for me to look. My schoolfriends, teachers, relatives, just
about any female acquaintance who was careless enough, or devious enough,
to allow me a glimpse of their panties, would get my tightly focused
attention, and most of them were aware of the effect their shows had on me.
Once, I hung out in the fitting room of a clothing store, unable to tear my
gaze away as a teenager tried on dress after dress. I'd lie in bed at
night, thinking about how someone had offered the sight of their underwear,
and I'd get all excited and my hand would go between my legs and I'd finger
myself until I drifted off into a happy sleep. There I was, an innocent
preteen, masturbating to gay images! I was ten when I came for the first
time. I thought I was in heaven. It wasn't long before I found out that
all girls do it and that it's much nicer when someone does it for you.

_________________________________________________________


Three o'clock comes, and here she is, pale blue uniform dress coming
down to mid thigh, long black hair falling down her back, arms and legs
invitingly bare, and little white ankle socks setting the whole thing off.
Oh, my sweet angel, I think, I could eat you with a spoon. Next year, the
uniform will change to a white shirt and dark blue pleated skirt, and she
might even wear tights. I hope not. Getting my hand inside a pair of
tights would take some doing. I invite her to pull up a chair and sit
beside me. Together, we lean forward, poring over a text book, my bare arm
touching hers. I can smell the sweet scent of her warm body and my head
spins. For half a hour we're alone together, talking about pronouns and
tenses, but there's an unspoken communication happening too. My arm is
round her shoulder and she is leaning in to me. I don't have a bra on
under my camisole top and I know she can look down at my tits if she wants.
Finally, I straighten up.
"That's enough for today, Izumi. We can meet the same time tomorrow.
Will that be alright?"
She nods, then stands, turns and lifts her butt to sit on the table.
I push my chair back and lean back as far as I can, trying for a low sight
angle. Her knees part and my patience is finally rewarded. I can see her
panties, and, praise Jesus, they're white! I think frantically how to
extend the session and I babble on for a couple of minutes about books she
ought to read. She shuffles her butt farther on to the table and opens her
legs a little more. This is much more exciting than looking at the two
black girls, or Sandy; I'm just a couple of feet away, close enough to see
the individual stitches on the horizontal seam across her crotch and it's
all I can do to resist leaning forward and burying my face between her
legs. At last, I stand up. I've stored enough in my memory to pleasure
myself to sleep every night for a month. I think I'm falling in love.

_________________________________________________________


We all know that little girls have crushes on adults. Not only do the
little darlings love their daddies, they're often attracted to other men.
More often, they crush on an older girl or a teacher. It's almost a given.
But conventional wisdom brushes these infatuations off as "'passing
attractions", of no great significance. How wrong you all are. Don't you
remember your own early years? I had a crush on a woman who operated a
neighborhood riding school and it took over my whole fucking life, body and
soul. I was totally drowning in love, utterly helpless, my longing for her
coloring my every thought. Those emotions were as intense as anything I've
felt since. My dad had fixed me up with riding lessons and as soon as I
was a reasonably competent equestrienne, I just hung out at the stables
every Saturday, as unpaid help, tacking the horses, brushing them down and
cleaning their hooves, anything to get her approval. To this day the smell
of horses can make me wet.
The owner, Jean, was a manish woman who wore plaid flannel shirts with
the sleeves rolled up, and white jeans that were tight enough to see her
panty lines. She was super nice to me and every Saturday before I left,
she'd give me a hug, a real two-arm embrace, and kiss me on the cheek.
"Thank you," she'd say, "you're a treasure," and I'd blush and feel warm
all over. She never tried anything sexual, though I would've been putty in
her hands.
Then I got my first period. For the next four weekends, the riding
school was washed out by rain and the paddock flooded, so I spent my
Saturdays at home. When the weather finally cleared, my dad got the car
ready to take me to the stables and I realized I didn't want to go. Jean
had faded from my life. It didn't hurt and I didn't miss her. I guess I
just grew up. Occasionally I drive by and there are always two or three
eleven year old girls hanging about. Note to lesbians: buy a stable.

