Chapter 1

"What do you think about?" I asked my husband softly.

We were lying in bed, him on his back and me on my side. I had my left leg over his thigh and my left hand on his chest. Our bodies were cooling, damp and sticky, and I could feel him inside my sex. He'd filled me with his sperm once again and it was the best feeling in the world for me. It made me complete, the afterwards, even more than when his cock reached for my womb. It was the remains of our lovemaking that I liked most.

"Hmmm?" Kurt sounded sleepy, the way men sometimes do after sex.

"I was reading a magazine," I shrugged, knowing it was silliness on my part. "About how men fantasize during sex."

"Oh." He smiled. "Cosmo again?"

"It was all they had." I giggled, snuggling closer as he shifted a little, getting comfortable. My husband is a large man and I'm so small, we fit together well.

"Hairdresser?"

"I didn't get my hair done." I mocked a pout, but he was only teasing me.

Kurt knew I'd been to see my gynecologist, getting only enough good news to keep me from crying. I wasn't completely infertile, just mostly, even with the pills and the diet and the timing and...

"Yeah, Kris. I know." He turned his face so he could kiss my blonde hair.

"So, what do you think about when we do it?" I persisted.

"Uhhh..." he cleared his throat and I waited. "The Yankees mostly. You know ... Baseball."

"Liar!" I laughed.

"No, seriously, they're having a rough year." Kurt loved to tease me and I loved his sense of humor, usually.

"Come on, please?" I sighed. "I really want to know."

"Why?" He almost laughed, pleased with the opportunity to tease me more than with my curiosity.

"I won't be mad," I promised, moving my hand down to feel his cock, soft now and sticky against his skin.

"Ah..." He did laugh then.

"I'll tell you what I think about," I offered, massaging his penis gently, just stroking it with my long red fingernails.

"I know what you think about, Kris." His left arm, the one I was laying on, was behind me and I could feel his fingers on my back.

"Yeah," I shrugged. I'd already told him that all I ever imagined was his sperm finding one of my precious eggs and giving us a baby.

"What did the doctor say?" Kurt asked. We hadn't discussed it yet, but now seemed as good a time as any, so I told him.

" ... One chance in a hundred," I finished half a minute later, because there really was very little to say.

"Okay," he nodded and we were quiet for a little bit.

We'd looked into artificial insemination, but the problem, my problem, wasn't with my fallopian tubes. Kurt's sperm was reaching my ovum, it was just that my eggs weren't receptive, to use my doctor's phrase. Even fertilizing my egg outside the body, in a test tube, so to speak, had a very small chance of success. Too small for the expense, which was considerable, but we were saving for it anyway. Some people saved for vacations or houses or cars ... Kurt and I were saving for a chance at making a baby. One in thirty was better than one in a hundred, wasn't it? It felt like a sure thing to me sometimes, but mostly I was just sad.

"You have to cheer me up now," I finally said.

"Sure." Kurt gave me a squeeze and his cock was semi-hard under my fingers.

We were barely twenty-three, our birthdays being just a few days apart, which I'd taken as a good omen on our first date. We were still newlyweds as well, by the standards of our friends anyway, and just approaching our second anniversary. Out of college finally and both of us working good jobs, it should have been perfect, and almost was.

"So come on, tell me what you really think about," I sighed, stroking him now because Kurt was hard for me again. His cock had grown long and thick and hot. I liked his maleness.

"Ohhh ... How about if I sing for you?" he suggested playfully, and I frowned.

"Kurt, come on. I told you I won't be mad. I know you think about something besides me." I reached lower to feel his balls.

There was nothing wrong down there. He'd been checked and his sperm was vigorous, which is another one of those funny technical terms. Vigorous, healthy sperm, that's what my husband had. When I remembered the two years I'd taken birth control pills while we'd dated, I wanted to laugh at the irony. I was a birth control pill all by myself, just laying there.

"Well, maybe you'll laugh." Kurt turned onto his left side to face me. "My dad warned me about talking to girls about stuff like this."

"He did?" I smiled and wondered if I'd believe him. The bedside lights were on and his brown eyes were warm. He liked to look at me when we had sex and I didn't mind.

