Pretty Pics

"What on earth are you doing, Kris?" screamed my wife.

"Oh, geez, Michele, I thought you were sound asleep," I replied. Although I loved her very much, after 27 years of marriage and two grown kids, most of the spark had gone out, especially after her hysterectomy. I had almost accidentally started surfing the Web for porn about four years ago, and then had somehow gotten interested preteens. Now it was the only thing I looked at, and I did it every chance I got. This particular evening I was jerking off when Michele walked in.

"Look Michele, I'm really sorry," Kris said. "This was the first time... really. I just kind of accidentally came across these pictures, and the girls looked so cute, and... well, you and I don't have much sex anymore, so..."

"Don't try to B.S. me, Kris," Michele replied. "Do you remember when I got that virus on my laptop a couple of weeks ago? And so I had to borrow your computer? I found your pictures then."

I didn't know what to say.

"Kris, look at me," said Michele. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you love me."

"I love you, Michele," I said sincerely. "I love you very much. I've loved you ever since we first met at the Sunnyside Grill."

"Don't get carried away," she laughed. "You had the hots for Marilyn, my roommate, at first, and we didn't fall in love with one another until after the first time we went to bed."

"Okay, yeah, you're right, it wasn't exactly love at first sight, but I love you now."

"I believe you, because I've always been able to tell when you're lying," she said. "And you didn't pull on your earlobe just now. So look me in the eyes again and tell me you've always been faithful to me."

"Believe it or not, I've never cheated on you," I said. "In fact, that's why I'm so horny, and why I was... I was..."

"... why you were masturbating," she finished for me. "Why can't you say it? It's not like I've never noticed you doing it in our bed, late at night. Or that I've never noticed that all of your pajamas and our sheets have cum stains on them."

"You knew I was doing that, but you've never said anything?"

"Of course; I'm not stupid," she replied. "I can feel the bed going up and down. But I love you, and if you aren't fooling around with someone else, I can forgive you. But there is something else I have to ask you. These pictures-they're all little girls of ten or twelve or so. What about Darlene?"

Darlene was our daughter, now 23 and married. "No, I've never touched her, I've never seen her naked... well, except when she was in diapers, and I've never even had fantasies about her. Some of her friends, yes, but never Darlene. And if we ever have any granddaughters, I promise I won't touch them either. I'm so sorry, honey."

"Kris, don't be silly," said Michele. "Maybe this is a good thing. All things considered, I don't think that looking at pictures of little girls, even scantily dressed little girls, is that bad. I mean, it isn't like you're actually having sex with them. Maybe it can be a good thing, if we use your fantasy to make things better for us."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"As long as you're up, why waste a perfectly good hard-on?" she asked. "Fuck me. If you want to look at one of your girlfriends on the computer, it's okay. You can even fantasize you're screwing her and say her name."

I found some nice pics of a girl named Alyssa. She was about nine and dressed in nothing but white panties, a bra, and get this-ankle socks. She had long, straight blond hair that fell to the middle of her back; her bra consisted of two little triangles that lay flat on her chest, connected by a pink bow in the front. The matching bra and panties both had silver-colored polka dots on them, and the panties themselves were cut in such a way as to display the lower half of her cute, round butt.

Michele was wearing her sexiest nightgown-a sheer purple baby-doll, without panties. She was already wet, and when she sat on my lap, my cock slipped in her pussy easily. "Oh Alyssa, you're so fucking tight," I moaned.

The next evening I found a great picture of Sandi, who looks fourteen. Like Alyssa, her hair is long and straight, but it's more of a light brown than blond. She had nice-sized breasts, and her nipples stuck out from under her pink "Snoopy" top; I really liked her matching panties. In another pic, the same girl was wearing a mint-green top, black thigh-highs with green polka dots, and a green thong that didn't leave much to the imagination. "Sandi, be a doll and blow me," I said Michele. "My wife doesn't like to suck cock."

"Well, Mr. Bachmann, maybe it's because she doesn't like the taste of your cum," she replied, "Especially since we had asparagus for dinner. But that's okay-I'll suck on your dick, on one condition."

"What's that?" I asked, but she was already kneeling on the floor in front of my and had my dick in her mouth. She grabbed it with one hand and expertly jerked me off. "Sandi, I like that," I said. "Let me shoot in your mouth, and don't stop until I'm completely drained."

Michele did as instructed, and when I leaned back to enjoy the after-glow of my climax, she stood up and planted a kiss on my mouth. Out of habit I opened my mouth for a French kiss, and she took advantage of that moment to spit my semen into my mouth. "Now swallow it," she ordered. "That's the condition for getting a blow job."

