I've known Carol for years, ever since that first drunken pass, the time she was rebounding from her long-term boyfriend. Turned out she was rebounding a long way, way the other way, embracing lesbianism wholeheartedly. I tried it on, she brushed me off, calling me a "dumb-prick man". I said "fuck off then, you dyke", she said "no, you fuck off", and we finished that evening in stitches, drunk as lords - and firm friends ever since.

We lived close by. She had a string of girlfriends, so did I, but we always found time to get together a couple of times a month for a blowout down the Taj Mahal, or a shared trip to the terraces to watch our local side get thrashed. In some ways Carol's more blokey than I am - except in one big respect, perhaps. She's a mum, and I'm - well, neither a mum (obviously!) nor a dad, not really. Not properly. Not - well, we'll come to all this.

Carol has a daughter, Jasmine, by that last boyfriend. He vanished long ago and Carol's raised her daughter alone through six tough years with support from friends, including me. I've watched Jasmine grow from babyhood through toddlerdom to be a bright little girl, settled at school, a keen dancer and adorable as anything. And my use of 'adorable' reveals my shameful secret: in the last couple of years I'd come to find Jasmine more attractive than I'd any right to, more attractive than any man, by today's standards, has any right to. She was utterly gorgeous: strawberry blonde bunches, always a little unruly; blue eyes, bright and full of life and depth; beautiful clear skin, with a tiny scattering of faint freckles across her perfect nose. She was smart, sweet and, every now and then, so coquettish it was hard to believe she was only seven. Perhaps the lack of a father in her life had, by some perverse mechanism, given her intuition into the power a beautiful female has over us dopey males. She had a way of looking at you that would melt any resistance you cared to throw up, get your instant acquiescence in whatever it was she wanted. And, OK, I confess, I didn't care to throw up much resistance at all.

And then they moved! Some shit from their miserable landlord and they had to be out. Carol found a nice enough flat - and I helped her a little with the mortgage - but it was all the way across town. It meant uprooting Jasmine from her circle of friends (including me!), but Carol was loath to uproot her completely. Jasmine was really happy in her school, one of the best in the area, and didn't want to move, but more importantly her dance classes were just around the corner from where we all lived, and she *really* didn't want to drop them. And so Carol knocked herself out to ferry Jasmine to and from school and dance - and I, of course, helped out as much as I could. I work from home; I'm a freelance writer, which pays the bills and means I don't starve but won't let me retire anytime soon, but at least I don't work for any other tosser. That meant Carol could phone me every now and then in a panic and ask if I could cover the school pickup because she was stuck in traffic. The school got to know me as a suitable person 'in loco parentis' for Jasmine, and I got to spend time - a little time, but time nevertheless - with the beautiful little object of my affection.

And so we ticked along for a half-year or so, with my affection for Jasmine climbing steadily and my head becoming ever more confused. She called me 'uncle Phil' and I called her 'honey' and 'sweetheart' and she smiled and looked at me that way and my head span like a top and my insides churned and tightened and flipped in the strange ways I was becoming used to. The strange ways I was beginning to understand...

And then Carol chucked out her long-ish-term partner Liz, got a new, better paid job, took on new responsibilities and started working shifts. And if her life was a juggling bout before, her shift patterns really turned the screw. We'd discussed it all in one of our occasional curry-and-bourbon evenings, at her place, both of us hammered, Jasmine safely asleep next door, surly teenage baby sitter duly dispatched. Carol was in melancholy mood; my job was to buoy her up. She was umming and ahhing about the job and I told her not to be a silly bitch and just take it. I also told her flat out that she'd been right to chuck Liz out (I knew for a fact that Liz had been two-timing Carol with a bloke, but I didn't tell her that). "You're better off without her, and you deserve this job cos you're fucking brilliant you are. You're just the bees fucking knees and you know it, so stop grizzling. Chuck the cow, take the job. We'll figure something out, cos we're fucking smart we are."

She'd had a little cry at that. I told her to stop being a soppy cow, but she slapped me lightly on the arm, then pulled me after her, through to Jasmine's bedroom. She cuddled into me as we stood in the doorway looking at her beautiful daughter sleeping softly in the darkness. She slapped me again. "It should've been you, you fucker," she said quietly, tearfully. "It should've been you. You should be her dad. She loves you. I love you. Why wasn't it you?"

I led her quietly away with only the one backward glance at her beautiful sleeping princess. We put on some music-to-be-miserable-to - Leonard Cohen, I think it was -then got drunker, had a big cuddle and a snog and then both fell asleep. We woke a little later, she feeling happier despite still being smashed. She went to bed, I fell asleep on the couch again but woke feeling really shit around five and let myself out. A long walk home helped me recover some.

So, there it was. It didn't, after all, take us long to work something out, and within a month I found myself behaving like a real parent three or four nights a week, picking up Jasmine from school, taking her back to my place, feeding her (properly!) and either helping her with homework or taking her to her dance class, until Carol could pick her up, usually around eight.

D'you know, for some weird reason I thought behaving like a 'dad' this way, doing all the support-stuff that kids need, all the feeding and fetching and carrying, the tears and the snot, would somehow help cure me of my infatuation with the little honey-bunch. Kind of reality killing the fantasy, as it were.

Yeah, OK. You can say it. Don't be so fucking naive. OK, I know.

