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ELISE girls were not truly related Their


(Mg, pedo, cons)

Written by and copyright 2000 Admiral Cartwright, a pseudonym. It
is intended solely for the entertainment of its audience. Any
publication, reproduction, retransmission or other use of the
descriptions and accounts herein without the express written
consent of Major League Baseball is prohibited.

Unless, of course, you ask the author first (Email address
provided below).

Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit
and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a
violation of copyright law and may result in some serious shit.

(Warning: the following explicitly depicts sexual activity which
may be frowned upon and/or illegal. Reading further constitutes
your assertion that you are mature enough to understand and
accept the nature of the material hereinafter, and the author
assumes no responsibility for your repressions.)

Archived at

Author's note: 'Elise' was a subplot of 'My Neighbor', dropped when it
served instead to detract from the story. I had in fact deleted it, and
only recently felt compelled to rewrite from memory what I'd done and
flesh it out into its own story. It's short, but stands on its own.

Elise had never spent the night here by herself before. In fact,
she'd only joined Jennifer on two previous occasions when her
half-sister stayed over with our daughter.

So, when Elise showed up alone last night, I'd been surprised.

A couple of months older than Jennifer, Elise was a few days away
from celebrating her 11th birthday. She looked nothing like Jen,
since the girls were not truly related. Their respective parents
had had a long relationship, but had never married; still, the
pair spoke of each other as sisters.

Elise, about an inch shorter and probably ten pounds lighter, was
not quite as developed as was Jennifer; nipples that had just
begun to show their future, arms I could put my whole hand
around, thin legs that were not quite gawky. Yet, she was
beautiful, with a grown-beyond-her-years face that presented
itself well under long, heavy dark hair. It was easy to imagine
her right now as the adult she will become.

Like many young girls, Elise loves to be tickled, and last night
was no exception. After dinner, she played her favorite game of
calling me names, hoping to rile me up enough to leave the couch
and the television alone to chase her through the house instead.
We ended up on the couch anyway; with me sitting gently on her
belly, tickling her all over as she pretended - shrieking all the
while - to try worming her way out from underneath.

Looking behind me, I noticed that Elise's nightshirt had ridden
well up above her baby-blue panties, presenting quite a view. My
wife, who had to work early the following morning, already was in
bed, so I made no effort to cover back up the squealing child
under me. Instead, I pointed toward the bedroom door and held a
finger to my lips, urging quieter play.

Conversely, my tickling became more gentle, brushing her ribs,
her neck, her legs and just about everything else with almost an
erotic undertone. My cock, in fact, had begun to respond
slightly, stirring just enough to make its presence known. Elise
pretended to not notice, but her hands brushed across my member
more than once as they moved to wherever I was tickling her.

Is that intentional? I wondered. Should I get more bold?

As if by answer, I let my hands brush a couple of times across
her awakening nipples; she made no move of disapproval. Reaching
behind me, I tickled her inner thighs, once brushing quite
intentionally across her panty-clad pussy.

Her legs opened wider.

Naturally, having just received the universal sign of sexual
acceptance, I was ready to continue until I heard the bedroom
door open. My bleary-eyed wife just stood there, irritated. For
appearance's sake, I continued tickling Elise a bit more
innocently as I apologized for the noise.

And that was that.
I awoke this morning to a sight I'll never forget: Elise lying on
her back next to me, the covers just above her ribs. My wife
evidently had found a ride to work and had let me sleep in, and
now this still-little girl was taking advantage of the situation.

No, I didn't wake her; instead, I found myself silently wondering
how far she was willing to go. Better still, how far was I
willing to go?

Rolling toward her - this porcelain doll sharing my bed - I
rested my hand on her belly. Her nightshirt had ridden up again,
so that my thumb found cotton at her ribs, and my palm and
fingers felt the heat of her bare belly. Elise began breathing a
bit more rapidly; the rise and fall of my hand becoming more
apparent. She rolled her head slowly to one side and glanced at
me, not seeing my one eye partially opened and hidden by the

She smiled, and looked back toward the ceiling.

