Tran looked adorable, kneeling in the middle of the rest stop bathroom. I had placed a pad on the hard tile floor for her knees; it was going to be a busy night, from the looks of things.
I leaned against the wall, nonchalantly off to the side between the sinks and the urinals, watching the action in profile. I may have appeared disinterested, but I stayed alert, ready to protect my baby at a moment's notice. I was also collecting the money, of course: one hundred dollars a go.
The first in line, a burly trucker, handed me two fifties before advancing on Tran and fishing out an impressive, uncut cock from his travel-worn jeans. As he stepped closer, Tran raised her diminutive hands to take charge of his already-lengthening member. With her tiny left hand, she cupped his low-hanging ball-sack, her manicured nails disappearing into the thick underbrush of his heavy pubes. With her right hand, which was cuffed at the wrist to its twin, she was just able to reach the base of his swelling shaft. Already, it had thickened to the point that her thirteen-year old fingers were unable to completely encircle its girth. No matter, my little girl had a firm grip on the beast, and wouldn't let go until she had completed her task.
I watched with pride, as well as a stirring in my loins, as Tran stretched her mouth around the flaring cockhead, slurping it in greedily while her delicate hand initiated a gentle stroking motion at the base, encouraging the still-stiffening organ to even greater turgidity.
The trucker moaned, and the five other guys in the john, waiting for their turns, grinned. Tran had attracted at least seven customers tonight – these six, plus the guy who had arrived first, asked for the price, and raced off to find an ATM. I was sure he'd be back, and soon. Who could blame him? Tran was irresistible. As I considered this, my foster child opened her throat and took Burly Trucker to the root.
I'd spotted the fellow I thought of as "Burly Trucker" the moment we had taken our seats at the Flying-J Truck Stop diner. I knew the instant I laid eyes on him that he'd be a "goer." Of course, the same could be said for the other half-dozen or so road warriors populating the greasy spoon in the middle of the night on a lonely stretch of Great Plains interstate.
Within moments of our arrival, every guy in the place was casting furtive glances at sweet little Tran. But then, who wouldn't have noticed a petite little Asian girl, so out of place at two a.m. in a mid-American blue-collar diner? Especially given that she was wearing a Japanese-style schoolgirl uniform: a white sailor top, with a blue collar and shoulder-back flap, and a red neckerchief, along with a very short blue pleated skirt, loose white socks, and blue-and-white saddle shoes. I had purchased the uniform over the internet, within the first few days of my guardianship. Fortunately for me, the Japanese have a widespread fetish for schoolgirls, so there was a product available through some import sites. Unfortunately for me, the garment was the real McCoy, not a cheap costume, so it had cost a few hundred bucks. Oh well, chalk it up as an investment.
After our refreshment – just coffee for me and a Coke for Tran – I winked at her and she took the cue to perform her "bit". Knocking a spoon off the table, she got up to retrieve it. Turning her back on the clientele, she bent at the waist and kept her slender legs straight, put a palm flat on the floor, over the "dropped" spoon, and held the position for a good five-count before standing straight up again, holding the recovered flatware. Every male in view had spent that five-count transfixed by her little rump, poking out from under her too-short skirt and exposed in its tight white cotton panties.
When she stood, I swear I heard a collective gulp from every throat in the room. I stood up, too.
"We have to hit the road, sweetheart. Do you have to go potty?" She shook her head.
"OK. Well, I don't have to go either ... I can hold out at least until Rest Stop 25. We'll use the restrooms there."
Recognition hit every spectator at about the same time. Rest Stop 25 was only three miles down the road. There was a perfectly good set of restrooms here at the Truck Stop. Obviously, I was announcing where we – meaning the delicious young Tran – would be within minutes. Now, to make sure they understood the deal:
"And don't worry, somehow or another we'll find a way to raise money for your school books, Honey."
I threw a five on the table and off we went – a Greek chorus of "Check, please!" sounding behind us.
So now Burly Trucker was on the short strokes, his rhythm shaking his jeans down his legs until they draped around his ankles. He jammed his cock into Tran's throat, and – with meaty paws gripping my foster child's head – he concurrently jammed Tran's face around his cock. His hands were so big that from my vantage about all I could see of her was one cute little pigtail poking out between his sausage-like fingers.