A couple of months of having that beautiful little girl around me so much of the week and I was going mental. She was so relaxed with me, so chatty, so comfortable. She hugged me at the school gate sometimes, hugged me after her dance class, laughed and giggled with me, kissed my cheek when her mum picked her up. I'm sure she didn't intend it this way, of course she didn't, but by inches she seduced me. On the outside I struggled manfully to be 'kind uncle Phil'; inside I churned. She would hold my hand walking down from school, chattering away, and I would feel electricity flowing up my arm from her touch. She would sit at my kitchen table doing her homework, her tongue poking between her teeth in fierce concentration, and I would sit next to her fighting an urge to stroke her beautiful golden hair, my penis erect inside my trousers.

And as for the evenings of her dance class... She liked to change into her leotard and whatever costume was needed before she went, and usually she wanted a bath afterwards. She would change in my bedroom, transforming from cute schoolgirl into something closer to child glamour model and I would take her down the road, literally a couple of streets, to the studio for 5.30. It only took me a week to buckle before I spent most of the time while she was away naked, playing with her clothes, smelling her panties, fantasising and masturbating like crazy. I confess there was more than one occasion I ejaculated into her panties. After the first time, I didn't bother to clean them, just let the cum soak in and dry. I felt much less guilty than I thought I might.

The bath-thing I talked about with Carol straight away. I said I might feel a bit weird about it - after all I wasn't a relative and one has to be careful about these things. Carol told me not to be silly - Jasmine wouldn't think twice about it. "She's just like any other kid in the all-together." I laughed at that, hearing the hollow lies in my words as I said: "Well, fine, I just wanted to let you know first." Because Jasmine was not like any other kid, not to me, and I was damn sure she wouldn't be like any other kid in the all-together either.

She wasn't. She was the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.

The first time she took a bath at my place I did feel a bit awkward. I hid down the hall in the living room while she splashed away merrily, singing to herself in a voice so sweet and happy it curled around me like a demon made purely of sound and air, a melodic djinn, insubstantial yet oh so potent. I'd completely lost focus of whatever it was I was watching, drifting on a dream, my penis erect and aching, when a softly-scented bundle of fabulousness bounced onto the sofa next to me, jerking me from my reverie.

"What you watching?" asked Jasmine. She was bundled, cheekily, in my dressing gown. It overwhelmed her like a towelling duvet, but she looked so cute peeking out from within. I tried desperately to recall if I'd been stroking the bulge in the front of my jeans, then to remember what the hell I was supposed to be watching.

"Just a gameshow, hon," I replied. I don't think she noticed my confusion. "Hey, I continued, "that's mine!" She look shy, chastened, and I instantly felt bad. "It looked so comfy. Is it OK?" Her eyes peeked at me through a strand of wet hair. Honey, I thought, anything you want is OK with me. Anything. "Sure, course it is," I replied, cheering her again with my smile. She grinned back and snuggled up to me, and we spent a glorious half-hour - long and yet so, so fleeting - with her cuddled up to me, warm, damp and naked beneath my dressing gown, watching junk TV. Later that night I masturbated with my face in that dressing gown, and I came so hard I nearly fainted.

So her bath-time became part of our routine. I bought some of her favourite shower gel and shampoo, just to have around. I thought about buying her a dressing gown, but she liked wearing mine and I loved wearing it afterwards, so I didn't. Life became something rather surreal for me. I'd been between girlfriends when my sitting for Jasmine started, and I had absolutely no desire to go looking for one. I saw Carol regularly, of course, when she came to pick Jasmine up around eight, and we still managed the odd binge. I should've felt bad, lusting after my friend's seven-year-old daughter behind her back, but my feelings for Jasmine had become so all-consuming, so pure, in a way, that it was an easy lie to live. My nights were filled with long, long masturbation sessions with Jasmine's scents and signs all around me. It was so easy to "forget to pack" her worn panties, her dance leotard, her school dresses - even the smell of her socks made my cock hard as a rock.

I wanted her. I so wanted her. That beautiful, beautiful, sexy-cute little girl with the coquettish look and the adorable freckles. I wanted to be naked with her, rampantly erect with her, touching her, kissing her all over her tiny, fabulous little body, licking her between her silk-soft thighs, between her smooth, cool buttocks -feeling her small child's fingers touch me, her soft mouth on my skin... Reality killing the fantasy? Fantasy becoming reality. Damn I wanted her.

And so I laid my plans.

I chose a Wednesday evening, a non-dance-class night. I picked her up from school as usual, brought her back to the flat as usual. I asked her if she was hungry, and suggested we have an early dinner when she said yes. I helped her get her homework out of the way while I prepared one of her favourite pasta dishes - I almost burned the sauce while helping her with her maths, which caused much amusement all round. We ate, and then sat for a little while chatting about school, friends, her mum, whatever, and I gently steered the conversation towards special people in her life. I asked her if she missed having a dad. She wrinkled her beautiful little nose and laughed.

"Well, I got one, though, I got you as my daddy, don't I?" she asked.

"'I've got'," I gently corrected in my usual way. "Well, maybe you do, kind of," I continued, smiling, "but really I'm just a good friend of your mum's. It's really sweet of you to say so, though. "

"Do you and mummy love each other?" she asked, cocking her head on one side. She looked a little bit serious, a little bit thoughtful. I chuckled a little. "Not like mummies and daddies do, no, but yeah, I reckon we do. Like brother and sister, perhaps, you know? I sure love your mum like a big sister - and she sometimes says I'm like an annoying little brother!" I watched her carefully, my breathing a little quicker than normal. She looked happy, then glanced down, then up through a fall of soft blonde hair.

