"Goodbye, Nymphette"

Yes it's mine and yes it's my most recent. It in no way reflects my attitudes about child molesting or the abuse of women - both of which I abhor. In fact I think it's the only "dark" tale I've ever written. I wrote it for an ERWA theme week.

A 550 word quickie,
by Julius,
copyright January 2009




There she went. To the bus stop, en route to her new, downtown, city job. Not on the yellow bus any more, the one that had taken her off to high school for so many, many mornings.

He watched her through his binoculars with special care this morning. He noted every detail as she strutted past and then, while she stood at the bus stop.

Flesh and fabric, that's what she was, flesh and fabric. The flesh that he could see and the flesh that he couldn't; the latter doing magic things to the fabric.

Roy was an expert on women's clothing. He studied it in catalogues, in stores and, as this morning, on the living model.

Katrina was eighteen today. The little girl was gone. Now Roy could legally lust. Legally lust, he liked the phrase but worried it would take away the extra titillation of illegality. He hoped not, it had been a long, lovely, illegal lust, the latest of many.

God but she was lovely. She stood there, with her long, coltish legs sheathed in nylon. Roy could see the sheen of it in the morning sunlight. The breeze pressed her short skirt against her girlish bottom, outlining it, even hinting at the divide between her buttocks. His erection seemed to throb. He wanted to stroke it; his cock that is. But he wanted to stroke that bottom too. Tight, round, surely it wanted to be stroked, spanked, caned, reddened then kissed and caressed.

"Turn, turn this way," he ordered her silently.

Turn she did! Not for the first time, Roy wondered if he had special powers.

Her jacket was unbuttoned and he could see the white blouse stretched tight over those young breasts. Breasts he'd watched develop, from pimples to bumps to bulges to now. Now she was big, perhaps too big? Her little girlishness was slipping so fast away.

He adjusted the focus on the binoculars. Yes! Yes he could make out the thrust of nipples, hardened by spring's chill, morning air. They beckoned him through blouse and bra. He licked his lips. "Soon my pretties, soon."

His cock begged for attention but Roy was a master of self-control. He told his cock to be patient, imagining his balls filled to near bursting with his white cream. He was ready. Katrina was ready. Roy groaned; Katrina, so ripe and so ready for the plucking.

The breeze flicked her skirt, showed a glimpse of thigh. He wondered what panties she wore today. He'd seen them all, seen them on the clothesline next-door, touched them, sniffed at them, peered at labels by moonlight. Perhaps she wore none today, what a treat that would be, she'd have hair now. God, his cock was hard, his balls ached. "Oh sweet little Katrina, I'm in pain because of you," he told the image in the lenses.

She raised a hand to sweep her copper hair from her face. Was that a wave for him? She seemed to look right at his window. He flinched, wanting to move behind the curtains but he knew she couldn't really see him.

The bus, the damned bus was there to carry her away.

The chloroform stood on the shelf. Today was the day. Tonight would be the night. She'd wake willing, he knew she would, she must. She’d writhe and squirm and beg and plead with willingness.

The bus roared past. Roy lowered the binoculars and smiled.

"Goodbye sweet nymphette. Hello woman-child"