Skipper

When I came home from work the following afternoon, Michele gave me a present. I unwrapped it, and I was surprised to find me with a very special toy-a 1975 Growing Up Skipper doll complete with three different vintage outfit: "Under Pretties," "School Days," and "Dreamline." Unlike other Skipper dolls, if this doll's arm is rotated, she becomes taller (from 9 to 9.75 inches, shorter than Barbie's 11.5 inches) and small breasts appear on her rubber torso. (At 1/6 scale, Barbie would be 5'9" and Skipper 4'6" to 4'10" tall. Barbie would have a 36" bust while Skipper ranges from a 26AAA to a 32A.)

"And look," Michele said. She undressed the doll and showed me how she had taken a wood carving knife and made a tiny slit between her legs, eliminating the traditional "neuter" look Barbie and friends are so famous for.

Michele and I played with the doll for a while, dressing her and changing her clothes, until finally Michele said I should pretend she was a real girl. I kissed her and removed her dress; Skipper was wearing the white half-slip and white panties from the "Under Pretties" outfit. I twisted her arm so that she had some tits, which I then kissed. I lifted her half-slip so I could lick her long legs, and Michele pulled my pants down. I diddled Skipper's twat with my pinky (Even Ken would find it a tight fit), and then licked her; Michele jerked me off so that I came all over her. "Now lick her again," Michele ordered.

Once Skipper had been cleaned up, Michele suggested I put her into my briefcase with a change of clothes so that I can play with her in the office. She now accompanies me to the office every day, and the original four outfits have been expanded to about twenty. I've also added Skipper's friend, the bend-leg Skooter, who is the more traditional 9.25 inches tall (4' 6 ½") and has a freckled face, brown eyes, and pigtail styled hair with red ribbon bows. My Growing Up Skipper has blond hair, but Skooter is a brunette.

Skipper and Skooter were a lot of fun, but I needed more. I continued to surf the Web for cute pics, and Michele and I were screwing regularly. She insisted that I enjoy some cream pie after each fuck, and my computer was set up so that when I wasn't using it there was a continual slide show of my favorite pics.

Girl Shopping

"Let's go to the mall and do some shopping," Michele proposed one day.

"I think I'll pass," I said, "but you can go." I had recently found a Web page on-line with some very erotic stories involving young girls, and I'd rather spend my time checking out some of the stories that walking around some mall, spending money I don't have."

"Oh, come on-you'll like it," she insisted.

"What the hell, Michele?" I asked. "What do you need?"

"It isn't anything I need," she replied, "so much as something you want."

I looked at her as if she were crazy.

"Tweens."

"There are probably some areas of the city where I could probably rent a girl for a few hours, but at the mall?" I stated sarcastically.

"I'm not talking about hiring you a hooker, but just doing some window shopping," she declared. "In case you aren't aware, lots of kids like to hang out at the mall so they can gawk at the members of the opposite sex. Unless you want to park your car in front of the elementary school every afternoon at 2:30, there's no better place to look at cute girls."

"I have to work at 2:30," I pointed out.

"So get your hand out of your pants, and let's go!"

As promised, there were plenty of tweens and teens cruising the mall. "How old do you think that girl is?" I asked Michele, indicating a brunette with a red-and-white plaid skirt, shocking pink top, black fish-net stockings, and gray sneakers. "Oh, she's probably about fourteen or fifteen. You don't like her, do you?" Michele asked. "I would have thought the eleven-year-old over there was much more your speed."

My eyes nearly popped out of my head, but that wasn't the only thing that popped up. Twenty feet away from us stood another girl with a shocking pink top. She had a mint-green mini-skirt (shocking pink and mint green must be this year's fashion colors), and there was plenty of skin showing between her top and her skirt. She was also wearing knee-high sheer stockings that matched her top and black high-heels. "Oh, god!" I exclaimed. "Find out her name and I'll give you the best fuck you've had in years," I told Michele.

"Water sports?"

This had long been a point of contention for us; Michele liked pissing on me, but I didn't. Nor was I interested in peeing on her."

"Yeah, water sports and everything," I promised.

"And what would a bald guy with a paunch like yours do with a nymphet like that?" she asked.

"I'd tell her pretty she is, and then I'd gently lead her to the bedroom," I explained. "I'd kiss her gently-I wouldn't want to scare her. I'd give her several soft pecks on the forehead and her cheeks before kissing her luscious lips. Only when she responded to my kisses would I begin to caress the rest of her body, starting with her amazing flat belly and lovely little belly button. I'd then reach up inside her blouse and fondle her cute little walnut-sized breasts. Of course, by then our kisses would become more passionate, and I'd introduce her to the magic of French kissing. I'd work my way down her long neck, and I'd unbutton her blouse. Since she isn't wearing a bra, her breasts would be fully exposed, and of course her nipples would be stiff. I'd suck on them and maybe nibble on them just a little, but as I said, always trying to be cautious and gentle."