"Oh yeah." Kurt leaned close for a kiss and his lips were dry on mine, soft and smooth. I let his tongue tease mine for a moment.

"Do you think about some thing?" I licked my lips. "Or some one?"

"Uhhh ... Yes," Kurt grinned and his right hand moved down to my hip, stroking my skin and continuing slowly towards my ass.

"Oh, I don't like this," I sighed.

"I think of you mostly," he told me seriously, and I let Kurt pull my body even closer than we already were.

I pressed his cock down, between my spread legs so that the shaft would ride across my sex, already wet with our earlier orgasms. My distended labia were split along the length of him and it felt nice like that. No penetration, just my pussy riding his cock as we barely moved together. I had my leg over him and his hand was on my small round ass, his fingers in the crease of my buttocks, moving down to press against my anus. I liked that a lot, having my ass played with, and even anal sex, sometimes, was very good for me despite Kurt's size. I liked a little pain. I liked being the submissive woman to my dominant man in the bedroom.

"But not always," I breathed, smiling and kissing his chest because I am so much smaller than him.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" His cock was dripping again, leaking precum, and I could feel it against my flushed skin.

"I'm stubborn." I teased his right nipple with my teeth, the pierced one. My left nipple was pierced and we had matching gold rings. It had been a college thing and we'd called them our wedding rings until we'd gotten real ones.

"Like a mule," he sighed.

"I'll tell you something bad," I said a minute later, while Kurt was kissing my ear and making me shiver.

"What?" he whispered.

"Sometimes..." I reached down because it was time; I needed him inside me again. "Uh ... Mmmm..." I rolled my hips a little, feeding the head of Kurt's large cock into my ready pussy. "Okay ... There..." I nodded and Kurt gave me a little push, sinking inside me slowly.

"Yeah..." He held my ass tight and his hand was big, covering my butt. I loved him because he was big and strong and so much else besides, but especially that; my protector, my man.

"Sometimes I think about you with someone else," I told him, letting him see as deep into my blue eyes as he wanted to.

"Someone else?" He blinked at that, moving his hips slowly.

"Yeah." I was confessing, just because he wouldn't.

"You mean when we have sex, you think, what ... You're someone else?" He was smiling, trying to understand, or possibly teasing me.

"No!" I giggled, and we were moving slowly so that I could feel his cock inside my well-stretched cunt, moving just a few inches back and forth, in and out. He was working that old sperm out of me, finding the wetness with his fingers, bringing it to my ass and moistening my anus with it.

"Well, what then?" He was curious now, finally.

"I think about you with another woman," I said. "Having sex, like this."

"Okay," he shrugged with his eyebrows. "What are you doing while..."

"I don't know." I laughed and wriggled my ass against his finger, feeling my pussy full and enjoying it greatly. "Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"Huh." Kurt pushed against my asshole with a gentle, constant pressure making me moan softly as his middle finger penetrated my tight sphincter.

"Don't you want to know who?" I asked, a little breathlessly as my tight butt opened reluctantly.

"Well, of course," he chuckled. "I just don't want to seem eager."

"Ummm..." I closed my eyes for a moment. "That feels good."

"Does it?" Kurt kissed me and I couldn't answer. He knew I loved the sensation of my husband fingering my ass while we fucked. Something about it just felt really good for me.

"Tina," I said after we broke our kiss, even before I took the breath of cool air I needed.

"What?" He swallowed hard, looking a little red faced from our kiss, which had been long and deep.

"I think about you having sex with Tina." I laughed and blushed, but he probably couldn't tell because I was already so warm all over.

"The girl across the hall, Tina?" Kurt was acting very surprised and I wondered who he thought I'd been thinking of.

"Yeah," I nodded, and then felt a bit self-conscious about it. "I mean, I know she's young and everything, but ... I don't know ... I just..."

I didn't know why I thought of that, of her. Tina was just thirteen, barely thirteen by less than a month, and our neighbor in the apartment building we lived in. She was exotic and dark, with long black hair and deep blue eyes, unlike mine which were more grey, hers were like a bright summer sky. Tall and lithe for her age, Tina was already pretty and in a few more years she'd be truly beautiful.

"She's not just young, Kris," my husband narrowed his eyes, "she's a kid."