"Do you love me?" she asked quietly. I grinned. Pow! That was the 64 million dollar question, the one I'd been hoping for, steering for... I took a careful breath, slow and steady. "Yes, sweetie," I replied, "yes I do. I love you too. Not like your mum, of course, not like a sister - maybe like a daughter, or a really special, special friend? Mm, whatever, you're a really special little girl, Jasmine honey, and I love having you around."

Her smile was instant and radiant. "I love you too, uncle Phil!" she proclaimed happily. It could've felt a little odd and awkward just then, but it didn't. Not even close.

"Honey," I said, "You wanna play a special game tonight? Something different? I think you might like it."

"Yeah!" She was all smiles and eagerness. I hid my swallow of nerves behind another smile of my own and rose from the table, hoping my already-burgeoning erection wasn't properly visible.

"OK, then! Come on through to the living room, let's get comfy."

She took my hand for the short walk from the kitchen diner to the living room, took it with a look of shy but genuine love that sent tingles down my spine - down, up and down again.

I'd bought a couple of big, chunky, squashy bean-bag cushions for the floor, each big enough for me to sit comfortably on, and almost big enough for Jasmine to sleep on. She squealed with delight when she saw them, and I told her to go ahead and make herself comfy. She flopped onto the nearest, legs akimbo, a beautiful flash of pink panties for me. She bounced and wriggled to the comfiest position she could find. I sat on the second and waited for her attention.

"OK, sweetie. Well, this is a special game that's only for people who love each other. In fact, it's called The Love Game."

"Is it about mummies-and-daddies kind of love, or you-and-mummy kind of love?" asked the bright little girl opposite, sitting and taking in my words carefully.

"Well, I guess we'll find out about love if we play the game," I replied, choosing my words carefully. I smiled at her in reassurance. I don't think she needed much; she grinned back. That killer look was on her face. My pulse hammered. My cock lay uncomfortably rigid against my thigh.

"OK. The biggest thing about this game is that it must be a secret between the two players. You know what that means, Jasmine?" I tried not to sound intense, but fuck me it wasn't easy. Adrenalin and testosterone were flooding my bloodstream. For all my thought and preparation, my lust and my abuse of her wardrobe, I was on the verge of a whole new threshold with Jasmine. Everything until now had been private, mine. She knew nothing of my true feelings for her, but now I was about to expose them. Very shortly, my world would change irrevocably, for good or bad. Astonishingly, wonderfully good, or really, really, *really* fucking bad. This was my Rubicon.

"'Course I know what a secret is!" she exclaimed. She cocked her head to one side. "It means," she continued, quieter, more thoughtful, "that we can't tell anyone about the game - " I nodded, about to speak, but she wasn't done " - and that we can't even tell anyone that we have a secret!"

Smart, clever, beautiful girl! I swallowed, then tried a smile. It felt OK, not manic or lunatic or anything. "That's right, honey. It's a secret between the players, and they can't even tell anyone else that there's a game going on, yes?"

"Uh-huh." She seemed entirely calm, much more so than me. Gorgeous, fabulous girl.

I took a long, slow breath. "OK. So, this game is really special, a little bit magical, and completely safe. And d'you know the biggest rule? You'll like this."

Her eyes were sparkling. I was intriguing her, I felt, but I also wondered how far ahead that smart, pretty head was running. "What?" she asked.

"The youngest player decides everything! That means you! You decide what happens and what doesn't, and you can stop the game whenever you like."

She giggled. "Really?" "Cross my heart," I said, sketching a cross against my t-shirt. "The older player must ask for the younger player's permission to do things, and the younger plater decides if the older is allowed to do it or not. It's special, magical, really nice and safe - and you call the shots!"

Jasmine grinned, her head propped on one hand. "OK!" she said. "Let's play!"

I let out a breath in a long, slow pause, just this side of shuddering. My pulse hammered between my ears, my head swum a little. My hands trembled as I clasped them between my knees.

"OK." My feet splashed into the waters of the Rubicon stream. Unlike Caesar, though, I had no army at my back. "Jasmine," I asked, with what I hoped was just the right hint of formality, "may I play with your feet?"

She looked at me with an echo of my formality, a beautifully childish caricature of formality. Her pause was infinitesimal. "Yes," she said, "you may."

She stretched out her feet toward me. I slipped off the beanbag and knelt in front of her. She had on her school socks, white, no shoes (they were lying in the hall). She wiggled her toes. I reached out, curbing the tremors in my fingers by sheer bloody force of will, and took hold of her feet one in each hand.

The waters of the Rubicon flowed again behind me, all trace of my crossing washed away.

Now, I'd helped Jasmine on and off with her shoes before, helped her on and off with her socks before, but context is everything. This was The Love Game. I knew it, and I'm damn sure she knew something was different too.

I held her feet gently. They fit beautifully into my hands, their curves almost a natural fit to my palms. I squeezed and rubbed my thumbs slowly but firmly along her petite soles, trying not to tickle. Tickling was a fine thing, but not right now, not in this game.

"You have beautiful little feet, Jasmine," I murmured. "Fancy, all those times I've helped you with your shoes and I'd never really noticed how beautiful your feet are. That's the magic of this game!"

"Mm," she responded. "That feels nice. No tickling, though!"

She said it jokingly, but I chose to take it seriously. "OK, no tickling. You call the shots, Jasmine. If that's what you say, I shan't tickle."

