The shop was on the edge of the village, only several hundred yards from the gates of the school. 'St.Catherines' was an exclusive all girls' establishment. Some of girls were boarders and some day students, with ages ranged from 7 up to 16.

He adored young girls.

Set in several acres of prime English countryside the school catered for the daughters of a wealthy elite; those parents who wanted only the best for their children and who were prepared to pay the school's exhorbitant fees for that privilege.

Oh yes, he loved schoolgirls.

And St.Catherines had some very lovely schoolgirls indeed.

He was a 67 years old widower who'd bought the village shop with attached accommodation more for its location and as a place to live, than any expectation of running it as a viable business concern.

With a considerable private pension pot and a significant bank balance he was able to treat the shop as a part time hobby and only open the hours that suited him; and if that also happened to be the times most convenient for the girls who attended St.Catherines to shop, then everyone was happy.

He was certainly very happy. It made him extremely happy to see the girls from the nearby school come into his shop. He delighted in watching them browse around the greetings cards and magazines; it gave him enormous pleasure to study them selecting chocolates or even groceries. It didn't matter if they made a purchase or not, it was enough to be able to regard them so closely, to admire their firm young bodies so enticingly dressed in their smart school uniforms.

Of course he was very careful never to allow his perverted scrutiny to become obvious. At all times he presented a warm and avuncular persona, was unfailingly polite and cheery, and occasionally made feeble jokes. He wanted to, and did, appear as a genial old gentleman, a kindly grandfather figure.

If only the girls knew the dark and filthy things that went on inside his head.

Standing behind the counter, his eyes furtively appraising the bottoms and legs of schoolgirls, he would slyly adjust his erection as he rang a sale through the till and offer a cheerful quip to some delectable young girl he was serving.

Oh how he adored young girls.

Being so close was highly exciting, but also frustrating. After closing up shop he'd retire upstairs to his flat where he'd unzip himself and, imagining touching one of the girls he'd just seen, he'd furiously wank himself to blessed relief.

He'd fantasised about schoolgirls all his life, since, well, since he was a schoolboy. He'd enjoyed many physically satisying relationships with women and had had a fully active sexual relationship with his wife until her death some 5 years previously. He'd kept his fantasies and thoughts about schoolgirls to himself; had enjoyed the illicit fascination as his own private perversion but he'd never done anything about it. His dark fantasies had fuelled countless thousands of vivid masturbations but had remained just fantasies.

Until now. Perhaps it was his age. Perhaps it was because he was lonely; he'd loved his wife and missed her. or perhaps it was just the intoxicating proximity of so many gorgeous sexy young schoolgirls.

Whatever the reason, his desire was building.

Daily growing stronger.

His favourites were the pubescent girls, from around 12 years to 14 or even 15. He'd never dared to imagine actual sex with such a girl before. But now he found himself asking "why not?"

And so he dreamed on, and gradually his musings formed into schemes, far fetched plans and maybe plans that were not so far fetched. He allowed himself to believe he might think up a plan which could work, something which would allow him to indulge in and fulfil his sordid desires and yet remain a free man, keep his position and standing in the community.

And so he decided to act.

He calculated that it could work. There was a risk, but after playing and replaying the plan over he felt sufficiently emboldened to try.

He'd noticed that each Wednesday afternoon at around 4.30 a girl called into the shop on her way home to buy a classical music magazine and a bar of chocolate. She was always alone and carried a clarinet case, he'd tried to engage her in conversation but she'd never been especially responsive being an extremely shy girl, but she had once revealed that on Wednesdays she attended an after school music lesson and that she was a 'day' girl not a 'boarder'.

She was a particularly choice young girl; beautiful infact. Slim build, an exquisitely pretty face framed by long blonde hair. No more than four and a half feet tall, he guessed her age at around 13 or 14. He'd lusted after her from the very first time she came into his shop. She always looked so neat, her hair looked as though it had just been brushed and her school tie precisely knotted and blazer fastened. And her legs were simply sensational, slim but toned and the sight of them encased in barely black nylon gave him a raging hardon. And the little darling had lately taken to wearing kitten heels which just magnified her erotic allure and gave this demure and coy small girl an almost faintly tarty appeal. She was the stuff of dreams. He ached to get his hands on her. And if all went as planned, then today he would.

