Her mother was a total fucking pervert who had named her to celebrate her own depravities and to take a dig at her retrograde parents who couldn't comprehend children fucking at such a young age. Dorinda Poole had seduced her first grade teacher, and had never looked back.

"Almost there," Chastity thought. She hunkered on the chair, her heart tripping now. She studied her eyes, wanting to see if they changed when it happened. Her fingers ran up and down her well-exercised clitoris the way she played the recorder in music class. Her clam shell was still wet from the nice man in the woods.

She masturbated thinking about him. She remembered the frenzy that seized her when she espied the chosen spot, the "tryst" as some old duffer had once called it. That one had been so resplendent in his crossing guard uniform. When they finished he sang to her and his voice was frail as a reed but piping high and exuberant, "The days go short when we reach September" he had sung and she hadn't a clue what he meant, but she liked his stiff old cock.

She almost tottered the last few yards as her little pussy churned and heated up like a cauldron. She was so sick with lust at the time she'd almost defecated in her pants.

The man -- "L'homme" she thought of him, practicing her French lessons--wasted few words, was hard before he got his pants off, and took her almost angrily. He was big and held nothing back, she cried and whimpered and he told her to "shut the fuck up" and well nigh suffocated her with his kisses. He smelled of bourbon and cigars. He drew blood on her buttocks, clawing with his fingers. God he was strong. In stories sometimes they write about the girl feeling the man's cum spurting against her insides, until today she'd assumed this was a literary fiction. When he was done he was done. His interest totally spent. But he was a decent man, innately kind. So, when she asked him for money he gave her six dollars and a half pack of smokes.

Close now, oh so very close. She slipped a finger against the bud of her anus and that put her over.

She stared at her face, there it was, she could see her eyes wobble, her lips sneak into a smile, her cheeks flush and dimple. It went on like a river, the orgasm swelled and lifted, she snorted and panted, then it subsided. "Why is my cum so everything?" she thought.

Even freshly spent Chastity thought about her next cock. She thought, as she increasingly did these days, about her older brother Henry. He was twelve now, what girls in her grade called "dreamy", handsome and shy. She heard him masturbating every morning and evening and she'd dug out his dirty underwear from the hamper. She liked to smell his sweat and the slick from his ass. Recently she'd seen semen in various states of motility. She wondered what it would be like to fuck with him.

She knew he had a fairly large penis and practically no hair. So much was obvious just by watching him change at the pool. Chastity had also seen some of the grownups looking at him. He had such a cute butt, smartly cleft. She wondered how many 40ish women wanted to fuck him. Probably a hell of a lot......(cont)