"How do you know she isn't wearing a bra?" asked Michele.

"If she is, it has to be sports bra, probably with a cartoon character on it," I said. "But I don't think it matches her panties."

"What color panties is she wearing?"

"Shocking pink, of... no-black! Do you remember 'Abracadabra' by the Steve Miller band?" I asked, singing softly, "I feel the magic in your caress; I feel magic when I touch your dress; Silk and satin, leather and lace; Black panties with an angel's face. That's her."

"Would you let her undress herself, or would you undress her?" Michele asked.

"I'd definitely undress her," I said, "except that I'd have her keep those stockings on." I moaned, "Ohhh, I'm practically coming in my pants right now, just thinking about how hot she is."

Michele stood up and walked over to my dream girl. They talked for a while, and I saw my wife take some money out of her purse. The nymphet walked over to me and whispered in my ear, "My name's Karen, I'm ten years old, but I'm not going to tell you what color my panties are. You'll have to guess."

"Black?"

She looked at me as if I were some kind of pervert. "Black? No!"

"Mint green, like your skirt?"

"It's a pretty color, isn't it?" Karen replied, and without waiting for my answer added, "But no."

"I know-shocking pink-with little white hearts."

"Little white hearts? That sounds like something a little kid would wear," the girl said. "Okay, I'll tell you. They're white, just white, except there's a little pink bow in front. And by the way, I'm wearing training bra with a bee on it."

"Karen, you've really made my day," I said. "Thank you."

She laughed and skipped to join her friends. Michele came back to the bench where I was sitting, and she suggested we look for some more tweens. We continued our hunt and soon came across a pretty girl who was with her parents, instead of part of a pack. She looked about 8, and she was wearing a jeans skirt; a yellow, pink, and blue striped T-shirt; and silly-looking black-and-white zebra striped knee socks. "I wonder what color panties she's wearing," I whispered to my wife.

"That man with her is probably her father," she responded, nodding towards a guy who looked like a professional wrestler. "Why don't you ask him?"

I passed, and we went to the food court for a bite to eat. When we finished, I saw the little girl and her giant father and mother again. I pointed them out just as they were getting off the escalator on the second level, and they walked over to the railing to look below.

"I'll bet if we go over there and look up, we can get an answer to your question about Little Miss Zebra legs," Michele said.

We walked across the mall and looked up. "Come on, Tanya, let's go," I heard a gruff voice say, and my newest object of affection moved away from the railing-but not before I had the answer I wanted: sky blue.

The following afternoon was a Sunday, and Michele disappeared until after 9 p.m. When she came back, she was wearing a kind of Catholic (even though we're Evangelists) school-girl uniform: a green and blue plaid jumper with a white, short-sleeved blouse underneath, white socks, and black Mary Jane shoes. Her hair was done up in pigtails, and she looked like a caricature of a ten-year-old school girl. She called me "Teacher" and apologized for not doing her homework. When I went to spank her, I found out that she was wearing plain white cotton panties, and then I discovered that she had shaved her pussy.

In subsequent days, Michele dressed like young girls. One day she had a blue-jean skirt, a light blue T-shirt, red and white candy-cane stockings, and red shoes. Then the next day she wore stone-wash jeans with glittery stars on her butt (but no belt), a white top that tied at her waist, white anklets, and white tennis shoes-and her hair was tied in a ponytail. Then she wore ivory colored leggings with a paisley design, a pink turtle-neck sweater, and black open-toed shoes-with her hair tied in braids. The outfits always looked a little silly on a middle-aged woman, but she did have her charm. And it was fun to have her play dress-up and then to pretend I was screwing little girls.

The next time we went girl-hunting, we somehow ended up in a toy store. Michele got excited when she saw the Potty Patty girl potty training doll, including three "big kid" doll potty training pants, two bottles to feed Potty Patty, and a Parent's Potty Training Guide. "What the hell do you want something like this for?" I asked. "We don't have any kids-not even grandkids!"

"Yes, but look-the 16-inch Polly Patty doll is not only anatomically correct, but she can also drink and wet on command!" she exclaimed. "Imagine the fun we can have with that. Oh, wait... look at this one: the Baby Alive Whoopsie Doo. Isn't it adorable! It says here that it coos, giggles, eats, pees and even poops on her own..."

"Hold it right there!" I said. "I'll go along with your golden showers, and I'll let you pee in my mouth if you want, but I'm drawing the line at scat."