_________________________________________________________


It's Thursday, English class for fifth graders. The girls hand in
their homework and sit down. They all used to call me "Miss", but I put a
stop to that. It distances us. I won't let them use my first name, so
they don't call me anything, unless they're trying to get my attention,
then it's "Miss Williams". The same five are on the front row. I sit,
waiting for the class to settle down and predicably the three young
exhibitionists slouch in their seat, legs spread invitingly. Oh, my God!
They're all wearing white panties! This can't be a coincidence. My pulse
starts to race. They're smiling at me, knowingly. I smile back and drop a
pencil, reaching down between my spread legs to pick it up. I sit back up
and leave my knees slightly parted. The moment hangs on the air and I hold
my pose for as long as I dare, then close my legs and get on with the
lesson. I'm sure they've got my no-so-subtle message. It's difficult to
concentrate with all that white underwear on display, but I go through the
motions. From time to time I stand and move about the classroom, and
notice that more girls are sitting in less than ladylike poses. Is this
becomming a "thing"? I need to be careful.
Towards the end of the period I pause, close my text book and throw
the room open for discussion on any topic. I think this is more useful to
eleven year olds than the rules of English grammar. The white girl, Sandy,
jumps right in. "Can I ask you a question? Are you a lesbian?" Her face
is all faked innocence. The two Jamaican girls smirk. I know they've put
her up to this. I think fast. I could shut her down right here and now,
but I'm not some conservative fascist, so I play along.
"Would it bother you if I were?" I asked, careful to use the
subjunctive, which so many of us fail to do. She hesitates, looking at her
friends. I go on, "You all need to know that none of us gets to choose our
sexual orientation. It's handed to us. Whether you girls turn out to be
straight or gay, you'll like it and won't want to change. Similarly, we
don't get to choose with whom we fall in love." (I use the word "whom" as
often as I can, but they all say "who" when they shouldn't.) "We fall for
someone, then we feel that they're the most wonderful person in the world
so we think that we've made the right choice, but we've got it backwards.
All be best characters in fiction fall for the wrong sort of person, Romeo
and Juliet, for example."
"She was only thirteen," says one of the Jamaicans. Lakeesha or
Shonda, I get them mixed up. She must have actually read the play. The
Juliets played in the movies are all older than thirteen, alas.
"You're point being?" I ask.
"She was underage. Romeo was a pedo."
"Not in sixteenth century Italy. They didn't have an age of consent.
They often got married off by their parents at very young ages, usually
against their will."
"Like Malika," says Lakeesha. They all look at the Muslim girl, who
stares at the floor. I remember hearing something about her being promised
to a guy in Pakistan, a man in his forties she's never met or even seen a
photo of.
Suddenly Izumi speaks up. "Thirteen," she says. We all look at her.
"In Japan. It's thirteen. The age of consent."
"Ooooh," says Shonda. "I'm gonna book my flight." We dutifully laugh.
"Gonna get me a hot Jap guy and put my picture on the internet with all the
other schoolgirls."
"Showing off your panties?" says Lakeesha, with a smirk. "you don't
have to go to Japan. You do that here."
"Says the pot calling the . . ."
Sandy interrupts. "What if we turn out to be bi?" We're back on
topic, it seems.
"So much the better," I say. "Then we can enjoy both ends of the
spectrum with the added advantage that we won't be prejudiced against any
group."
"You could have a threesome, with a girl and a guy," says Lakeesha,
producing a chorus of giggles.
"Save it for sex-ed, girls. This is English. My sexual orientation
is not for discussion, unless you come to me with a personal problem."
"We've got personal problems," says Sandy, looking at her friends for
backup. "Can we come to you and then you'll tell us if you're gay?"
"Check in with the school counseller," I tell her, shutting her down
before it all gets out of hand. I wasn't going to lie and tell them I'm
straight.
Through all this, Izumi is silent, sitting with a Mona Lisa smile on
her face.
When the lesson ends I tell her that it might not be a good idea for
us to be seen alone together in a classroom. Her face falls. "We should
meet up and go either to my place or yours for your tuition session. If
your dad doesn't get home until late, who cooks dinner for you?"
"I get a burger or call for take-out."
"You need to eat a nutritious meal. I'll cook dinner for you. It'll
be like a date." Her face breaks out in an enormous smile. "Don't tell
anyone. Those gossipy friends of yours will have it all over the school in
minutes."
"They're not my friends. I don't really have any."
"You've got me, Izumi."