I hoped he wouldn't screw up her hair too much – it was mostly held in place with bobbie-pins and barrettes, arranged with a short pigtail sprouting from each side. Someday soon, her hair would be long enough to pull the look off more easily and completely, but she had only been growing it out over the twelve weeks since I had come into her life. I'd done the best I could, and from the looks of the waiting queue, that was pretty good. Just imagine how appealing she'd be when her silky blue-black hair could support a couple of full-bodied, shoulder-length pigtails!
I heard a gasp, and Burly Trucker drove himself in to the limit and held himself there, obviously pumping his semen down the deep throat of his rented Asian schoolgirl. From my side view, I could see Tran's throat move as she gamely swallowed his deposit. And to think, up until twleve weeks ago, she'd never even had a cock anywhere near her mouth!
Burly Trucker stepped back in satisfaction, exhaling, and Tran pursed her fat lips around his retreating tool as it slid from her mouth, finally releasing its deflating length with a slurp.
"Boys, that's the best c-note I ever spent! You're gonna love it. Thanks, Honey. You're great. Here's a tip." He said all this as he pulled up his jeans, fished out his wallet, and placed a twenty into Tran's cuffed and saliva-coated hands.
"Tank-you, meester." She dropped the bill between her knees and looked up expectantly, awaiting her next client.
This turned out to be the black guy, who eagerly handed me a hundred bucks in tens and twenties. Not wasting any time, he unbuckled his own pants and drew out a long, coal-black cock. It looked awesome in Tran's pale, yellow-tinted hands, and even more so as it slid luxuriantly between her thick, bow-shaped lips and across her already-busy tongue. I was putting his cash away in my wallet, and almost missed his question.
"How old is this little honey?"
"Um, I'd rather not say, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah man, I get you," he replied, as he started pumping his hips gently but insistently, driving his long shaft through Tran's cuffed hands and deeper into her practiced throat. "She looks like she's eleven. Am I far off?"
"Not far off," I replied. Actually, she was thirteen, but she did look very young even for that age, a trait which I found only increased our trade. I'd let them think whatever they wished.
I heard a low whistle from the peanut gallery, and a "Jesus, eleven years old," followed after a few seconds by the same voice muttering "this is going to be great." Yes, business was good.
As Black Guy pumped away, now concentrating far too intently upon the young mouth working over his spit-slick prong to engage in further discourse, another voice piped up. It was one of the two college-aged kids who had been eating together back at the café, and who were now dutifully waiting their turn.
"What is she man? Japanese?"
I didn't have a chance to answer before his companion chimed in. "Of course, dipshit! Check out the school uniform. Of course she's Japanese. Don't you ever cruise the internet, dude?"
"Well, yeah, I mean, I know about Japanese porn, and schoolgirls, and shit, I just wondered. Is she Japanese?"
Actually, she was Thai. And they used similar sailor-suit style schoolgirl uniforms in some parts of Thailand, just like Japan. However, I was just as happy that they got it wrong. Obviously, my activities were highly illegal, and the less correct information potential tipsters knew, the better.
I had been to Thailand many times, and sampled with gusto the many delights that nation has to offer a pervert like me. There is a good reason it is known as "The Land of Smiles." I had fantasized about trying to buy my own teen-aged sex toy there and bringing her back to the States, but of course that was a very difficult proposition. Not the buying part – you can buy a twelve- or thirteen-year old pretty easily, and pretty cheaply, over there. It was getting my purchase through immigration as my "niece" that would have been the problem.
No, it had been only a fantasy – supplemented by trips to that sex Mecca two or three times a year – until opportunity had come knocking. Or blowing, to put it more properly.
Hurricane Katrina had devastated New Orleans, of course, and parts of Mississippi. But I had headed in my RV, full of relief supplies and forged identity documents, to the coast of Alabama, where I knew there was a Thai-Laotian shrimping community. Sure enough, many boats had been lost. And, sure enough, there was a family in the community who had lost everything who also had a perfectly-aged kid, and who also had come over so recently that they still viewed the world from a Thai, rather than from a Western, perspective. My forged FEMA papers, and the authentic foster-parent forms, inauthentically completed and notarized, along with twenty-thousand dollars in cash, had simultaneously assuaged their parental concerns and their financial hardship. Within hours, Tran and I were tooling up the highway into parts unknown in my tricked out mansion-on-wheels – my RV was top-of-the-line – and she was delighting me with her attempts to communicate in her broken English. Not that she spoke unless spoken to, mind you. She was very demure and obedient, even before I "trained" her.