"I know." I bit my bottom lip, which is always a sure sign of guilt. "I told you it was bad."

Kurt had stopped moving, his cock lodged deep inside me. He was big all around, physically, intellectually, even spiritually, I thought. It had been so easy to fall in love with the man. We'd talked about so many things, everything it seemed, but this was new; my confession that I was a pedophile in some strange way. How else could I explain this desire to see my husband making love to a child of thirteen? Kurt wouldn't understand this, and how could he when I didn't understand it myself?

"Are you angry?" I whispered, afraid to move against him. Kurt's penis was still hard, still inside me, and he held me tight, but that was all.

"No," he replied, reassuring me and it spurred him to give his cock a short hard thrust. "I just ... Why her?"

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. "I haven't thought about it, you know? Like tried to understand it."

"I think I need to understand," Kurt said. "You can tell me."

"I know," I agreed, kissing his neck. Kurt wasn't going to push me away, he just wanted to know.

"Why Tina?" he repeated, and then added, "Is it just her, or..."

"Yeah," I nodded, rolling my hips slightly to work that cock around inside me. "I don't know many other girls her age, so maybe..."

"So maybe if you did..."

"It's her age, yeah," I decided. "She's never been touched. Not kissed or been in love ... Real love with a man..."

"Then why not, um ... Shelly?" he wondered.

"Shannon," I corrected him, meaning the nine-year-old down the hall.

"Right, Shannon. Why not her?"

"She's too young." I shivered as Kurt brought his fingers back to my ass, playing with me there while I worked my sex on his cock slowly.

"Too young?" My husband chuckled. "That's good."

"She's not, uh..." I sighed, trying to think. "She's not fertile."

"You want me to make Tina pregnant?" He tilted his head downward, staring into my eyes.

"Yeah that's part of it," I agreed quickly. "That's most of it."

"What else?"

"What else?" I asked myself. "Um, her size. I mean, she's like me, even a little smaller than me. I like that. And innocent, yeah ... I want to see her the first time."

"Losing her virginity..."

"Becoming a woman," I said, moving more eagerly as I began to define my fantasy aloud for the first time. "Pregnant and fucked and changed forever."

"Fucked?" Kurt chuckled because I so rarely swore, even during sex.

"And I want to watch and be watched." I was talking quickly, before I lost it like a good dream. "I want you both to see me..."

"See you..."

" ... helpless." I kissed his chest. "I want you to love her and make a baby in her while I watch helplessly."

"Why?" My husband pushed his thick finger into my ass hard, making me wince with delight.

"Because I'm ... worthless!" I gasped, cumming suddenly with an unexpected rush of pleasure in my husband's arms.

"Kris..."

"Hey. Morning, sleepyhead." I smiled at my husband's entrance into the kitchen. I stood near the microwave, drinking coffee and waiting for our bagels to get warm.

"Good morning." He moved behind me, smelling fresh and damp from his shower.

Kurt wrapped his arms around me and gave me a kiss through the turmoil of my golden hair. He'd dressed for work already and so had I, in a manner of speaking, although the only thing I wore was my bathrobe. I made a soft purring sound as he squeezed me nice.

"Your coffee's there, on the table already," I told him, and this was very much our morning routine.

"Mmmm ... Thank you." He kissed me again and let me go.

A few minutes later I sat down with him, eating our bagels and drinking our coffee. Kurt was looking through the previous evening's newspaper, but just to check the box scores real quick. Once baseball season was over he wouldn't even do that much; neither of us were very much interested in the world at large.

"Are we going out tonight?" I asked, because it was Friday and we usually did, if only for dinner, but often for more than that.

"Do you want to?" Kurt put his paper down with a soft rustle and picked up his coffee. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know." I took a deep breath and stretched a little. "Let's go dancing."

"Sure." He smiled at that and there was something on his mind. I could see it in his eyes; he wanted to say something.

"What?" I tore off a bit of bagel and put it slowly in my mouth.

"Last night, what you said..."

"Oh." I felt my face growing warm. "That was..."

"You're not worthless, Kris."

"I know." I gave him a weak smile. "It's too bright for that, okay?"

