Melanie Debauched, part 2 of 4

Written by Perry Nayum

The next six days won't interest you. They were of course spent fantasising about what the following Wednesday might bring, worrying about whether Melanie would be there or not, and masturbating every waking minute to my computer collection of child porn and to mind's-eye projections of my beautiful little nine-nearly-ten-year-old in every conceivable scenario.

Wednesday afternoon finally came, and of course I was at the supermarket far too early for fear that I might miss Melanie if she really did turn up.

My anxiety increased with every minute, and by 2.30 - the time I had first seen her the week before - there was still no sign of that long slim package of preteen candy. My heart began to sink, and with every passing second I became more and more certain that I had built my castle on sand and that I had lost the best opportunity of my life.

By 3 o'clock, I was no longer anxious. I was devastated. All hope gone, not to mention the fact that the supermarket staff were beginning to look at me a bit strangely. For more than an hour, I hadn't even made a pretence of buying anything.

Thoroughly disconsolate, I made my way out into the street and sat for a while on a bench outside, head drooping, eyes fixed on my shoes while I tried to readjust.

I had just counted the eyelets of my shoes for the tenth time when an exquisite pair of little sandal-shod feet came into view, soles slightly turned in, tiny toes wriggling impatiently.

A giggle.

Hardly daring to believe my eyes (never mind my tingling senses), I examined the toes, the foot, the soft curve of the childish calf, the every-so-slightly knobbly knees, two deliciously suntanned thighs that went up and up until they entered the shortest pair of jeans known to man, cut off so high that the start of the buttocks was there for all to see and ending at least four inches below the little inny belly-button. The rest was just as appetising: the hard almost-flat-but-with-a-trace-of-girlish-roundness tummy, and - as I looked up from my bench - a hint of the lower part of two tiny puffy mounds cut off by six inches of cotton suspended from Melanie's frail shoulders by two narrow spaghetti straps.

More giggles.

"Cat got your tongue then, Mithter? I bet you thought I was never coming!"

I liked the way she called me "Mithter".

I looked up into her radiant face.

"Hello, my wicked little angel! What about the shopping, then?"

"Oh, that! There wathn't much to get, tho I did it early. And I told my mum I was going round to Britney'th for the afternoon tho not to expect me back before thith evening. Tho, what are you going going to do with your innothent little Melanie today?"

"Get into the car, you little baggage, and I'll take you to the moon. I'll show you paradise," I laughed.

"Dunno about the moon, mithter. How about you thow me where you live, firtht? And then perhaps I'll show you MY bit of paradise."

Melanie was ahead of me every time. ......(cont)



.......Read the entire Melanie Debauched, part 2 of 4 ....written by Perry Nayum.
Copyright © 2007-8 Perry Nayum. ALL Rights Reserved









This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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