"All right, I'll just get the Polly Patty doll, but I'm going to prepare a special treat for you," she promised (threatened?) "Let's get some beer."

The good thing about golden showers is that it's a two-way street.

Panties And Cookies

Since our kids are grown, we haven't bought a pool pass for a number of years, but Michele convinced to go with her so that we could gawk at girls in their bathing suits. It was nice, but somehow even the skimpiest bikini can't substitute for panties and a training bra; furthermore, the place was far too public and crowded to approach any of the little beauties. Still, I didn't want to go home at 5:30, half an hour before closing time, and only did so because Michele was nagging me furiously.

What a surprise then when we got to the car and she took two pairs of panties out of her purse. "I imagine it's like this on the men's side too," she said. "On the women's side, you can put your clothes in a locker for $2, or you can stuff them in a basket for free. I found these in some baskets, and I thought you might like to have them."

There was no doubt that both pairs of panties belonged to little girls. The multi-colored striped ones looked clean and had the scent of fabric softener, but the white ones with a honeybee and a bluebird on the crotch had a slight scent of urine and a tiny brown streak in the seat.

It was about nine in the evening a few nights later when the doorbell rang. Michele was nowhere to be found, so I stopped my Internet surfing (I hadn't found anything new anyway) and answered the door. It was Michele wearing the typical Kelly green skirt, white blouse, and green sash of a Junior Girl Scout. "Hey mister!" she cried. "Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?"

Although I had just bought ten boxes (one of each kind-they've really figured out how to stick it to you) from a real Girl Scout (a very hot Cadet), I played along. "Sure-but it's awfully late," I said. "Don't you think it's dangerous to be outside by yourself? Come into the house."

"Yeah, I know it's late, and this is the last house on my list," she said. "And tonight's the last chance to make my quota so I can get a scholarship to camp."

I said, "Well, maybe I can help you, but I'll have to get my checkbook. Why don't you come with me?"

We walked to my office, which used to be my daughter's bedroom. "Just sit on the bed, honey," I said boldly. "What kinds of cookies do you have, and how much do they cost?"

"There are all kinds of flavors: mint, peanut butter, oatmeal, sugar cookies, coconut, and others," the Girl Scout said. "They're five dollars a box. You know, I have to sell thirty-seven more boxes to get that scholarship for camp. Can you help me?"

"Thirty-seven boxes at five dollars each?" I asked. "Honey, I don't think I can buy that many cookies. I'm on a diet, and besides that will cost me... let me see... thirty times five, one hundred fifty, five times seven, a hundred and eighty-five dollars!"

"Please, mister, I'll do anything."

Ah, if only real life were this simple. "Anything?" I repeated. "Well, you're really a pretty girl. Give me a kiss, and then I'll look for my checkbook."

She gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. I sat next to her. "You can do better than that, can't you honey? While we're at it, why don't you take off that sash so I can get a better look at it?"

She kissed me again, although I wanted to work this slowly to make the fantasy seem more real, and I didn't open my mouth. I took off her sash, and we discussed some of her merit badges. I managed to unbutton her blouse before she said, "Mister, what are you doing?"

"I just want to see what kind of bra you've got on, little girl," I won't hurt you."

"I'm not wearing a bra," she replied. "My mother says I'm too young. I just have a camisole. Do you want to see it?"

"Yes, that'd be very nice."

"How many boxes are you going to buy?"

"Twenty," I said firmly. "That'll be one hundred dollars even."

"No, if you want to see my tits, you have to buy all thirty-seven," she insisted.

"Well, okay, but then I expect a lot more than looking at your tits," I replied. "You'll have to take everything off."

We negotiated some more, and then Michele came up with the clincher. "My troop leader won't let me take a check," she said. "You have to pay in cash."

A hundred eight-five dollars, cold cash, to screw my own wife? And all I'd get was some imaginary cookies? It sounds ridiculous, but I went along. I trusted her.

I had to really scrounge, but I found the money: fifty-two seventy-five in my wallet and pocket, a cool hundred in the freezer, thirty-two dollars in my dresser, and twenty-five pennies in a jar in the office (what I jokingly called "my retirement fund"). I pulled white camisole over her head, untied her sneakers and pulled off her green knee socks, and undid her blue panties. How a grown woman found red and white striped panties with Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, and Woodstock, I'll never know.

"What a pretty vagina you have," I commented. "I like them when they don't have any hair. How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm ten," she pretended.

"And are you a virgin?"

"No, I'm Jewish," she said. "We don't believe in the Virgin."

"Ha, ha, that's pretty good," I said. "No, sweetie, what I mean is, 'have you ever had sex?'"

