Hi, my name is Stephanie; I’m quite petite – slim, with high breasts, short-cropped blonde hair and deeply tanned all over. I’m over 18 now (of course), but with the right make-up and choice of underwear, I can be any age you want. I keep my cunt shaved to within an inch of her life – I hate pubic hair – it always gets stuck in your teeth. I was born Stephanie in this tiny village on the south Cornish coast in the 1960s, but most of my friends call me Steph, except for the boys at school who just grunt ‘Bitch’ when I pull their hard cocks out of my mouth and they splatter spunk all over my nose and chin. Several of the girls at school also call me ‘Bitch’ for fucking with their boyfriends, as I seem to have a very high sex drive and need a constant supply of fresh cock. Two girlfriends called me ‘That Filthy Lezzer’ after I groped them in the school showers. They got me back by stealing my skirt and blouse, so I had to run home in the rain in my underwear.

Growing up, I always admired the tits on page 3 of the Sun newspaper when I had a chance to read it over Grandpa’s shoulder. Now I’m 18, mine don’t seem such a big deal, but they get some attention when sunbathing topless in the park.

I guess most of us teenagers are bi-sexual really; we just need to find the right boys and girls to keep satisfied. I adore the feel of soft girls and hard boys, quite often at the same time – a good orgy on the beach really turns me on.

Oh, did I mention my half-brother Tony – he’s gorgeous, has broad shoulders, a perfect six-pack, and always has a hard-on. He’s a few months younger than me, but we’ve lived together so long, most people think we’re twins. For years we stayed with my grandpa in Honey Cottage – a tiny 2 bed-roomed stone-built place between the village pub and the coast path.

I never knew my Dad, and then Mum had to move to the big town to get a job, so we lived with Grandpa. Tony and I had to share a bed, but we were young so nobody minded. That is until I woke up one morning to feel the back of my favourite pink night dress all sticky. Tony said he had had a wet dream, and just accidentally coated my bottom with his young sperm, then tried to wipe it up using my nightie. Poor boy, he was so embarrassed when I licked him clean, he got all hard again and came in my mouth.

That was the start of our perfect sex life: I abandoned the night dress and we slept curled up together with his cock resting between my taut buttocks every night until my breasts started to grow. Grandpa really didn’t have a clue how to control two sex-crazed teenagers who swam naked every day and shared one small towel to dry each other’s bodies. Proper families who ventured onto ‘our’ beach generally tried to protect their kids from our flagrant and noisy copulations in the sand dunes. But inevitably dads pointed their cameras at our bare bottoms and captured some very erotic, but highly unlawful, images of our lovemaking.

Honey Cottage

Honey Cottage was made of grey Cornish stone, just like the rest in the village, and nobody kept bees, so one day we asked Grandpa how it had got its name. He just laughed and said to bring back a girlfriend after school. We all stripped her off, folding her clothes into a neat pile on the kitchen table and marched her upstairs to Grandpa’s room. He produced some lengths of pink ribbon and we tied her hands and outstretched feet to his big brass bedstead. We left her for ten minutes basking in the stream of warm sunlight pouring in through the tiny roof light.

When we got back the entire room smelled of warm pussy and she tasted perfect all over. I licked her from the tips of her hard young breasts, down across her smooth tummy and into the crinkly folds of her pussy. She tasted of pure honey; it dripped from her cunt down onto her buttocks and I had to lap up every last drop before it reached the white sheet under her bottom. She thrashed from side to side trying to dislodge my tongue from her cunt, but it just made me want more. Each time my lips were coated in her fabulous juice, I would swing my head up to kiss Tony and then suck in his erection. One time it was Grandpa’s old wrinkly cock, but I didn’t care – this honey-flavoured juice had a hypnotic effect – I just craved sex.

I hadn’t noticed Tony standing at the end of the bed; while I was kneeling sucking her cunt, he was fingering my bare bottom. The girl (I wish I could remember her name) was babbling incoherently – I figured it was just another orgasm. Then I felt Tony’s long hard cock pushing into my wet arse. I tried not to show her how much it hurt – just kept munching her cunt – but he was in so deep, it felt like he was tearing me apart. I have to admit I screamed his name when my climax hit; he just kept on ploughing in and out, before finally pulling out and covering my bottom and lower back with his sticky sperm. The girl didn’t seem to mind licking it all off, but when she realised it might be her turn next, she dashed downstairs and she never came near Honey Cottage again.