At almost 4.35pm the bell rang signalling her entrance to the shop. He noticed his palms were sweating, he didn't look up but feigned interest in some paperwork on the counter. Below the counter he watched the screen. She dawdled over to the magazine rack and scanned the titles looking for her regular publication. His pulse began to quicken. He knew by now she must have seen it, the next moments were critical. Although his head was down he was aware that she glanced up towards him. Then back down to where it was, the wallet he'd placed on the floor. She made no move but continued looking at the magazines. What if she didn't take the bait? He cleared his throat.

"Just have to nip out back, will only be a minute," he announced to her smiling, then disappeared through the door behind the counter. In the small stockroom he waited and prayed it would work, seconds dragged by but after nearly two minutes had passed he reappeared and stood back behind the counter. He glanced down at the screen. It was gone! GONE! YES. YES. The wallet he'd placed on the floor near the magazine rack was gone. He felt a surge of excitement and fear. Not there yet.

He tried to remain calm. She might still approach the counter and hand it over, tell him she'd found something, she was the type of girl who looked as if she'd do that sort of thing. But as the seconds ticked by he became more hopeful. Finally she walked tentatively towards the counter and placed down her chocolate bar and magazine. "Three pounds fifty" he announced with quavering voice and the girl proferred her money.

"Is that everything today?" he asked. The beautiful young girl nodded that it was, her eyes flickered nervously, unable to meet his stare.

It had worked. She'd quite literally taken the bait.

Almost casually he walked around the counter, then reaching the door flipped the 'Closed' sign on and deftly clicked the lock.

Inside the shop now trapped, the girl looked up at him puzzled and suddenly very frightened.

His heart was hammering in his chest, his throat dry, looking down she seemed so small, so fragile, so unfeasibly exquisite so wonderfully impossibly beautiful.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to step into the back room as I believe you've got something that doesn't belong to you" He utterred in the sternest voice he could manage. The girl's eyes shot wide in disbelief and panic.

"I....No I'm...oh but," she stutterred before bursting into tears.

"Please follow me," he barked. The girl's head was spinning her mind a riot of confusion and terror. Sobbing and fearful she followed the old shopkeeper, it would be all right, it would have to be all right, she could explain. He guided her into the back room, then once she was inside he closed the inner door and turned a key, then for some reason he reached up and also drew a bolt across the door. She suddenly began so sob uncontrollably.

"SSShhh calm down, keep it down," he admonished her. Please look at this he ordered as he clicked a button, the girl looked up through her blonde fringe and tears at the monitor on the desk. She saw clearly an image of herself of just a few minutes earlier reaching down to pick up a wallet on the shop floor, checking inside and finding it contained a lot of paper money then quickly stuffing the wallet into her handbag and zipping it shut.

"Like to explain?" he growled accusingly. The schoolgirl let out a wail and covered her face with her hands and began sobbing her heart out.

"I'm afraid you're a very dishonest little girl. You've taken a wallet that doesn't belong to you. MY WALLET. And I'm going to have to call the Police".

"No I didn't."

"This is the second time my wallet has been stolen, each time on a Wednesday. Was it you last time. Eh, was it? Was it? And shoplifting aswell I bet, stealing from the shop is it?"

"No I'm not, no I didn't. NO please. I just found it there. I was going to take it to my mum. She would've taken it to the Police station". The girl tried to plead.

"You had your chance to hand it over to me but you put it in your bag. Keeping lost property is theft girl. THEFT! You're nothing but a common thief. I've got no choice. I have to call in the Police. I've got video evidence. This will go to court. Your parents will be fined and you'll be expelled from that school." He was laying it on thick, acting his most indignant and angry and he could see the effect his words were having on the hapless girl as she realised her terriible predicament.

She really was in big trouble! Or so she thought. She wasn't old enough or worldly wise enough to understand that the old man had no intention of calling the Police, or that even if she was accused of 'finding' a wallet it wouldn't lead to expulsion.

But the fear of the consequences of her 'crime' made her distraught and inconsolable. In her terror and abject misery her bright future had suddenly collapsed and she would have to leave the school and be disowned by her mother and father.

"What is your name girl," he demanded, "and how old are you?"

With halting gulps and sobs the girl said "Deborah Carter, Thir..teen"

"When were you thirteen girl?" He demanded

Choking she whispered "Last week, it was my birthday last week."

Only just a teenager, much younger than he'd thought.

"MMnnn wonderful", he hissed under his breath, "absolutely wonderful."