__________________________________________________


I pick her up in the car park, then swing by the Supermarket for some
sushi and head home. In my apartment, I ask her what time she needs to be
home.
"My dad doesn't get in until after eight," she says. Perfect, I have
at least four hours alone with her. We kick off our shoes, and I put the
groceries in the fridge. I roll my office chair away from my desk and pull
my piano stool up so we can sit side by side, as closely as possible. For
a while we look at lists of vocabulary as Izumi reads out loud. She has
trouble with her L's, like many Asians. I turn to face her, open my mouth
and say, "Look at my tongue. La, la, la. Now you." She mimics me, her
little tongue moving up and down and I have a sudden urge to kiss her. I
have to get a grip, I don't want to frighten her off. I make up a song
about "a lot of little bottles" which we sing together and I tell her how
well she's doing, giving her a one-arm hug. "Verse two: Lovely licking
lesbians. . ." She giggles, and sings it with me. Then we go on the
internet and look at pictures of her home town, Kobe, and facebook pictures
of her family, before they all came to the USA.
"Do you have family?" she asks. I open a file of holiday snaps,
showing my father and brothers in speedos at the beach, and me, as a little
girl, naked except for a big sun hat. "You were pretty," she says.
"Not as pretty as you." I scroll on to a picture of me at age twelve,
sitting on a fence with my legs spread, a perfect upskirt picture. "My dad
took that. He liked looking up my skirt."
"Your dad? Wow! Didn't you mind?"
I chuckle. "I loved his attention. I let him look any time he
wanted."
"Did he, like, do stuff to you?" Her voice is worried.
"One time he put his hand down there. Well to be honest," I laugh, "I
asked him to. He just touched me a little and then stopped. I think he
felt guilty."
"You asked him to?"
"I was a bit of a tease. My brothers were always trying to feel me up
and sometimes I let them, but only outside my panties. I knew when to tell
them to stop." She takes the mouse and clicks back to the naked me, and
gazes at it.
"Where was this taken?"
"On a beach in Europe. Most beaches there are topless and lots of
girls wear nothing at all." She nods. "I was about your age when this was
taken. Nudity wasn't a problem in our family."
"In Japan, we go to the bath house and we're all naked together in the
big tub." I try to picture it, a bunch of preteen girls, splashing around
together, wet and wild. She asks, "Why are Americans so ashamed of their
bodies?"
"It goes back to religion. You can blame most of the problems of the
world on religion. Think about poor Milika, having to marry someone she'll
probably hate. That whole male dominated culture stems from religion."
The conversation is getting a little heavy for an eleven year old so I move
on. I open another file. This is one of my collections of little girl
photos that I've downloaded over the years, the innocent ones. Other files
have much naughtier stuff. I click through a few of them.
"They're all so pretty. Do you know them?"
"No, they're just pics I found. I like pretty little girls, but then
I think you know that." I give her a squeeze and she smiles. I move on to
the next file. These little lolitas are all posing in their underwear,
some innocent, some quite lewd. They all have beaming smiles on their
faces, clearly enjoying being in front of the camera. "I especially like
girls in panties, as I think you've guessed. White panties. Notice
they're all wearing white. None of them are as pretty as you, Izumi."
She turns and looks at me. "You're pretty, too, Toni." My heart rate
speeds up. I can feel myself getting wet and I know if I don't move, the
aroma of sex with start coming off me and she'll notice it. I like the
smell of my own sex and it turns me on but I don't know how an eleven year
old girl will react, so I stand up.
"Hungry? Wanna eat?"
A few minutes later, we're sitting opposite each other, either side of
the low glass coffee table, cross legged on the livingroom floor. "Like
we're Japanese," I say. We work away with our chopsticks.
"Most of us sit at a table, like you guys."
"But this is nicer. More intimate." More importantly, we can see
through the glass table up each others dresses and she hardly takes her
eyes off my panties. "Ice cream?" I ask, when we're finished. I go into
the kitchen, fix two bowls of icecream and pour two glasses of mango juice.
I hear her come in behind me, so I pick up the glasses and turn abruptly,
as though I didn't know she was there, and bump into her. The mango juice
goes all over the front of her dress. "Oh, Izumi, I'm so sorry. I didn't
see you. That's gonna leave a stain. Better take it off and I'll put it
in the washer." I put the half empty glasses back on the counter and watch
as she lifts the hem of her dress, pulling it up her body, exposing the
white cotton schoolgirl panties that so obsess me. My little trick worked.
She's wearing a little skimpy training bra that holds up nothing at all.
She pulls the dress over her head and shakes her hair free. Her panties