First Photos Years later, Grandpa had to go into an old folks home and stop renting the cottage. Steph and Tony became officially homeless and mostly slept on friends’ couches when they couldn’t find a warm bed for the night. They were especially friendly with the Manager of the local Holiday Chalet Park and he allowed them to camp out in any un-booked chalets, provided they left it tidy, oh and slept with him occasionally. They recruited a number of young girls willing to pose in exchange for a good meal and organised a regular photo session for lonely (mostly male) punters. Tony was the only bloke allowed to touch the girls; the ‘photographers’ merely suggesting the ‘poses’ they wanted. Sometimes the Manager fancied a particularly attractive little tramp and would whisk her off to his ‘office’ for a good fucking.

Two old, fat, sweaty blokes turned up for one session, it was just me and another little slapper. Normally we would just strip down to our little-girl undies (and sometimes white socks – they seemed to love those), but this time they gave us something to wear. They were just a thin waist strap with a large triangle and a small triangle, joined by a piece of string. The manager had to show us how to put them on – the large black silky triangle went down between our legs just covering our little slits. The string went up between our buttocks – it felt really odd, but the blokes loved it. The manager had arranged some lights in a circle around an inflatable bed on the floor – we were to kiss and cuddle, while the fat blokes took photos and got even sweatier. I had the little slut nicely pinned down when someone suggested a pussy-fight; we were to interlock our cunts and try to make the other one cum. Well, what fun we had – the manager poured some oil down the front of our thongs (I only found out later that’s what they’re called) and we slithered around the li-lo mashing our cunts together. The blokes couldn’t get enough of us; the manager had to stop them from grabbing our bottoms.

The lights were so bright it was hard to look out beyond them, but one time when I was on top, I saw just a pair of bright white eyes in the dark corner of the chalet. I disentangled my cunt from hers and crawled over to find a very black man sitting on a wooden chair staring at me. He smiled, flashing a set of amazingly white teeth. I had never seen a black man before and wondered if I should be afraid, but the tingling in my tummy pushed me forwards.

“Hello Little Miss, what’s your name?” he rumbled, grabbing hold of both my hands and sitting me across his knees, facing him. He kissed me very lightly on the lips and I mumbled “Stephanie, but my friends call me Steff” in between little kisses.

When he said my name and stroked my hair I was lost – he could have done anything to me. He pulled me up closer – I could feel the heat from his chest against mine – and there was this bulge in his trousers growing up between my legs and pressing into the black fabric of my thong.

I was fairly certain it was wrong, but I just had to find out if all the stories of black men having massive black cocks were true. He didn’t seem to mind when I undid the buttons on his trousers and soon this absolutely enormous erection was touching my tummy. I could feel my pussy getting wetter by the minute and was afraid of soiling his nice clean slacks, but this was too good to stop now. He slid one enormous hand down my back, making me giggle; then it held both of my buttocks – squeezing them together around that horrid string. As I wriggled around on his lap trying to get one hand to meet around the shaft of his cock, he pulled the string aside and touched my front bottom (remember it was a long time ago).

He must have hypnotised me with words and looks and touching my very wet pussy; I succumbed, bending forward to take his cock-head into my mouth. It felt fabulous – alive with passion – it twitched against my tongue and between my teeth when I clamped down hard. He didn’t seem to care – just pushed one finger (or was it two) deeper into my virgin cunt. Each time I panted his cock seemed to get bigger – I was rubbing it up and down with both hands now – trying to satisfy his black snake, swirling my tongue around the red-hot tip.

Suddenly everything happened at once – his fingertips penetrated my hymen, making me scream and his cock erupted gallons of sticky white sperm. It went everywhere – in my hair, all over my nose and mouth – I managed to swallow some, but the rest poured out splashing onto my chest, up my arms – I was dripping in the stuff. The photographers, the slut and the manager were all forgotten about – I was just revelling in my new-found skills as a proper grown-up. I think I must have cried from the pain between my legs, but he stroked and rubbed the inside of my pussy with his fingers until I calmed down and then I had my first proper climax. I had to hold on around his neck to stop the shaking – it seemed to start from my cunt and work outwards – right down to my feet and up to my arms. I was just one big orgasm – I wanted it to go on forever. I was coated in sperm, something nasty dripping from the sides of the black thong, but ecstatically happy - this fabulous man had just taken my virginity.