Kurt looked at me for a moment and I felt very self-conscious about it. The morning sun was streaming through the kitchen windows and my memory of the night before seemed something like visiting a confessional, dark and remote and secret.

"Yeah." My husband finally nodded and then frowned as he looked at his watch. "I'd better go."

"Okay," I agreed, even though we both knew it was a little early for that. He kissed me as I sat there and then he was gone.

I sat in my studio, but I was hardly in a mood for work. I did illustrations for publishers, books mostly, but magazines as well, some freelance stuff here and there. I had a nice contract with Harlequin, working on commission, doing covers for the romance books that they churned out by the dozens every month. I'd lucked into the job through a friend and it paid well enough. Sitting in a room surrounded by paintings of beautiful couples embracing in their tragic love was a real chore though. That and the mind-numbing repetition that I hadn't fully appreciated immediately; this wasn't a job anyone spent a lifetime doing, I was sure.

I looked at my easel and frowned. I'd paint later and it was almost finished anyway, something called 'Love's Distant Shore' which meant very little to me. That's all I had to work with usually, the title and maybe a paragraph to summarize the main characters' general appearance, and a vague setting to put them in. This one was on a beach, of course. A striking man and his fey woman, holding each other against an approaching tempest. It was overdramatic and lurid with promise, the way millions of women liked it. I had a talent for that sort of thing though and even got the fan mail to prove it.

"Margie Watson," the voice on my phone said, sounding old and distracted, both of which she was.

"Hey Marge, it's Kris." I rubbed my forehead, not sure why I was doing this. "I need a favor."

"Hey, honey. What do you need?" she asked, setting her distractions aside now.

Marge ran a modeling agency and over the last eighteen months I'd become a very good customer. Good enough that I could now skip the secretaries and managers and go straight to the top. I didn't do it very often, usually going through the same process everyone else did, browsing the online portfolios and making an appointment. I usually needed two models for a full day, or sometimes two days, but I tended to work quickly anyway.

"I'm in a bit of a rush," I said. "I need a girl, um ... Young, real young."

"Uh-huh. Today, you mean?"

"Yeah, like five minutes ago." I laughed softly. "Sorry. It kind of snuck up on me."

"That happens," the woman said, laughing as well. "Uh ... What do you need? Young might be tough on short notice."

"That's why I called you, Margie."

I didn't know what I was doing, or why, but I had my suspicions and I closeted them away, unwilling to consider them. I was doing what I needed to and that was enough. I showered and dressed quickly, not knowing how much time I'd have. There was nothing special about it, only the good manners I'd been brought up with. I pulled on an old pair of jeans, spattered and stained with years of paint, and an old Stones t-shirt. Brushed my hair and tied it back with a rubber-band, and I waited.

"Hello." I smiled, opening the door at half past ten to find the girl Margie had sent over. "Come on in."

"Hi." She looked beautiful and all of fifteen probably, which was a little older than I'd wanted. "I'm Amy ... This is my mom."

"Hi, I'm Kris." I stood aside for them and it wasn't the first time I'd used a child model, but the need was rare.

Mom would be there to make sure I really was who Margie said I was. She had the paperwork, the contract which I filled in and signed, mother and daughter as well. It was a very real business and all legitimate, and I was paying a premium for taking Amy out of school so she could sit around in my apartment all day. Mom didn't stay very long; she was satisfied and I'd come with the highest endorsement from the agency. She was going to get her hair done, or do some shopping, or meet up with a friend for lunch. I didn't concern myself overly much with her.

"Do you want something to drink before we start?" I asked the girl. "Do you need the bathroom or anything?"

"No, I'm okay." Amy was looking around the apartment and I was looking at her, dressed in what had to be a school uniform.

"How old are you?" I asked. Her contract had said fourteen, but I wanted to hear her say it.

"Almost fifteen," she said over her shoulder. "Are you married?"

She was looking at the large wedding portrait framed on the bookcase and I nodded.

"Yeah. That's my husband, Kurt," I said. "Come on. We'll go back this way."

"He's cute," Amy said, and followed me to the studio.

"Yeah, he's pretty okay." I smiled as I walked towards the glass doors that opened onto our small balcony.