Several hours after that, Tran learned exactly how obedient she was going to be from then on. The petite teen was bawling, but not fighting much, as I impaled her slight form for the very first time on my hard prick – a prick that had been raging at having its gratification deferred for the last few hundred miles.
Mercifully for her, perhaps, I hadn't lasted too long that first time, but on the other hand, she had a break of only twenty minutes – time I spent with my face in Tran's youthful crotch, introducing her to the receiving end of pleasure – before I was again plowing into her belly, this time lasting long enough to satisfy my ego and my prick, enjoying the sort of orgasm that only prolonged coital labor can produce. She was completely worn out by the end of that first night, but she was no longer crying.
The next morning, she learned to suck on my cock, and after the submission she had made the night before at the end of my manhood, she dutifully tried to learn to please me.
Her education proceeded apace from there, and the RV provided an ample schoolroom. She was able to suck on my dick for hours on end as we rolled down the open highway, and it wasn't very long before she got pretty good at it. Practice makes perfect. Correction: perfect practice makes perfect, and so to ensure this perfect practice, those first few days I drove with one hand on the wheel and the other hand pushing her head down onto my prong, until she learned to deep throat me properly and effortlessly.
I alluded earlier to a few "make-over" efforts I initiated. First, of course, she started to grow out her hair. Second, I started injecting her with both triptorelin and progynon depot, as well as feeding her cyproterone acetate/ ethinyl estradiol tablets, to add a few curves to her boyish, adolescent body. Third, in addition to the Japanese sailor-suit schoolgirl uniform, she acquired a variety of junior-high slutwear items: bare midriff tees, short-shorts, low-slung jeans, you know the stuff. I can almost certainly guarantee that Tran had never worn anything like them before in her young life.
Although I bought her a few sets of Disney Princess PJs, she almost never got to wear them, as we slept naked most nights, spoons-style, my satiated prick still buried within her accommodating body.
Two weeks into our relationship, I started pimping her out. I needed a return on my twenty-thousand dollar investment, for one thing, and besides, I had RV payments to make. Although I had a nice income-generating portfolio of stocks and bonds, I wasn't doing a good job of supplementing that by burning gas on the open highway and getting my dick sucked all day by my thirteen-year-old ward.
Happily, the blow-job buying community saw as much value in Tran as I had, and I quickly learned that it would readily pay a hundred bucks a head for head, especially if she were decked out like a schoolgirl. And so, here we were, for something like the seventieth consecutive night, raking in several hundred dollars for my wallet and several cumloads for her tummy.
Black Guy was done, and so was College Kid Number One, when the question arose. College Kid Number Two asked it, as his skinny prick slid in and out of Tran's sucking mouth to the accompaniment of her cuffed hands kneading at his ballsack.
"How much to fuck her?"
"More than you've got."
"No, really, man. I want to fuck her. I'll pay quite a bit. I'm rich."
"Your dad is, you mean!" piped in College Kid Number One.
"Whatever. Really, dude, how much to fuck her? I'll pay it."
"Fucking is not for sale. Do you want your money back, or do you want to continue with the blow job?"
"Sorry, Dude. Chill! I'll take the blow job – it's fucking awesome. Better than any sorority chick, I'll tell you that. I was just asking."
This exchange reminded me of the handgun holstered on my belt, in the small of my back under my jacket. I wouldn't need that here, of course. If College Kid Number Two got out of line, the rest of the patrons would probably deal with him. The pistol was for the danger that the whole crowd might turn into a mob, which didn't seem likely, especially since Burly Trucker was still hanging around, he was well disposed to our operation, and his animal lusts had just been sated.
"I don't allow fucking. She's too young; I don't want to wear that thing out."
"You saying you never fuck her? C'mon!" This from a heretofore quiet guy.
"No, I'm not saying that. I fuck her. But if I let customers fuck her, she'd be taking eight or nine dicks a night! I got to take care of the poor thing ... well, that and keep it nice and tight for me."
This last elicited a general chuckle, and the tension was dissolved.