When I got back from the shower everybody had gone, I pulled on the jeans and jumper, carefully hiding the blood-soaked thong in a bin and was just walking out when I spotted a brown envelope on the seat where we had made love. It was just addressed ‘Steff – my love’ and inside was the most beautiful pair of panties I had ever seen. I ripped off my jeans and pulled the gift on. Just my size – jet black, but completely see-through; snug on the hips and then square cut across the thighs and bottom. They looked and felt stunning. I found a mirror and tried to see myself from the back – they just floated across my bottom – a lovely slice of cheek below each lacy edge. But the view from the front was just awesome – black lace from hip to hip, leading down to a super smooth slit, proudly displayed for my lover. I couldn’t resist a quick rub – the pussy felt fabulous through the soft fabric – the little clit was soon standing proud waiting to be fondled and kissed.

He had written ‘a little present for my lover, Kurt’ on the back of his business card. Oh and a crisp new £50 note. I had never seen so much money. I popped the card and money back in the envelope, pulled up my jeans and ran all the way home to tell Grandpa and Tony all about it.

At home, I raced up to the big bedroom leaving my jeans and jumper on the stairs. Tony saw the flash of bare skin through the new black panties. I was standing on Grandpa’s bed, legs apart making sure I was bathed in sunlight from the waist down when he bounded in. Tony said ‘wow’ and grabbed Grandpa’s trusty old Kodak Instamatic camera from the drawer where he hides it from us. I gave Tony what I thought were provocative poses – thrusting my hips out to stretch the panties tight against my pussy; slowly turning around to reveal my pretty bottom. Tony clicked away, occasionally directing a hand here or a thigh there. He loved photographing my bottom, and now I had lost my virginity he knew anything was possible. He insisted on taking some from the back and several of my slit showing through the taut transparent fabric. I was on my knees – bottom high in the air, hand down the front of panties, stroking my pussy on the last picture before he ran out of film. Embarrassed at his lust, Tony wound on the last frame and hid the film in his pocket before Grandpa arrived, puffing up the stairs from the garden.

Grandpa instantly fell in love with my new panties – he sniffed them, stroked my bottom through them, even sucked my open pussy through them – they became very sticky. He demanded to know how much they had cost and where they had come from; jumping to all the wrong conclusions. How much could I tell him about Kurt? I had hidden the envelope, business card and £50 note under the pillow, to be collected later. He just tickled me, until in the end, it all poured out – the size of Kurt’s Biggest Blackest Cock in the World – how gorgeous it tasted – where the sperm ended up - how he left me the panties. But, of course, I ‘forgot’ to mention the virginity thing and the money – a girl needs to keep some things private. Tony casually mentioned finishing off the last few shots in the camera, but Grandpa’s head was firmly buried between my legs at the time, so he might not have heard.

Chemist

The next day Tony and I took the exposed film into the chemist’s shop on our way home from school; we explained they were from Grandpa’s camera and we wanted it processed. The chemist looked us up and down a bit dubiously, but took the order and told us they should be ready for collection on Saturday.

Back at the shop on Saturday, the chemist-man pulled Grandpa aside; I could only hear the occasional word: “ ... obscenity ... child pornography ... cannot possibly hand these over ... had to get them specially printed ... very expensive”.

They both looked at a print and then over at me. “What?” I demanded “Yes, that is my pussy”, pulling down my jeans to expose the black see-through fabric.

I reached up and smoothed out the £50 note on the counter, “Will this cover it?”

The chemist-man checked it over, handed me all the photographs and gave Grandpa the change, “Look after that one; she is going to be trouble”.

Back home, I picked the most revealing photo, wrote ‘To Kurt, with love, Steff’ on the back and sealed it into a brown envelope. I just copied the words on the front of his business card onto the envelope: ‘KURT, ESCORTS Lap Dancing Club, SOHO’ and the next morning gave it to the postman. He chuckled, patted me on the bottom and said he would try to deliver it. Nothing happened.