I'd already cleared an empty space, as my studio was a rather cluttered place at best. I had some cartons there with supplies, and another with studies and unfinished works filed haphazardly. I shoved all that aside and opened the doors wide. It was early autumn in New York and the air was warm, but the breeze felt pleasantly cool as it entered the room.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, just making small talk while Amy looked around.

"Have you seen my mom?" The girl giggled. "She'd have a heart attack if I even talked to a boy."

"Yeah, moms are like that," I said with a smile. "I need you to undress, okay? Leave your bra on, and your panties too, that's fine, and stand over here."

"I'm not wearing a bra," Amy shrugged. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, that's okay," I nodded, going to my work table and finding my camera, an old Polaroid.

Amy was just a little shorter than me, and I'm hardly tall in any case, just a little over five feet. Her long hair was brown, but once she stood in the direct sunlight I could see some red in it, a little auburn that seemed very pretty. It was wavy, curling at the ends, and the girl wore her hair loose, which suited me just fine. Amy's presence was generous for her age and the girl wasn't shy at all, with her body or her hazel eyes. She undressed quickly and I'd had plenty of experience with models who were much more picky when it came to undressing, wanting a screen and a robe and all of that. I used the adjoining bedroom, which was going to be our nursery someday, maybe, for a dressing room when models demanded it. I was happy that Amy seemed so relaxed.

Her skin was tanned all over as she stripped down to just her plain white panties. Amy's breasts were small and puffy and topped with proud pink nipples; her waist was soft and narrow with some baby-fat clinging to her hips and tummy, giving her belly a pleasant and only slightly plump appearance. Her thighs came together in the middle and then separated just beneath the tight crotch of her panties and I could make out the suggested form of the girl's sex hidden there. She was smooth and blemish free and with her fresh, heart-shaped face, I thought she was very attractive.

"Do you think anyone can see me?" Amy wondered, looking past the balcony at the apartments and offices across the street.

"Oh, I don't think so," I said, not knowing for sure. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she nodded.

"You won't have to stand there long," I promised her. "I just need some photos in the sunlight and then we can move you inside a little more."

"Okay," Amy agreed, but she didn't seem all that worried about it anyway. I got the impression she might have enjoyed seeing a man looking at her from one of the distant balconies.

I took two dozen pictures with the sun behind me, posing the girl in variations of the general image I had in mind. Amy's legs were slightly spread, her pelvis out and shoulders back, chin down only slightly with her eyes open and up. Her left arm across her stomach, just beneath her breasts, and the right arm close to her side, with her hand up, fingertips touching her right shoulder. Amy's stance was defiant, and she was offering herself plainly, but she was shy and self-protective as well. There was a conflict within that structure, a woman struggling to emerge, seeking to escape the bonds of childhood. That was what I wanted and Amy was giving it to me nicely.

"Okay, turn around ... Remember that pose ... Turn..."

I took several pictures from behind, with that same arrangement, but adjusting Amy's head so that she could look over her left shoulder at me. I adjusted her panties, pulling the left side down slightly and tugging the thin cotton back into the soft valley of her firm round ass. Just a little of that left side, enough so the imperfection would lend motion to the eye. She had very little baby-fat there and Amy didn't need it; her fourteen-year-old butt was wonderfully round and pert. I finished the film, setting the photos in a long line across my bench while I went for some juice.

"What kind of painting are you doing?" Amy asked me as I returned a few minutes later.

She was looking at her pictures. They were just snapshots and I'd never claimed to be a photographer, but the girl was very photogenic. We looked at her pictures together, drinking orange juice, and I was only a little surprised by how excited I felt inside. I'd been feeling it since I'd first decided to call Margie and every moment I spent with Amy only made me more restless. She was gorgeous, this girl, and I wanted her. Not sexually, not for myself, but to see her with a man, with my husband ... That was the idea, the thought in my head and deeper, in my heart. It was undeniable and I felt guilt gnawing at my soul.

"I'm doing a cover for a reprint of a book. Lolita," I lied. "Have you read that?"

"Lolita?" Amy shook her head and smiled. "What's it about?"

"Um, well, it's complicated." I laughed and my heart was beating quickly. "It's about a girl, your age, I guess, and she has a relationship with an older man."