I had lied there, just a little bit. I was not the only one who got to fuck Tran. In addition to her sweet mouth, I had sold her other charms, and for a pretty penny, too, on six or seven occasions. But those men had all been connoisseurs, who knew just what to expect from someone like Tran. This crowd was unlikely to fit that profile.
"Hey, honey, how come you got such beautiful lips?" College Guy Number Two was once again focusing on the service he was receiving, and his question was directed at Tran. "They're so fat, and succulent – they're fucking gorgeous!"
"She didn't always have such nice lips. She recently acquired them. Tran – tell the nice gentlemen how it is you got your lips to swell up so nice?"
Tran pulled the subject lips down the length of the kid's prick, pursing them in an exaggerated "o" as she did so, further accentuating their thick, bee-stung shape. Blinking her huge almond eyes two or three times for effect, she gave the answer I had coached her with.
"I get from sucking lots of cocks!"
Everyone laughed, in genuine joy. Fucking Tran's face – or the expectation of fucking Tran's face – always made guys jovial and convivial.
Tran's "line" was almost true. She had gotten her lips by sucking cock – specifically, the cock of a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles, who was among the first to sample Tran after I took her "public." He had given her massive collagen injections, and the result was wonderful. Her lips were as swollen as Angelina Jolie's – but her mouth was only half the width. The result was the most astonishing heartshaped, puffy red dicksucker that you can imagine.
That surgeon actually got a lot more than a blowjob. And he hadn't discovered us at a rest stop. I had met him online previously, in a forum catering to our common predilections. I arranged to meet him shortly after becoming Tran's "foster" parent. He was the sort of connoisseur who was allowed to fuck the sweet little angel, and in exchange he had provided his services. He had also prescribed the hormones I mentioned earlier, which were already starting to produce a greater swelling in her young chest. Sometime down the road, "Dr. Dick" would probably be called upon to provide further augmentation to Tran's young body. But for the moment, her boyish form only added to her appeal to her target audience – the secret hebephile lurking inside of almost every man on earth.
The well-humored crowd continued to take their turns skull-fucking the handcuffed young teen, while she continued to kneel on the floor of a grimy rest stop bathroom in her sailor-suit, avidly choking down cock after cock.
Everyone had had their turn, and Burly Trucker had just finished a second round – which I gave him for only sixty bucks – when suddenly the worst possible thing occurred. A stocky, fifty-something, no-nonsense State Trooper, in uniform, swung open the door and confronted our happy little market.
"What the fuck is going on in here?"
The peanut gallery, now sated and guilty, started edging around him for the exit. He paid them no attention, so off they went. Burly Trucker finished zipping up, in a hurry, looked State Trooper in the eye, furtively, and was rewarded with a head jerk that told him he could get lost, which he did, gratefully.
This left me, State Trooper, and a thirteen-year-old Asian kid -- who I'll remind you looked eleven -- on her knees, cuffed, wearing a Japanese schoolgirl uniform, her hair disheveled, her glorious bow-shaped mouth sporting tell-tale crust at each corner, the drying overflow of her recent labors. Things did not look good. But then, he spoke.
"Y-yeah. How'd you know?"
"Oh, you have... ?"
"Yeah. Service. I was Military Police in Subic, the Philippines. We'd hit Pattaya Beach on leave sometimes."
"So it's been a while. I wouldn't mind some."
"Coming right up, officer!"
"But I ain't standing in the middle of the room. I'm taking a seat on the shitter. Bring her in here. And fix her cuffs. I want her cuffed properly – in the back."
"Yes, sir!" I hastened to do as he ordered, while he threw open the door to the large handicapped stall, removed his gunbelt, dropped his trousers, and took a seat. I led Tran, her wrists now cuffed behind her and crossed over her adorable skirt-covered bottom, shuffling in behind him for her "audience" before this now enthroned authority figure. I must have still looked a little spooked, because Trooper proceeded to put me at ease.
"Relax, buddy. I know you're selling this sweet little thing. But this ain't a shakedown. You can keep your money. I just want a freebie. Been years since I had an LBFM. Used to love it. Over there, in WESTPAC, my buddies and I kept an apartment off base. Always had a resident bit of tail or two, living there. We'd buy 'em off their mama-sans, for weeks at a time. One time we had three sisters – aged ten to fifteen, and we nailed them constantly, and made 'em clean each other out, afterwards, with their tongues. It was fucking awesome."
