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.
.... There is more of this story ...