Her eyebrows twitched, and I felt another little piece of the puzzle fall into place for her. She could trust me in this game - the rules were the rules.

I looked up after a little while. "Jasmine," I asked, "may I take your socks off? I'd like to play with your feet without your socks on. No tickling, of course."

"Uh-huh," she murmured in reply, sitting up a little on the beanbag to watch me carefully peel of her white cotton school socks one by one. I held her bare feet again and squeezed and rubbed them slowly, being careful to apply the right pressure so as not to tickle. Her feet were warm, soft, and just the daintiest little things. Her little toes were so small they were barely there at all. I gently squeezed and massaged her feet from toes to heels, around the back of her heels and to her ankles. I looked up every now and then, watching her face, murmuring compliments about her beautiful little feet. She watched me in return, her eyes alive with childlike curiosity, beautiful innocence - and some deeper understanding of the nature of this game we played.

All I was doing was holding and massaging her feet, nothing more. But the thrill that coursed through me was head-spinning. My eyes roved from her dainty little toes to her knees and beyond, the very fact of me sitting playing with her feet giving me a degree of visual intimacy I'd never had before with her. My cock jerked inside my jeans, its secretions palpably wet against my thigh.

After a while I paused. Breathing steadily, I said "Jasmine, you really do have the most adorable feet. They are so lovely I would love to kiss them. May I do that?"

She wrinkled her nose in the most gorgeous way. "Ewww, really?!" she exclaimed. "But I've been at school all day and we had gym. They'll be all stinky!"

"Honey," I replied, "your feet are so beautiful they could never be stinky, even if you walked to Timbuktu and back."

"Tim buck who?" she asked, wiggling her toes. "Timbuktu, sweetie, it's a long way away. May I?" I looked up inquisitively, ensuring she understood that my next move in the game was on her say-so - or not.

"Sure, if you really WANT," she said. "But I bet they taste horrid!"

I smiled, then holding both her feet up I slowly and carefully kissed her left big toe. She giggled. I kissed her right toe, letting my lips linger. They did indeed taste a little of sweat and her day at school, but it was HER sweat, HER day; my cock oozed steadily against my thigh.

One by one I kissed and nibbled her toes. I asked if I could taste her feet properly, because they really were beautiful and sweet. She said yes, in some wonder I think, and I gently licked her feet. I sucked each sweetly perfect little toe, wriggled my tongue in between them, trying hard not to tickle. I licked the sides of her feet, her smooth, perfect instep and softly wrinkled sole. That was tricky; I feared breaking my word on tickling, but I'd measured the pressure I needed to avoid, and fortunately Jasmine isn't too ticklish on her feet.

I lost track of time, licking and sucking her beautiful little-girl feet. I was dizzy with hormones - love, desire, lust, all assailing my will, all screaming at me to abandon the game and dive on top of this gorgeous little girl-child, take her now! You know she wants it! You want her! Take her! Just do it! Now! NOW!! No! Play the game! Control yourself! Relish each moment. Patience will be its own reward! Oh Lord she was gorgeous...

For my final throw of that day's game, I asked her if I could kiss the lower part of her leg, just to see if it was as sweet lovely as her feet. "Uh-huh," she'd replied softly. There was pleasure in her quiet voice; she was enjoying this game. Being careful to keep my hands below her knees, I moved up a little to kiss her shins and run my tongue gently over her soft, perfectly-curved calves. Her skin smelled divine, tasted like heaven.

But it was time to close down the game for the day. I gave her one last kiss on the side of her foot and sat back. "I think that's enough for today, honey. You really do have beautiful, beautiful feet, Jasmine. Thanks you for letting me play with them."

She looked a little disgruntled; I think she wanted the game to progress. "But what if I want to play more?" she asked, pouting a little. Imagine, if you will, a lovely little sexy-cute girl pouting at you from under her strawberry-blonde hair, asking that you spend more time kissing her body - and marvel at my self control. "Not today, honey. That's the way the game goes." She looked like she was about to get stroppy, so I continued quickly. "We can play it again another day, if you'd like to. And d'you know, I don't think we ever had dessert did we? How about some ice-cream?"

That worked. As we sat munching chocolate brownie ice-cream, she smiley and a little thoughtful, me still hard and wet and deliriously happy, I asked her if she liked the Love Game. "Uh-huh," she said, watching me carefully with big, bright eyes. "And you remember that it's a secret game?" I continued, hoping to God my nervousness didn't show. "Uh-huh," she replied. "It's our secret game."

Then she hopped down from the breakfast bar stool. "I love you, uncle Phil," she said, softly, almost whispered. Then "can we play the Wii now?"

Carol picked her up at the usual time, and I got a big squeeze from Jasmine and a peck on the cheek. That raised a smile - and an eyebrow - on her mother. "Chocolate brownie ice-cream" I mouthed, and Carol grinned. "Chocolate ice-cream!" she exclaimed in mock horror. "And what else have you been up to?"

A shiver ran down my spine, but Jasmine just laughed. "We played a bunch of games. Honestly, uncle Phil is rubbish at Mario Kart. He's sooo lame. Bye uncle Phil, see you Friday!"

I waved the car away. I'd supplied Jasmine with clean socks to go home with from my small stash of girls' clothes. I locked myself in, and stripped naked. I sat on the beanbag she'd used, put one of her used little cotton socks on my aching cock like a floppy condom, raised the other to my nose and inhaled deeply. On the third deep breath, I came, flooding her sock with gout after gout of semen with no further touching of my cock required.