Taking my cue, I allowed my hand a slow, gentle motion across her
belly and up toward her chest, then down to the edge of her
underwear. As I'd hoped, my thumb now could slide under her shirt
to feel only skin as it traveled once more past her ribs. Slowly,
very slowly, my hand slid up her breastbone toward her neck,
making no overt effort yet to find her tiny breasts.

Several times, I made the same move. I wanted her to think I was

Elise was breathing quite ragged by now, the anticipation perhaps
building within her young breast as my hand slid not quite
innocently up and down her silken belly and chest. Finally, I
found the nipple nearest me and felt its tiny center, hard as a
pebble. Slowly, my hand traced circles around the aureola, and I
had to fight to keep my breathing even as my loins began to stir.

My hand soon found the girl's other nipple, and I was surprised
to feel that it was noticeably bigger than its twin. Somehow, in
my testosterone-induced haze, I'd forgotten that was normal.

It seemed I'd gotten lucky; if Elise noticed my sudden
hesitation, she made no move of acknowledgement.

I resumed the gentle ministration of hand to breast, reveling in
its coarse softness for several more minutes. There was more to
caress, but I could not very well appear too rushed.

Elise was breathing through an open mouth now, halting and raspy.
My hand obliged her seeming impatience, sliding down her belly to
the edge of her panties. The girl's back arched slightly. I
rubbed lightly back and forth, closer to her immature mound each
time, her body responding as if it could push my hand farther
without actually pushing. Finally, my hand hit home.

An audible gasp was the result.

Smiling to myself now, I rubbed the length of her young pussy
with a bit more insistence. Her hips began bucking slightly under
the gentle pressure, betraying her youth and inexperience, or so
I supposed.

That was the moment another thought occurred to me: should I get
her off; or roll over, perhaps frustrating her to the point that
she'd come to me to finish? If I find her orgasm now, will she
just leave, or would she show her appreciation?

Ultimately, I couldn't bring myself to make her suffer, even if
only briefly. My finger ticked her little clit until her body
stiffened, a near-silent squeal escaping her lips.

I smiled in spite of myself. I had made this ten-year-old girl

Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and I rolled to my back,
my goal fulfilled. Just as I was about to nod off, I felt a hand
on my belly. Thank you, I thought.

Elise, to my surprise, was just as slow and methodical; working
her hand over my belly and chest, and finally to my own nipples,
with every bit as much patience as she'd received. When her hand
finally reached my cock, it was fairly throbbing with

Yet, I didn't get the hand job I was expecting.

It took everything I had not to jump out of my skin when I felt
her hot little tongue slide up the shaft of my penis, standing
almost painfully erect. It was harder still to maintain the
façade of sleep when her hot little pussy began rubbing up and
down my shin.

Her lips by now had wrapped around my cock and I could feel the
warmth of her mouth sliding over about half its modest length.
Elise hardly was an expert, but she made up for it in seemingly
honest desire to give as she'd received. Her head bobbed, her
pussy rubbed. She was going to get a mouthful, and I wasn't going
to stop her.

My hands gripped the sheets as orgasm began, each spurt from my
jerking cock pulling me further from consciousness until finally
I collapsed, fully spent.
I opened my eyes, all pretense of sleep gone, only to find myself
alone and fully covered. I blinked. Still alone; in fact, a
little giggle came from outside my room. Pulling on shorts and a
t-shirt, I soon found Elise and my daughter had poured themselves
some cereal and were eating away happily. Both greeted me as they
always had; nothing from Elise to betray what I thought had

Perhaps it was just a dream, I reasoned. If so, that was a hell
of a dream. In more than 40 years, I'd never had a wet dream
quite like...

Wet dream? Wait just a damned minute! I was clean and dry...

The End

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