are wet with juice, too. "Panties, as well. In fact, give me everything.
They'll wash and dry in a couple of hours, no problem." I put my arms
round her and unfasten the bra and let it fall off her arms. Her nipples
are tiny. Then I stand back as she pulls her panties down, lets them fall
and steps out of them. I bend and pick them up, my face inches from her
vagina. Her tiny lips are just perceptible. I only have time for a quick
glance before I gather her clothes and put them in the washer. I run my
hand down her stomach. "You're sticky. Let's get you in the shower." I
take her hand and lead her into the bathroom. I open the glass shower
door, turn the water on and adjust the temperature. I turn to face her as
she stands, unselfconciously, waiting for me to step aside. I look her up
and down. "Oh, Izumi, you are SO beautiful. You have a lovely body.
Don't ever be ashamed to be naked."
"I'm not," she says, a hint of pride in her voice. "I like being
naked."
"Me, too," I say, letting her get into the shower. I sit on the
toilet lid watching her as she washes her body. Her hand lingers briefly
between her legs, not in any way provocative, but I wish it were my hand.
She rinses of, steps out of the shower and I fold her in a big bath towel.
"Go into the bedroom. I'll be out in a minute and we'll find something for
you to wear." I strip and shower as quickly as I can, towel off and walk
naked into my bedroom. Izumi is sitting on my bed and she looks at me,
then her gaze tilts down to my vagina.
"Wow, you've shaved down there."
"It looks much nicer without hair, don't you think?"
"Like me?"
"Exactly. Just like an innocent little girl."
She giggles. "You have a lovely figure."
"You think so? I think my tits are too small.
"I love your tits. I hope my tits are like yours when they grow."
"You'll always look beautiful to me, Izumi." I look through my closet
for something small enough to fit her, but she says, "I don't have to wear
anything do I? I don't mind being naked."
"You're right. Let's hang out in our birthday suits." I close my
closet door and step over to the bed. I lift her knees and swing them on
to the bed and gently push her back until she's lying down, her long, dark
hair spread out on the pillow. I sit beside her, running my eyes up and
down her body, drinking in the fabulous sight of this preteen angel, not
bothering to hide my lust. She looks up at me adoringly and my heart
melts. I put my hand on her waist, then move it up to her chest, caressing
her flat chest, gently pinching her nipples between my forefinger and
thumb, first one side then the other, then move my hand down, sliding over
her flawless skin, down over her hip and thigh, then back up again, letting
my fingertips briefly touch her vigina lips, just as my father had done all
those years ago. Her legs part slightly at my touch. I caress her again,
up and down, lingering on her pussy with each pass. She doesn't flinch or
make any attempt to stop me. "You are so incredibly beautiful, my
darling." The pretence is now over. She knows what I want. I lean in and
kiss her gently on the lips. "Oh, my sweet darling," I murmur. "I've been
wanting to do that for weeks. I think I'm falling for you."
Her face is flushed. "I love you, Toni," she whispers, "I've loved
you since the first day I ever saw you. I just can't help myself." Her
arms go round my neck and she holds me tight, her gentle breath in my ear.
I swing my legs up on to the bed and lie beside her and start to kiss her
nipples. I feel her hand on the back of my head, pulling me into her and I
kiss her on the lips again. One of my arms is underneath her and I use my
free hand to stroke her abdomen and thighs, settling finally in that divine
valley between her slender legs. I finger her exactly as I've been
fingering myself all the nights when I lay in bed thinking about her. My
dreams are coming true. Her breathing quickens. Her little tongue is
probing and I open my lips just enough to let it in, then I gently thrust
my own tongue into her mouth. Her lips open wide and she sucks on my
tongue in a way that sends shivers through me. After a minute or so, we
pull apart.
"No one's ever touched me down there before, Toni. It's nice. It's
much nicer than when I do it to myself."
"Touching you is thrilling for me. I've been imagining it for so long
and now it's actually happening."
"Do anything you like to me. I'm all yours. Put your finger inside
me," she says.
"I'll do anything you want," I say. "Will you let me kiss your
vagina?"
Her eyes go big and bright. "Yes, yes," she whispers, "kiss me down
there." I pull my arm from under her, slide down the bed and lie between
her legs, my face close to her holy of holies and gaze at it.
"It's so pretty. It's smiling at me. A vertical smile. I love it."
I give it a little kiss, just a teaser. She giggles. Then I go right in,
my face buried, my tongue doing exactly what it knows to do. I bring all
my experience with my gay girlfriends to bear, licking, thrusting, sucking,
everything I know, just to pleasure her. I can hear her breathing speed up
and her hands push my head into her, her hips coming up to meet me. I'm in