Thursday I was a nervous wreck, didn't get anything done. I'd crossed a threshold, turned into something... something else. Something that wasn't me, but was me. I fretted and strutted around the flat, swinging from horny-hard to jellified-soft. The phone rang twice: both times I almost died of fright; neither time did I answer. I was guilt-wracked and ecstatic at the same time. I'd embarked on a clandestine affair with a beautiful blonde seven-year-old girl! Oh my fucking God I'd embarked on a clandestine affair with a seven-year-old girl! Oh my God! Did I know what I was doing? No. Yes! No! Did I care? Yes! No! Fuck, whatever! Oh God, I'm going to hell. I'm going to heaven! I'm going to fucking jail...

But Thursday passed with no furiously betrayed call from Carol, no visit from polite but serious members of the local police, no local vigilantes kicking in my door. Friday morning passed the same way, but it took an enormous effort of will to force myself out of the flat and down the road to the school to pick up Jasmine. She was going to hate me, I knew it. She would have realised what we'd done, what I'd done, and she would hate me and she would rail against me and tell her mother and that would be it and and I'd lose one of my best friends and I'd go to jail and everyone I knew would hate me for a evil child molester except I didn't molest her I stroked her feet and kissed her beautiful toes and her eyes told me she knew then and her eyes told me she wanted me to do it and she liked it and wanted it and loved me and I loved her and I do love her and I think she loves me and she's smart and clever and knows what a secret is and she'll keep it because she wants to and she wants to do it again and if we do it again and it goes further that's what we both want that's OK but maybe that's what I want and maybe she doesn't and maybe I won't see it and maybe I'll fuck it up and she'll scream and run out of the flat and tell her mother and I'll go to jail because I'm a fucking pedophile and...

Oh God...

"Hi uncle Phil!"

She skipped across to me, waving goodbye to two friends. She smiled, took my hand, began chatting about her day. She looked up at me, and her eyes were beautiful and bright and she flashed a little smile with them and squeezed my hand.

And the world was good again.

I think she understood the state I was in, and why. She held my hand all the way back to the flat and just chatted at me, not expecting much response. It took me most of the journey to quell the pounding of my heart, only for it to start up again as soon as the door closed behind us. Jasmine dumped her bag and coat, waited for me to shut the door, than asked, quietly but calmly: "Can we play our secret game, uncle Phil? I'd like to play again. Is it just feet you play it with? Can we play now?"

I mastered my breathing. "Of course we can, sweetie, but what about homework?"

"Don't have any," she grinned. "Let's play before dinner! Come on!"

She kicked off her shoes and I followed her through to the living room. She dragged the big beanbags out into the middle of the floor, sprawled happily on one and waved me impatiently to the other. I just about had my shit back together as I sat, the excitement overcoming the nerves, blood beginning to circulate in my crotch. She beamed happily at me and said: "OK, what shall we do?"

OK, then... "Jasmine," I asked, "may I play with your feet? And may I take your socks off first?"

She grinned, delighted. Her eyes were so beautiful. "Uh-huh!" she said, and I carefully removed her socks one by one, trying very hard not to tickle. Her feet were warm and soft and lovely and their simple, perfect texture put the finishing touches to me erection. I stroked them, squeezed them gently, then asked her permission to kiss them. She agreed gravely, a twinkle in her eyes, and leaned back on the beanbag as I kissed each beautiful toe, surreptitiously admiring the view up her grey school skirt.

Maybe not that surreptitiously. "Uncle Phil, are you looking up my skirt?" she asked. Whoops! I played the game. "Well, Jasmine, yes, I'm afraid I am. Your legs are just so lovely I couldn't help it, but I guess I should have asked for your permission first. Is it OK if I look at your legs up your skirt?"

"Yes," she grinned, "it is." She sounded playful, but there was a hint, perhaps, the smallest hint of a frisson of something else. She is a smart girl.

I licked her sweet little toes for a while, casting admiring glances at her legs. She shifted slightly on the beanbag, subconsciously I'm almost certain, opening her legs a little more, letting her skirt ride up a little more. Part of her pre-teen girl's brain was trying to seduce me, a primitive response to male attention kicking in beneath her childish demeanour. It made my cock spasm.

"Jasmine," I said, planting a final kiss on her big toe. "Thank you. Now, you asked if the Love Game was just about feet, and no it's not. It's about whatever we want to let it be about. I'll suggest something, and you decide if you want to do it or not, yeah?" She nodded in anticipation. "So, Jasmine," I asked, "may I play with your hands and arms?"

She smiled. Mischievously? Maybe. Maybe that was just me. "Uh-huh!" she said, and held out her hand. I took it, cradling her soft little fingers in my big hand, caressing them with my thumb a little, then looked up. "Jasmine, you have beautiful hands and arms, but I'd really like to see them better. Would you take off your shirt for me? Would that be OK?"

She thought about that, head on one side, looking at me. I kept my gaze steady, my face open and inquiring. "OK," she decided. I sat back on my beanbag and watched as she straightened up and, button by button, unfastened her white school shirt. She did it very matter-of-factly, just as if she were changing for gym at school, I guess, but it wasn't until she'd shrugged it off and tossed it aside that I noticed I wasn't breathing. She held out her hands, her head cocked to one side, a slightly regal look on her face. I took her hands in mine, and drank in the beauty of her naked shoulders and chest and belly. Her skin was pale and silk-smooth. By contrast her childish areolae were quite dark, richly pink against the soft cream. Displaying her chest meant little to her, I'm sure; it meant a world of delight to me.