"No... never," she said. "Does it hurt?"

"It might hurt a little the first time, but I'll be very gentle," I promised, playing the game for all its worth. "But I'm going to get a towel to put under you, because there will probably be a little blood, and my wife will kill me if I get the sheets all bloody."

"I don't think your wife would kill you for that," she said. "In fact, she'd probably be so excited that she'd go to your office and give you a blow job in the middle of the day. Of course, if she ever caught you in bed with a female, and she wasn't a virgin, then she'd kill you."

This was a whole new side of my Michele. I hesitated for a second, then I got the towel, and we proceeded to make love. True to the role play, Michele pulled out a plastic container of catsup from Burger King and spread it on her pussy.

Redecorating

A few weeks later I had to go out of town on business. As I don't have a laptop, I packed my Skipper and Skooter dolls, along with the two pairs of panties Michele had liberated at the swimming pool. I didn't want to stain the bed sheets in the hotel.

When I got home, Michele had a big surprise for me-she had redecorated. In the upstairs bathroom, in a hermetically-sealed frame, there was a Balthus print of a young girl who has just gotten out of the shower and is drying herself with a towel. Her pert little breasts point out at the viewer, and although she is thin, she seems to have a bit of baby-fat in her belly. You can't actually see her vagina, but the part that is exposed appears hairless.

My office, which used to be my daughter's bedroom, looked freshly painted. Most of the posters had been taken down, but Michele had kept an oil painting of Sailor Mars (short red, pleated skirt; white blouse; purple bow; and white gloves), and a very haunting poster of Alice in Wonderland and the Cheshire cat (it was neither the 1951 cartoon image nor the 2010 Mia Wasikowska). She had taken down the Harry Potter movie poster (I guess she couldn't find one with only Hermione), but the Little Mermaid remained on the wall. The room had a much leaner, neater, look.

Darlene's flowery bedspread has been replaced by one with pink cupcakes that she used when she was about ten; her collection of fairy figures was kept intact, including the Tinkerbelle lamp. Most of Darlene's stuffed animals also stayed in place, while Potty Patty was a new addition. Darlene's books had been replaced with my favorites: the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe, Lewis Carroll's two "Alice" books, a well-worn "Lolita" by Nabokov, some Mark Twain, a couple of Hemmingway's, "Don Quixote" by Cervantes, and some others.

Michele was rewarded warmly and enthusiastically for her generous work; I brought her to orgasm three times that evening and once again in the morning before work. I wasn't very enthusiastic about her peeing into Potty Patty's bottle, and then having the doll pee on me, but such a sacrifice was a small price to pay.

In the living room, Renoir's "Water Lilies" had been with replaced by a large reproduction of his "Girl with a Watering Can." The painting depicts a young girl in her finest clothes, with a watering can in one hand and two cut flowers in the other. In her hair rests a red bow.

A couple of weeks later it was my birthday. Michele must have told our kids about the redecorating, and they must have some inkling about my new interests, because Darlene gave me a framed print of Picasso's 1936 cubist "Girl Asleep at a Table" to replace Da Vinci's "Last Supper" in the dining room. My son Oscar gave me a modern version of Johannes Vermeer's "Girl with a Pearl Earring." Unlike the original "Dutch Mona Lisa," this girl gad huge black eyes and bright red lips, such as you might find in an anime cartoon.

I wasn't very enthusiastic about the tie that Michele gave me, but when the kids left she showed me her real gift: a full-sized (52 inches tall, like a nine-year-old) mannequin, whom we baptized Hilary. Michele had used her carving skills to replace her neutral crotch with a narrow slit. Hilary slit was too tight to open up, but she did display a cute camel toe when dressed in a size seven swim suit.

When Saturday arrived, we went girl-hunting at the mall. While we didn't meet anyone as friendly and outgoing as Karen, whom we had met on a previous outing, we did manage a great up-skirt view of a girl of about twelve who had the cutest canary yellow panties under her jeans skirt.

We watched the comings and goings of another group of girls, and we used them as models as we looked for some appropriate things for Hilary. We found a jeans skirt and canary yellow panties, which we complemented with a yellow T-shirt with a big, red butterfly and thigh high socks in with yellow, red, and blue stripes. We bought some khaki short-shorts and a red T-shirt, as well as a blue paisley slacks/top combo.

We had to guess what kind of panties the latter two girls had, and Michele insisted I buy a dozen pairs in sizes 8 to 12. Since Hilary wears size 10, this didn't make much sense, but I went along with Michele's instinct.

Hilary became a very loving companion; she had flexible legs, so she sat on my lap whenever we watched TV, and she shared my bed whenever Michele wasn't up to role playing. Curiously, she insisted that Hilary should try on all the panties, and she was emphatic that I jerk off onto each pair.