He would make his move, act now. "Right, right shall I call the Police now then? You're of the age of criminal responsibility.

"Please, please, please don't".

She was face down on the desk crying into her folded arms heaving huge heart rending sobs. Sitting across from her his erection was gloriously painful.

He'd try it. It was now or never.

"Stand up please". He waited as she raised her head and then, looking at him slowly got to her feet. "Now come around the desk and stand next to me here please" The girl did as she was told and stood uncertainly next to him.

Perhaps he was going to just tell her off and let her go and not call the Police.

And then she felt the old man unbutton her blazer and put both his hands onto her blouse over her breasts. She froze. Oh god no. Oh please no. She wanted to say something, to say stop but words wouldn't come out. She stood rigid. His hands just rested there.

"Good, good girl Deborah," she heard the old man breathe softly. She couldn't look at him. He was such an old man, looked even older than her grandad. Suddenly she pulled away in revulsion and he quickly stood up.

Highly aroused now he wasn't going to stop.

"Come on Deborah, I can call the Police if you want. If that's what you want? Or we can spend a few minutes here with each other and then I'll let you get off home. What'll it be?"

He stared down at the lovely schoolgirl as she once again began sobbing. He enveloped her with his arms and held her close, the top of her blonde head came up to the middle of his chest. He pressed into her and knew she must be able to feel his erection pressing against her belly through their layers of clothes. He could feel her trembling, gripping her, holding her this close was fantastic. He let his hands fall to her backside and his hands rested across her pleated school skirt and he loosely traced her bottom cheeks.

"Let's take off your blazer then" he urged and began pulling it open and off her shoulders. Deborah was passive as he removed it and tossed it to the floor. He'd felt her tiny breasts over her blouse and bra but now wanted to feel her small puffy mounds. Eagerly he pulled open her tie and then peeled open her blouse. He greedily pushed up her white cotton bra and got his gnarled old fingers at her chest, her skin was so smooth, satin soft, he touched her warm tiny mounds, he located the tiny buds that were her nipples and gently tweaked them, then grasping her slender shoulders pressed his face to her chest and sucked and slathered over her immature bumps.

She wanted to vomit, scream, get away. It was not happening. He was a smelly wrinkled old man. She didn't even have breasts to touch. Some of the girls in her class were well developed for their age, some boys liked breasts, she knew about that, but she didn't have hardly any breasts, why was the old man doing it to her?

He was in ecstasy. All alone with a lovely young schoolgirl. His to do with as he pleased.

He got on his knees before her, then he gripped her ankles. Now he began to move his hands up over her slender young legs, feeling her dark nylon tights was incredibly stimulating and he realised he wouldn't be able to last much longer. Unbelievably she was letting him molest her. Arms limp by her side she stood meek and sobbing and accepted his probing fingers. He was sexually assaulting a schoolgirl. He roughly pushed his hands up under her skirt and finding the zip and hook pulled the garment open and off. The sight before him was magnificent, a slender 13 year old schoolgirl in just her dark sheer tights, kitten heels and knickers. Her shirt open and bra askew where he'd assaulted her.

Beneath her tights he saw a pair of snugly fitting pale pink panties, he'd imagined such a smartly dressed girl would've worn matching underwear but white bra with pink knickers, naughty naughty. She'd have to be punished for that. He reached around and gripped her bottom cheeks and thrust his face into the schoolgirl's crotch, his tongue probed her pubic mound over her lingerie as his hands gripped and explored the backs of her smooth thighs, suddenly he dug in his nails and ripped down laddering her tights. Now he gripped the waistband of her pantyhose and knickers and yanked them down in one movement to below her knees. He glared transfixed at the sight of her almost hairless slit and was now so delerious with ardour that he just had to penetrate the girl. He hit the back of her knees and she toppled over, he pulled off her shoes and held her damp slim feet before completely tearing her tights and knickers free from her flailing legs.

The girl struggled desperately now but was no match for his strength, she tried in vain to beat at his chest, cried out for him to stop but he couldn't hear her protests or feel her fight. He was intent on rape and in the insanity of his concentration nothing at that moment mattered. He prized the subtle legs of the schoolgirl open then with guiding fingers pressed and suddenly found her, and then felt her incredible tightness, she screamed as he thrust and pushed and far too soon but with glorious and enormous relief exploded ecstatically inside her.

End