Asking her permission first, I kissed her fingers, alternating hands, sucking very gently on all ten in turn. Then I concentrated my attention on one side, kissing the palm of her right hand, then the back, then kissing my way slowly up her arm. Every so often I looked up to compliment her on her beauty, remark on the sweetness of her skin. I kissed her upper arm, her nipples bare inches away, and moved gently up to her shoulder. Her sweet, soft hair brushed my face as I delicately kissed the outside of her shoulder, before following the curve over towards her neck. She tilted her head, allowing me better access. I felt the small young muscles of her arm tense under my touch.

Dizzy, hard, I switched sides, kissing my way slowly up her left arm. I leaned across her this time, the naked beauty of her torso close by my left cheek. I reached her shoulder and let my lips linger there, parted, my tongue resting gently on her skin. She was quiet. Her breathing was faster than usual. I could sense her tension. My tension was almost overwhelming. My hands trembled. She must feel them.

I leaned back and looked at her steadily. Her eyes were huge in her soft, clear face, huge and bright. "Jasmine," I said quietly, "you are such a beautiful girl, you know that? So, so beautiful." She didn't reply. "Jasmine," I continued, "do I have your permission to kiss your tummy?" She nodded. Her breathing was still fast. "Yes?" I asked again. She nodded again. "Uh-huh. Kiss my tummy."

She lay back, wriggling a little on the beanbag. Her stomach was flat, her child's natural abdominal curve hidden by her posture. I touched her tummy with my fingers, either side of her belly button, pressing delicately, not tickling, caressing. I felt her trembling beneath my own tremors. I dipped my head and planted a soft kiss just above her belly button. She sighed.

That sound will stay with me forever, that soft, childish sigh that had so much else in its timbre, so much else behind it. So much.

I kissed her belly, letting my tongue lick every so slightly from between my lips. I kissed around her belly button, left, right, above and below, right above the hem of her school skirt. I lingered there, an age. My nose brushed her smooth, cool skin. I slowly spiralled out, kissing her belly all over, tasting her delicate child's fragrance. My erection ached, my balls ached, fluids oozed continuously from my cock, dampening my boxers. I kissed her stomach, rising slowly up her body. I sensed her tension, her belly muscles taut. I kissed higher, along the ridge of her ribcage. I murmured to her. She was so beautiful. I loved her so much.

I kissed her chest, nuzzling gently, moving slowly towards her areola on the right side. Her tiny nipple was erect. I swear, a tiny, hard nodule in the middle of that rich pink circle. I paused - then kissed her there, kissed her tiny, hard nipple. She sighed again, and I clenched every muscle I had in my lower abdomen, tight, tighter, and oh my God I swear I orgasmed without cumming. I'd read about that stuff, never done it before, but a wave like a post-orgasmic rush crashed through me at the sound of Jasmine's sex-charged sigh and the taste of her sweet, sweet nipple.

I was dizzy for a good few seconds, poised above her perfect chest, washed away on a wave of pure delight.

I came to, worried I might be scaring her, but she was fine. I think she noticed that something odd had happened to me but she didn't mention it then. I think she was so caught up in her own confusing, exciting feelings. I sat back, composing myself, and thanked her for being lovely and allowing me to kiss her tummy and chest. "I think that's enough for today, though," I said.

"No, I want to play more." Her protest was quiet but firm. "No sweetie," I said, astonishing myself at my self-control, "this is how the game works. We can play more another time, but that's enough for now."

She was almost petulant, but I was firm, and helped her dress again. She noticed the unmistakable bulge in the front of my trousers but it wasn't until we were eating dinner a little while later that she asked me outright.

"Uncle Phil?"

"Yes, honey?"

"When you kissed my tummy did your, your thing get big?"

I carefully swallowed the mouthful I was chewing. "Yes, sweetheart, it did. It does. I love you so much that even kissing your toes makes my - what do you call them?"

"Willy," she said with a mischievous grin and a lopsided glance.

"OK, well even your toes make my willy big and hard. That's part of the game."

"Can I see it?" Her voice was timid but her eyes were bright. Whoa, girl!

"No, honey, that's not how the game works. Maybe later, yes?"

She looked dangerously close to sulky so I tried the ice-cream distraction again. She stuck out her tongue. "I'll get fat and you won't love me any more," she said, a challenge in her voice. I took a breath and smiled back. "Sweetie, I would still love you even if you got fat, which you won't not from special unfat chocolate brownie ice cream. But I love *you* - and I don't really care what shape you are, you'll always be beautiful!"

She seemed mollified by that, and actually satisfied in a way I didn't quite follow, but was grateful to see nevertheless. We finished dinner, ice cream and all, and played a board game until Carol called.

Carol and I chatted for a bit over a glass of wine, and if there was any hint of anything untoward between her daughter and me she didn't notice. It was odd; the two aspects seemed to have divorced very neatly in my mind, as if there were no real connection with my being best friends with Carol and making sexual advances on Jasmine. How the mind rationalises that which it so desperately wants to be true.