We went girl hunting again, and I bought a brown, A-line jumper and a white blouse, along with green-checked panties, white anklets, and some Mary Jane shoes. Naturally, Skipper and Skooter still shared clothes and changed daily in my office (the two naughty girls had only one pair of panties between them). The only time Potty Patty ever came off the shelf was if I was bad, such as when Michele caught me jerking off in front of my computer again, or when I invited her long-lost cousin's daughter to my office (where I swear nothing happened!)

Fashion Show

"We need new cushions for the pews at church," Michele told me. "We've decided to have a fashion show, and four of my pupils are going to participate."

Michele teaches Sunday school, but I don't go to church, and normally I don't pay much attention to what they do there. Fashion shows aren't exactly my cup of tea either, but my ears perked up when she mentioned her pupils would be participating. Special girl shopping and/or a new outfit for Hilary?

"How much are the tickets?"

"$35 a person, but I've got a better idea," Michele answered. "The girls have to try on their outfits before the show. I thought you might like to watch."

"So, they're going to walk around the family room in their fancy clothes?" I asked. "That was nice of you to think of me. I suppose we'll be getting a couple of things for Hilary, and maybe you'll be doing some role playing, too?"

"All in good time, Kris, but it's even better," she replied. "They've got to wear three outfits each, so you can watch as they change."

"Wow... but that might be a little difficult to pull off, don't you think?" I asked. "I mean, if even one of the girls went home and told her parents that I was present while they were changing their clothes, you'd come under some heavy criticism, to say the least."

"Of course; that's why you're going to hide in the closet and keep perfectly still."

Michele had me empty most of the clothes from the closet in our family room; I put a chair inside, and I would be able to watch the private fashion show through the louver doors. She had me bring a floor-length mirror down from our bedroom and place it next to the closet, so that the girls would be sure to show off for me. Finally, she had me take the bathroom door down at its hinges, preventing the shyer girls from having a safe haven to change their clothes. If that also meant that some of the girls might be revealing a bit more while performing necessities, so be it.

Nearly four dozen different items of clothing from four different stores were brought to our house on Saturday morning. Michele and I spent several hours getting them ready for our visitors, trying to mix and match appropriate tops and bottoms, footwear and outerwear (since this was a fall collection) as well as accessories. We had to be careful about sizes, which ranged from 8 to 12. I had never thought there was so much work involved, and we had to worry about only four models!

I scurried to the closet when the doorbell rang at 1:50 p.m. and the first young model came. Michele was ready to get started shortly after two. There were four girls plus one girl's mother who insisted on staying, saying "I used to be a model, before Tracy's father and I got married. Perhaps I can give the girls some tips. Think of me as a 'modeling consultant.'" From a modeling point of view that was probably true, but as a closet peeping Tom, I found that undesirable setback.

Michele showed the girls to the family room and instructed them to choose a set of clothes. The first outfits were designated back-to-school, while the second was to be a casual play set, and the third a bit fancier, such as for a party.

All four girls were a bit hesitant about undressing in the family room, but when not only Michele but also the other woman I assured them they had nothing to hide, they changed their clothes. The "modeling consultant' demonstrated how they should walk towards the mirror (almost directly to where I was hidden), pose before the mirror, and state their names and ages.

"Hi, I'm Britney, and I'm twelve," said the tallest girl. "For my first day back to school, I'm wearing a black, Forever 21 Girls Sequined T-shirt with suspenders; and black suede shoes."

"My name's Janice, and I'm eleven," said the second girl. She was wearing a purple tank top with a scooped out neck and three-quarter sleeves along with denim flared jeans from Aeropostale and black sandals.

Next there was a barefoot girl with a light-colored blue jeans and a flowered T-shirt in pastel colors. She giggled, "My name's Tracy, and I'm nine."

The shortest girl introduced herself as Jane and said she was eight. She was wearing a french terry knit pull on leggings (jeggings) with jean style stitching around the faux pockets and faux fly, a medallion print tunic top. The tunic top had a u shape cut out in the neckline adorned with white shell like beads.

The first round was nice, but things got better as the girls changed into more casual clothes, but as from my vantage point in the closet I was able to watch the girls undress, I soon found it impossible to avoid jerking off.

Things got all the better when the tweens changed into skirts and dresses. Two of the girls wore leggings under their very short skirts (something I would never allow Hilary to do), but I was totally unprepared when Michele said, "Girls, I don't know if you're aware, but the last part of the fashion show is going to be a lingerie show. Lingerie is a fancy name for underwear." She apparently added the last comment for the younger girls.