"Like her dad?" Amy finished her juice and I took her glass, setting it aside with mine.

"No. Not her dad," I shook my head. "Here. You can pose right here now. I'm going to do some sketches for awhile and then we'll have lunch, okay?"

"Sure."

"Do you like music?" I asked.

"Yeah," she smiled. "Do you have Fob?"

"Fall Out Boy?" I laughed. "No, but I got some Moby. Do you like him?"

"Whatever." She shrugged as I hit play on my stereo and Extreme Ways filled the room.

Amy let me correct her pose and I rolled my big leather chair over, just sitting in it and doing pencil sketches across my knees. We were quiet for a long time, half an hour or forty minutes at least, and it was pleasant. I was able to focus more on the art and push my other thoughts away, but not completely. I would draw the girl, her shoulders and breasts, or her tummy and hips, and imagine my husband's hands there, touching her. He was caressing Amy, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear while I drew the two of them together in my mind, and it made me quiver way down deep between my thighs.

"So, what are you doing with all the money you make from modeling?" I asked the girl; she looked a little bored and I was trying to distract myself.

"My mom makes me save it for college," Amy sighed. "She gives me an allowance."

"That's not a bad idea." I smiled at her. "I went to college. It was pretty fun."

"I guess," Amy didn't sound so sure. "I want to be a real model though, or an actress."

"This isn't real modeling?" I teased her, but at seventy-five dollars an hour I had a valid point.

"You know what I mean!" She giggled and it made her almost unbearably cute.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Lots of boys at college though. I met my husband there."

"Really? My mom will make me go to an all girls one probably," she said, frowning. "That's what my school is now."

"Nah." I shook my head, working fast to catch that giggle before it faded from my mind's eye. "She just wants to let you grow up a little more, I think."

"I'm pretty grown up already," Amy said. "She just treats me like a little kid."

"Mom's do that."

"Like bringing me here? She's like my babysitter," Amy was letting it all out. "Like she doesn't trust me, you know?"

"Well, I think she just wanted to meet me," I said. "There's a lot of weird people in the world."

"She just cares about money," she sighed. "Ever since the divorce. I make more money than my dad does anyway."

"Your parents are divorced?" I gave her a sympathetic frown of my own.

"Last year," Amy shrugged. "My dad's out in California. I see him once in awhile."

"Hmmmm..." I made a face at that.

"Yeah," she said. "It's no big deal. How did you meet your husband? Was he in one of your classes or something?"

"Something like that," I told her with a grin. "He was a model, actually, for one of my art classes."

"Oh yeah? He's a model?" Amy's hazel eyes got a little bigger at that.

"Not anymore," I shook my head. "He's a draftsman, like an architect, but he used to model in college."

"How come he stopped?"

"Well, he just needed a little extra money," I explained. "He never really wanted to do anything but design buildings and stuff."

"Oh." Amy looked a little disappointed at that news and I smiled.

"Let's take a break, okay?" I stretched a little. "Do you want to see what Kurt looked like? I have some old paintings..."

"Sure, yeah." Amy was stretching too, but not complaining. Her pose had been an easy one and I hadn't been strict at all when she'd happened to move.

"You need a robe, Amy? I can..."

"No. I'm okay."

"Okay, ummmm..." I had a number of big leather portfolios, most of them bought second hand and well used. I reached for one and then changed my mind, pawing through them to grab another.

"You must have a lot of pictures." Amy had taken my chair and she spun in it lazily.

"Yeah," I laughed. "I've been drawing and painting everyday since I was about four years old. Here we go ... No, stay there, you're okay."

I sat on the floor near Amy's feet, smiling up at her briefly as I unlatched the old brown leather straps. Her feet were so close to me, her little pink toes painted baby blue, and she smelled like bubble bath, I thought, though I hadn't noticed it before. Amy's legs were slightly spread, the chair creaking softly as she pushed with her feet, turning it a few degrees one way and then back, her naked breasts rising and falling with every breath. I was sitting at her feet, like a servant it suddenly seemed to me, and I swallowed hard at the thought.

"Uh, okay..." I could barely breathe and I knew what I was doing, although not exactly why, and it was wrong.