heaven, incredibly aroused, my own pussy on fire, my heart pounding. My
tongue starts to ache from all the stretching, so I lift my head and let my
fingers work on her, pushing first one, then two, deep inside her, my thumb
on her clit. They meet no resistance. She probably lost her hymen in a
gym class months ago. I look up and meet her gaze. A tear gathers in one
corner of her eye. I rotate my hand and curl my fingers to touch her G
spot, then pull my hand out and go back to eating her. Suddenly her thighs
clamp round my head and she lets out a little cry, then goes limp. I lift
my head, then slide up beside her, putting my arm round her shoulder again.
She lies, speechless, her head on my breast as I stroke her cheek and tell
her that I've fallen head over heels in love with her. We lie silent for a
minute or so, then she opens her eyes, looks up at me and says, "Now I know
what an orgasm is. It was incredible! You made me so happy. It was like
a wave of love breaking over me. Now I want to do it to you. Can I lick
you like you licked me?"
Without waiting for me to reply, she scootches down the bed and lies
between my legs. I can't believe this is happening. She's a child, a
little innocent girl who probably still plays with dolls, who wears white
ankle socks, who has the body of a young boy, who's is still a year or two
from pubety, and yet her head is between my splayed legs, inhaling the
overpowering odor to sex that's coming off me, like steam from a boiling
pot. She takes a second deep breath in through her nose and her big eyes
look up at me. I put my hands behind my head to prop it us so I can watch
her as she performs her first act of oral sex. She gazes at my pussy.
"It's beautiful, like a flower," she says, opening my lips with both
her thumbs. "and you're so wet. I get wet when I touch myself, but not as
wet as this. And you smell so good." The tip of her tongue pushes out and
tentatively licks between my lips. I feel like I'm going to have a heart
attack. I've never been this aroused in my life. I reach down and gather
her hair, pushing it away so I can watch as well as feel, as she worships
my pussy. She pushes her tongue into me, but it's small and I'm so relaxed
it hardly touches the sides, but nevertheless, electric thrills run through
me. Then she lifts her head and puts her middle finger right inside me.
"Oh, my sweet angel, that's so good, but put two fingers in. Yeah,
now three. In and out, like that. Can you get your little finger in as
well? Try, just push." Her four fingers slide in and out on the wetness
of my labial folds. I can hear myself groaning, lost in a world of lust.
"Now, fold your thumb into your palm and try to get your hand inside me.
Now push again, push as hard as you can. You won't hurt me. Oh, Jesus, I
love you so much!" Then her whole hand goes inside, right up to her wrist,
and I let out a gasp.
"Did I hurt you?" she asks, anxiously.
"No, my darling. This is incredible. Just move your hand in and out
just a little. Oh, my God! Now, wiggle your fingers." Sensations that
I've never felt before course through me as she fists me.
"I want to crawl inside you and curl up and stay there forever," she
murmurs. "I want to be part of you, spending my whole life with you." She
lowers her head and puts her lips round my swollen clit, her tongue playing
with it, then she sucks hard, relaxes, then sucks again, in and out
rythmically. She's sucking me off, my darling little eleven year old Izumi
is sucking me off and I can't hold on any longer and I cum like a fucking
artillery shell, my whole insides exploding in a fireball of passion. My
toes curl and I think I'm goning to pass out, and then I'm just awash in a
tide of pure love and devotion for this exquisite young girl who's stolen
my heart.
"Sweet Jesus, you little darling, you made me cum. I've never cum
that hard before, it was awesome. I was totally out of control."
She gently pulls her hand from my pussy, looks at the wetness running
down her wrist, then licks it. She grins at me. "You taste as exciting as
you smell,Toni."
"Come up here," I say, still trying to catch my breath. "I wanna hug
you. I wanna hold you close and never let you go." We lie there in a warm
glow of contentment, our arms round each other, our hearts slowing down,
the light from the window fading. I kiss her on the lips. There's one
thing I have to know. "What was it that first attracted you to me, Izumi?"
"That first English lesson. You came in the classroom and sat down
and I could see right up your skirt. You were wearing white panties. I
somehow knew you were deliberately showing me. I don't know why, but my
heart began to race and I thought I was gonna faint. I loved you right
from that moment."
"I remember it. You had one heel up on the chair and I could see your
panties too. I knew that was no accident. That's when I fell, too, head
over heels."
"Will you love me forever, Toni?"
"I will, for as long as you wear white panties."
She laughs. I'll never tire of the sound of her laughter. She's
mine.

The End.

 
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