Michele wasn't making this up-there was going to be a lingerie element in the church fashion show-although she wasn't being entirely truthful either: only adult models (age 18 and up) were going to participate in this part. I almost laughed out loud when I saw her open a box full of Hilary's underwear-none of which had ever been washed after I played with it. I finally understood why she had been so adamant that we purchase a variety of different sizes.

There was lots of giggling, and the girls were all clearly hesitant about modeling underclothes. Tracy's mother spoke up. "You don't have to be shy about modeling underwear," she said. "A model should be willing to do anything. It isn't any more difficult than those skirts you were wearing, unless there's a draft in the room. Just watch."

With that, the woman stripped down to her low-cut flesh-colored bra and the skimpiest little black thong I've ever seen. She was also wearing ruby red high heels, and when she posed in front of the mirror, my dick popped up again. I might prefer the young ones, but a well-built woman can still grab my attention.

Tracy's mother was persuasive; the girls dashed over to the box and rummaged through it until each had picked out a pair of panties and either a camisole (Jane), a sports bra (Tracy) or a training bra (Janice and Britney). Tracy's mother whispered something to Michele, and the two women left the room.

Again, there was lots of giggling as the girls changed their underwear. Since only the two oldest girls had any breasts to speak of, they were the only ones bashful about removing their tops; the other two didn't even blink. Unfortunately, while all four girls were momentarily naked for a few minutes, I could not really see anything very well. I did enjoy it when, one by one, they displayed their lingerie.

Michele and Tracy's mom returned to the family room; both women were dressed, or undressed might be the better term, with nothing but the sexiest lingerie I have ever seen. If it belonged to Michele, as it apparently did, I had to ask myself when and where she wore such things. Was she having an affair?

The women modeled in front of the mirror, and then they both sat down just a few feet away from my hiding place to change. Tracy's mom had a well-trimmed little bush, and of course Michele's pussy was hairless. She had had a waxing some time earlier, and I always enjoyed seeing her child-like pussy.

Michele put on pastel yellow panties and a lacy bra of the same color. Tracy's mom chose fuchsia -colored bikini panties with a marble-like pattern, but there is no way Tracy's mom could have worn one of Michele's bras. Michele has a 34B bust, but Tracy's mom was bursting out of the fuchsia camisole she had chosen instead of a bra. The woman must have a 36C or larger bust, and it didn't look like her tits were sagging at all.

"Tracy, bring those things over here," suggested her mother. "All of them. Okay, why don't you try on one set, and see how it works out."

The little girl sat next to her mother, giving me the loveliest view of her bald pussy-even better than Michele's-as she removed the green-and-white striped panties that had given me so much pleasure when worn by Hilary, and she put on some white ones that had blue and green flowers on the. She covered her boyish chest with a plain white training bra.

Michele corralled the other girls so they also sat within my range of sight as they changed. Like Tracy, little Jane had a flat chest and a hairless pussy, but Janice had pointy little breast buds and coarse, dark pubic hair around her labia majora; what is known as Stage Two on the Tanner Development Scale. The oldest girl, Britney, was clearly at Stage Three.

Sweet Michele encouraged the girls to try on a different set of underwear, "just to make sure." Tracy's mom had a different idea. "Just for fun, why don't we try some nude modeling?" she suggested.

Michele asked in a surprised voice, "Have you ever done nude modeling?"

"A little," the woman replied. "Once I was in a Playboy magazine. Oh, I wasn't the centerfold and I didn't sleep with Hef, but there I am in March, 1997, on page 38."

"I don't think the other parents would approve of their daughters' walking around in the buff," said Michele hesitantly. Deal with the parents later-think about your poor husband, stuck in a closet!

"Come on girls, it'll be fun!" insisted Tracy's mom, who by this time was completely naked. "Feel how good it feels to walk around with nothing on! Of course, you have to all promise you won't say anything about this to your parents-they might not understand. Tracy, don't tell your dad about this."

"Okay, Mom," Tracy said as she undressed.

The woman was walking around the room, her giant breasts bouncing. "Crystal, I don't think the girls want to do this," Michele said.

"Oh... well, what if they didn't actually get nude, but they kept one or two special items on?" Tracy's mom-Crystal, suggested. "What do you think, girls? Would you be willing to try that? Just modeling, of course-you don't have to run around and enjoy your freedom like I am."

Tracy was running naked around the room, but the other girls all agreed to semi-nudity. Michele went upstairs, and Crystal put on a red garter belt and black stockings. She chose some gray wool leg warmers for Tracy-nothing else. Janice put on black patent-leather boots with silhouette heels; a short, sheer black skirt, patent-leather gloves that reached to her elbow, a black necktie, and a black hat. Britney was given sheer baby-doll pajamas without panties; she complained that they were stained, although be undoubtedly had no idea how they had gotten so. Jane was told to wear a T-shirt and some multi-colored striped thigh-high socks with smiley faces on them.