They were ready to leave and Carol nipped to the loo. As she closed the door, Jasmine fairly leaped towards me. She caught my arm, reached up to grab my t-shirt and pulled my face down to her level. "Wh...?" I began, quietly, but she tugged my head to one side and whispered, right into my ear, lips brushing my skin, electricity flickering through me: "Next time. Show me next time. I want to see. Next time." Before I could respond she kissed me, her lips pressed full on mine, a fierce kiss, a warm kiss. "Next time," she mouthed, stepping away, gazing into my eyes. I straightened. The toilet flushed and Carol emerged.

"OK for next time, Phil?" she asked. "Monday OK?"

I blinked.

"Sure, Carol, course. No probs. If Jasmine'll have me, that is."

"Ha!" she laughed. "I sometimes think she'd live here if we gave her the chance." I think my return smile was non-committal, but it's not always easy to tell when your mind's distracted the way mine was.

What did I do that weekend? D'you know I have no real memory of it. Some work, I think, catching up on a couple of assignments, but most of my mind was racing and chasing around Jasmine's body, her smooth, cool skin, her belly, her nipples; and her words, her kiss, the ferocity of her whisper, her lips against my ear. Does your penis get hard when you kiss my tummy? Show me, she'd said. Show me next time. Show me next time how hard, how erect, how wet your penis gets when you kiss my body.

This had moved much faster than I'd thought, much faster than I'd planned. But maybe that was OK. I loved her. She loved me. She knew I wanted her in that special mums-and-dads way. Did she want me? Could she want me in the same way? She was seven for God's sake! Seven-year-olds don't have a sex drive!

Do they?

Show me. Show me next time.

So it was Monday. I had a deadline Monday lunchtime that actually focused my mind on work, forced my to concentrate on something other than Jasmine's silk-soft skin and tumbling, sweet-smelling hair. I got the piece away around 12.30, grabbed a bite to eat, then spent two hours behaving like a 14-year-old boy on his first date. I showered carefully, shaved, flossed, brushed, scrubbed, even ironed my damn t-shirt.

"You look nice," she said as I met her at the school gate. Her smile was gorgeous and her eyes were wide. I thanked her, cool under the circumstances, and offered my hand. She took it and squeezed tightly. "Can we...?" she began.

"Sure, if you'd like to," I replied. She gripped my hand and said nothing more all the way back to my place.

As soon as we were through the door Jasmine dumped her coat and bag, kicked off her shoes and fairly ran through to the living room. I'd arranged the beanbags already, the way we liked them. We settled ourselves, the ritual almost familiar now. She sat cross-legged, elbows on knees, hands under her chin, and looked at me expectantly, her big blue eyes wide.

"OK, sweetie, are you ready for the next part of the game?" I asked, pretty much rhetorically. She nodded fiercely, impatiently, almost as if to say "of course I am, silly!" I smiled softly. "OK, Jasmine, may I kiss your tummy again?"

She grinned at once, and her fingers flew to her shirt buttons. Within seconds she had thrown it to one side and wriggled down to lie propped up on her elbows, her beautiful stomach and chest bared for me. Her eagerness sent shivers through me, tremors of anticipation, delight, desire. I knelt over her, in front this time; with no word from either of us she moved her legs apart, spreading her school skirt, making room for me. I bent my head and kissed her belly button. She giggled. My cock responded with a surge of blood as her tummy quivered beneath my lips. For minutes I kissed and nibbled her tummy, my head swimming in the glory of her child-soft skin. She giggled and wriggled, tossing her head back as I flicked my tongue towards her nipples.

"Uncle Phil?"

I lifted my head, gazing up into her eyes. They were mischievous.

"Yes, honey?"

"Did your willy get big yet?"

There was only one answer, of course; anything else would undermine the game, break the rules.

"Yes, sweetie, it did."

"Can I see it? Show me! I want to see it!"

"Well, honey, that's not really how the game goes. We need to keep to the rules. But I tell you what, it does seem unfair that I still have my shirt on and you don't. I'll take my shirt off - if that's OK with you?"

She considered this, her head on one side, her mouth in a beautiful, semi-serious, 'little-girl-thinking' shape. "Hmmm, OK then," she decided. "I guess that makes sense."

I knelt up and stripped off my t-shirt. Bare-chested, I loomed over the half-naked little girl spread almost wantonly on the beanbag. "There," I murmured. "OK. Jasmine, thank you for letting me kiss your beautiful, beautiful tummy again. Now I have something else to ask you. I think you must have an equally beautiful little bottom. Would you show me your bottom?"

I held her eyes as I asked this, my hands trembling on my knees. She hesitated for a second, then flipped herself over to lay tummy down on the beanbag. She reached back and took hold of her skirt - and pulled it up above her waist in one smooth movement. And there it was, her gorgeous little bottom, sheathed in soft white cotton, displayed just for me. I let out a long sigh. "Oh, Jasmine, what a beautiful bottom! It's the most beautiful bottom I've ever seen in my life!"

That made her giggle again. She glanced back over her shoulder and I winked. "You really are a perfect little princess! Such a lovely bottom! Would you be able to kneel up a little so I could get a better view? I'd like to see it at its best."

"Uh-huh," she said and without further ado she wriggled her knees forward.

Oh Lord. My cock spasmed as her glorious little bum rose into the air, her white knickers tightening across her firm buttocks. She kept her chest on the beanbag, unconsciously raising her bum in the most lascivious way possible. Her school skirt slid a little further down her back.