I helped Tran to kneel between his knees, and he fed his swelling prick – festooned with salt-and-pepper pubic hair – into her welcoming mouth with surprising gentleness.
"Yeah, I miss my Little Brown Fucking Machines. So subservient. So service-oriented. I'm not even going to ask how you managed to bring one over here. The less I know, the less I have to overlook. Oooh, that's nice, baby. Jesus you can take it deep, can't you!"
I have to admit, now that my gut had stopped wrenching in outright fear, the scene was getting me hot, even after a night – hell, even after ten weeks – of watching Tran service cock. The uniformed trooper leaned back, his knees splayed wide, while the cute sailor-suited girl bobbed her head up and down in his lap. With her hands cuffed erotically behind her, she had to manage everything with her mouth alone, and this had her moving her head left and right, up and down, trying to service the officer's heavy meat as thoroughly as possible.
The trooper didn't face fuck her – his hands hung down at his sides. He was apparently content to let her do all the work, confident as only a veteran of Far East sex trips can be that she wasn't going stop, and that she didn't need to be forced or coerced into doing her absolute best. Feeling chummy, I decided to make small talk while Tran continued her duties. He didn't seem to mind.
"With that kind of set up in the Philippines, why'd you even bother to go to Thailand on leave?"
"Oh, you know, to sample the different flavors."
"Yeah, sure. Thai girls have lighter skin, are more 'Asian-looking.' I've never been to the PI myself, but I know Filipinas have their own distinct traits, too. Like having bigger tits than most Asians. Not that it makes much difference, when you go for the young ones."
"Yeah, they're both beautiful types, each in its own way. So we'd go to get the different sort once in a while. Of course, there's more to 'different flavors' than racial characteristics."
"Yeah, I know."
"I know, too. In fact, I know right now."
"You don't mind?"
"Hell no! In fact, I'll tell you what I don't mind. I don't mind the idea of fucking this little thing. Do YOU mind?"
"Not at all. Not if you know what to expect. It's the least I can offer, under the circumstances."
"Then let's trade places. She can suck your cock – and you can support her, seeing as how she's cuffed – while I knock the bottom out of this cute little schoolgirl. Okay?"
In moments, we had affected the maneuver, and I found myself seated on the toilet, my jeans and boxers around my ankles, and my erect prong completely enveloped by the practiced mouth and throat of my foster child.
I had one hand cupped under each of her shoulders, to help her keep balance, for she had to lean over at the waist in order to suck me down. In her near straight-legged stance, her blue-pleated ass was the most elevated point of her pose, save for the cuffed wrists and hands resting atop it.
Trooper swaggered up behind her, his movements hobbled by his own trousers and briefs, hanging around his ankles. In front of him, a spit-slick cock, long, thick, and fatheaded, projected in eagerness.
He reached under her skirt and gently slapped at her inner thighs, signaling for Tran to spread her feet apart a little bit, just as though he was about to pat her down as a "perp." He flipped her skirt up, throwing it over the peak of her ass to settle headwards on the down-slope of her leaning back. A low whistle greeted the white cotton underpants that met his gaze, encasing, as I knew from indelible memory, two deliciously round, bubble buns. Doubled over as she was, they looked pretty good to me, too; from the front view, I could enjoy the distinct contours of her elevated ass: twin rounded peaks of feminine perfection. They looked even better when Trooper grabbed the panties in two powerful hands and simply shredded them, right there on her body. The remnants of the garment continued to hang around her waist, but now bared were two smooth, golden-yellow globes, flawless and inviting. State Trooper accepted the invitation.
Although it was obvious by now that Trooper was trying to be gentle with Tran, the power – and size – of his penetration shook the thirteen-year old. I had to exert myself, struggling to help her remain upright by lifting up and pressing back on her shoulders, as he drove that massive fuckmeat into her lower regions.
"Sweet Jesus!" he exclaimed and, after he was fully imbedded, he paused to let her adjust. "You OK, Honey?"
Tran nodded in my lap, her head never leaving its post, nor interrupting her dutiful ministrations around my own enmouthed member.
"You've got one hell of a nice cunt for sale here, buddy. Jesus, she's tight. She get fucked much?"
"Nope, not much. Other than by me, of course."