I was in heaven, and I jerked off for the third time that afternoon. As with the first two times, I cleaned myself with the handiest thing around-a blouse of Michele's that was hanging in the closet. Hopefully it was rayon, not silk.

Michele came back down to the family room wearing a white garter belt, torn white stockings, and with handcuffs on her wrists. This was definitely a side of her I had never seen.

The phone rang. "Would you mind answering that, Crystal?" Michele asked.

Crystal trotted to the living room, her tits bouncing as she moved. A minute later she came back and said, "Janice, that was your mother. She's going to be here in five minutes. Everyone, you have to get dressed."

The show was over. I would have liked to see more, but it was nice knowing that I would soon be freed from the cramped closet. There would be hell to pay for messing up Michele's silk (rayon?) blouse, but I could live with that.

When Janice's mother came to pick her up, Crystal and Tracy took off. A few minutes later, Britney's father stopped by for her. I was still in the closet when Michele said, "Jane, your mother called to say that she's been delayed. Why don't you just sit here and watch TV or something?"

She turned on some kids' channel, and I was still stuck in the closet. Jane quickly got bored, and she started looking at the different clothes again. She undressed and tried on a pair of red panties with little white hearts on them. On top of this, she put on a biketard of flo green spandex with straps, and then she completed the outfit with a purple mesh tunic with hot pink sequin trim, and a matching head wrap and leggings.

Jane modeled her outfit in front of the mirror (and me), and then she went to look for another one. She found some black panties and a black bra (somewhat large for her) and a red garter belt and stockings similar to the ones Michele had modeled earlier (except these were in Hilary's size). When the girl stared at her sexy self in the mirror, I wasn't sure who enjoyed the sight better-she or I.

I was not prepared for the girl's next move-she decided to take Crystal's advice and pose nude. But then she went a step beyond, and started exploring her body. She could obviously see her pussy in the mirror, and when she stretched it open, the lovely view of pink was obstructed only by her hymen.

Then I sneezed.

"Who's there?" she cried. "Is there someone here?"

Jane looked around, and although I tried to stay as still as possible, she somehow knew to open the door of the closet.

"Oh!" she gasped upon seeing me. "Are you Mrs. Bachmann's husband? I mean... are you Mr. Bachmann?"

"Why are you in the closet?" she asked. "And why are your pants down like that? Were you spying on us?"

"Well, I..." I muttered, trying to stall until I could figure a way out of this mess.

"And how come you don't have a 'rection?"

"A what?"

"A 'rection," she replied. "My daddy used to say that all normal men got 'rections whenever they pretty girls, naked. So how come you don't have a 'rection? Don't you think I'm pretty?"

"Jane, of course you're pretty," I said. "It's just that..." How to explain that I've just jacked off three times and my body needs a rest? I decided to turn the tables. "You've seen it when your daddy gets erections?"

"Well, not anymore," she said. "We used to take showers together, until Mom found out that Daddy always got 'rections. Then they got divorced, and he doesn't live with us, and when I go visit him, there has to be this lady from Child Services."

"That must be a drag," I replied. Should I just stand up, pull my pants into place, and pretend this had never happened?

"Yeah, but well, he always gets me cool toys," she said before grabbing my dick. "I know how to make you get a 'rection. Do you want to see?"

I encouraged her, but after a dozen or so strokes she gave up. "Daddy said to never tell anybody about this, but this is an emergency," she said, kneeling down and taking my dick in her mouth. She sucked on the tip of my dick, but that didn't work either.

"Mr. Bachmann, you're a funny man," she said before scampering upstairs.

I was fully clothed when Michele came back down. "What's this about Jane finding you in the closet, but you didn't have a 'rection?" she asked.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is," I said. "The fashion show was really great, and, well, I couldn't just sit here quietly all that time, so I... you know."

"Where does Jane fit in?"

"Jane's a real cutie," I said. "At first she watched TV, but I don't think she liked it because she decided to give me a private fashion show. Then I sneezed, and she discovered me, but I couldn't get another erection, so..."

"That isn't like you," Michele noted. "How many times did you jerk off?"

"Three," I admitted sheepishly.

"Jane, you're right; Mr. Bachmann is a very funny man," Michele said. "Even though you don't have a real bush yet, I guess he really believes that old saying, 'Three in the hand is better than one in the bush.' Believe me; I'm going to laugh about this for a long time!"

END