One afternoon I was skipping home from school on my own (Tony had some rugby practice), delighted because I had chosen Lap Dancing for my Investigative Project at school. I was trying to catch a glimpse of my special black panties reflected in the shop windows, when I realised that the chemist-man was staring out in a funny way. He pulled me into his shop, “Out the back, little bitch”, as he locked the door, “and let’s see if we can get some more pictures of you in those panties”. I pulled off my school uniform, shivering slightly – my little nipples standing up from excitement (or perhaps the cold); he pointed a funny camera at my middle – it said POLAROID on the front, and there was a bright flash.

Magic: it spewed the picture out – he waved it around for a while – and there it was – my lovely black panties, with a tight pink slit showing through – it was in colour – wow. He took several more – from the front and back, then sat down and popped me up on his knees – his white coat buttons were undone and a tiny pale pink penis fell into my hands. “No way”, that’s not going in my mouth – so I just jacked him off, collecting his little patch of sperm down the back of the panties. He was triumphant and took loads more photos, but he put them in a drawer and locked it.

School Project How was I going to find out about Lap Dancing? None of my friends knew anything; some of the older boys at school just sniggered. The teachers thought it was really the wrong thing to be investigating, even when I explained that it was my career choice. Someone suggested trying the computer in the library – of course, that was years before everyone had one at home (or in their pocket). I had already scoured the children’s shelves for books on Dancing; these had pretty pictures of ballerinas showing off their legs and bottoms, but no mention of Laps.

The librarian was a friendly old man and showed me how to search on the computer – he sat down and I sort of stood between his legs so I could see the screen. I typed ‘how to become a Lap Dancer’ into the search bar, but the screen was covered in horrid library security messages, saying this wasn’t allowed. The librarian logged in again with some special stuff – he didn’t let me see his password, and now the messages had been replaced by photographs. There were smartly-dressed men mostly sitting on leather sofas with beautiful girls or women in very skimpy underwear rubbing their bodies over the men. My eyes were everywhere; my hand shook on the mouse – they were all so gorgeous – men holding their perfect breasts – girls rubbing hard cocks – everybody kissing. I could feel my pussy getting hotter, my legs getting wobbly – it was difficult to hold the mouse steady. Sat behind me, the librarian’s right hand steadied mine, and I’m sure I could feel his other hand touching my bottom. I was past caring – the pictures on the screen held my attention – we kept clicking on ‘next’ and more stunning ladies (and some quite young-looking girls) flashed up making their men very happy.

“Wait a minute, go back”, I shouted, “I’m sure that’s...”

The librarian definitely squeezed my bottom – I wasn’t imagining it – he clicked on the left arrow and there He was – my Kurt; surrounded by gorgeous women, all pouting and sticking their chests out. Underneath was a caption ‘Club Owner Recruiting New Talent’, and the name ‘Escorts’ just like on his business card. “That’s him – that’s Kurt”, I babbled, “can we find out more?”

The librarian clicked a few more times, pausing at some odd photos which had young boys in tight shorts, but no girls – I pulled away slightly from his hand up my skirt. He clicked on some funny letters and dots (he said it was a URL) and we were on the Escorts website. It had loads more photos of Lap Dancers and Pole-dancers and Strippers, all really beautifully dressed in shiny underwear. The librarian wrote out the proper address and said I had to put my address on the back of the envelope so Kurt would know where to post the reply – I was learning fast.

The next day I called into the library just before closing time; the librarian smiled at my very short skirt and locked up so we wouldn’t be disturbed. He sat down in front of the computer, opening his trousers; I stood in front, resting my bottom against his cock. We quickly found the Escorts website and explored the ‘so you want to be a lap-dancer’ page. There were several photographs of new recruits parading around in their new uniforms – really pretty girls flashing their tits at the camera. One picture showed a pole dancer, upside down – legs spread out – bikini pants stretched really tight across her bottom.

“Here little Miss, click on that arrow,” said the librarian. Apart from his hand on my bottom, I had almost forgotten he was there, looking over my shoulder. The video clip started – with the girl slowly gyrating around the pole in front of a group of kneeling girls touching and kissing each other.

“Did you see that lovely boy in the red thong?” asked the librarian when it stopped.