"Oh Jasmine you are perfect," I murmured hoarsely, barely in control. "Perfect, perfect little bottom." The tight cotton outlined the gentle curves of her buttocks and the dimpled shadows of her young pussy mound. I leaned forward, not wanting to scare her but wanting, so wanting my face to be closer, closer to that cotton-sheathed paradise. I breathed deeply, catching the scent of washing powder and a hint, the very tiniest hint, of damp little girl. Hot, damp little girl's bottom. Oh Lord...

"Jas..." I tried again. "Jasmine? Do I have your permission to touch your bottom, if I'm very gentle and promise not to tickle?"

"Uh-huh," came the soft reply, slightly muffled by the beanbag.

Mouth dry, heart pounding, cock aching, I reached out and cupped her two little buttocks one in each hand. Oh perfection! She was soft and toned and cool and utterly fabulous. I caressed her buttocks through her tight knickers, my thumbs and the heels of my hands massaging gently, circling steadily towards the cleft between them. She shifted a little, folding her arms beneath her head, pushing her bottom ever so slightly higher. I ducked my head, her bottom filling my vision. I circled and massaged, my thumbs dipping lower, circling down, down to the softer, smaller mounds, the shorter cleft outline between her smooth, pale thighs. Whether I should or not, whether this was still within the rules I no longer cared. Gently, lovingly, I ran by thumbs across the cotton-clad lips of her glorious little pussy.

"Mmmm...," she murmured, barely audible.

Oh... Oh beautiful little girl. Her pussy lips were soft, warm, damp beneath the tight material. I caressed them gently, outlining the sweet cleft between them, tracing their shape. For an age I massaged her bottom and her pussy from behind and my mind whirled with the glory of it all...

"Uncle Phil?" she breathed after a while.

"Yes darling?" I breathed in return.

"That feels nice."

"It feels nice to me too, honey."

"Uncle Phil?"

"Yes sweetheart?"

"Is it naughty if I want you to pull down my knickers?"

Oh Lord, honey! Oh baby girl!

"No, honey. No, it's not naughty at all. It's you and me and our special game. It's not naughty if you decide you want to do it. Do you want me to do that?"

"Uh-huh."

"OK."

In some kind of daze, some kind of waking dream, some beautiful, incredible waking dream, I moved my hands to her slim, girlish hips and tugged at the waistband of her knickers. For all the adventures that Jasmine and I have had since, that first close-up vision of her knickers sliding down across her glorious little bottom, sliding down under my control, lives with me forever. Inch by inch her naked bottom appeared, inch by inch the long cleft between her buttocks, the dark, rosy valley of her anus, the shorter, deeper cleft of her soft, bare pussy mound. I tugged her knickers down around her thighs, down to her knees, leaving them tight-stretched as I drank in the sight of her fabulous little butt.

My fingers returned to their play, their playground suddenly deeper and richer than ever. I massaged her naked bottom, stroked her pussy lips. With gentle finger and thumb tips I rubbed her anus and traced the slit of her virgin pussy. She was wet. I was thrilled, thrilled beyond words. I rubbed the length of my finger along her beautiful cleft, covering it with her gentle little-girl secretions. I held it beneath my nose. Oh Lord...

I lost track of how long I played with her like that, gently masturbating her from behind. I murmured to her the whole time, and she murmured back, her voice soft and tremulous. My erection throbbed, my head spun; the scents of her grew stronger; her hips swayed and she pressed back against me as I touched and stroked her.

Oh beautiful beautiful girl.

"Jasmine?" I breathed. "Do I have your permission to kiss your bottom?"

From the depths of the tumble of blonde hair came a trembly "uh-huh."

Oh Jasmine!

And with that I entered Heaven.

She tasted divine. From the soft, cool skin of her buttocks to the warm ring of her anus to the hot slit of her sex-wet pussy I sampled her flavours with my lips, my tongue, my whole being. I licked her anus, licked her pussy, kissed her everywhere. I gorged on her, her glorious little-girl-ness, relishing her every taste - sweat, pee, the earthy flavour of her rosy little anus, the faint man-slaying musk of her virginal cunt. Her thighs quivered. I sensed her hands were balled in the beanbag. I murmured reassurance. It felt a bit scary, like she was about to pee, but it's OK, it's fine. She's going to cum, a great big lovely tingling all through her, it's good, it's what the Love Game is about, making each other feel this great, big, lovely, scary feeling. Cum for me Jasmine, cum for me honey, my beautiful little Jasmine, cum for me now.

She squealed, her face buried in the beanbag. She squealed and bucked her hips and mashed her bottom into my face and squashed her pussy against my mouth. She squealed and came, her orgasm shivering through her from blonde head to beautiful pink toes, shivering and quivering and tingling her so she collapsed onto the beanbag. I lay down beside her, reaching out, and she grabbed me and hugged me and I hugged her back and we lay like that for a long time, her face buried in my shoulder, mine in her soft, sweet hair.

Oh my little Jasmine.

When she finally looked up her eyes held a glow I'd never seen before, like a light in a deep pool of clearest blue water, and her face held a post-orgasmic flush that took my breath away. She didn't speak, just held me, then softly, beautifully she kissed my lips, a long, long, lingering kiss. Finally, she gave a little shiver and seemed to kind of snap back into herself.

"Wow," she murmured. "I like our game. I love it. I love you, uncle Phil." She shifted slightly, her hand brushing the unrelenting erection between my legs. "Oh, wow, and you never did show me your willy," she smiled, nuzzling into me, her fingers tracing the shape of me through my trousers. "Still, we haven't had dinner yet, and I don't have any homework tonight..."