So far as "Good Catholic girls" go, Tiffany Mitchell embodied all that might be associated with any true young lady of the faith. Even at eighteen, she still exhibited a child-like innocence, an expression of chaste simplicity and an air of well-mannered breeding. Always dressed tastefully, even her year-twelve school uniform managed to bridge effortlessly, the yawning gap between teenage naivety and adult promise.
It was an illusion of which Houdini himself might have been proud.
Tiffany had a secret you see. One that would unquestionably have shattered her parents' delicate psyche, had they known or suspected.
Tiff read sex stories. Not just the odd naughty tale but all of them. No fantasy was too outre for this young lady's taste. Words and descriptions that would contort the features of the average social-worker were no more than nourishment in her voracious appetite's quest for yet darker doings. An aperitif if you will, for that as yet, undiscovered gem of fully unhinged erotica.
Of the many fantasy sites she would surf on her notebook until the early hours of the morning, Sextails.com was now her unchallenged favorite. Why? Because in her eyes it was the best, offering as she saw it, a greater variance of topics and with the easiest of navigational software. She became familiar with specific authors, scanning the archives nightly, looking for their latest stories and her impending encounter with yet another pair of sopping-wet panties. Life was fun.
The more she read of girls receiving their sexual comeuppance at the hands of boyfriends, fathers, strangers, uncles, brothers, sisters, teachers….even mothers, and in one recent instance a colony of entrenchedly deviate gorillas, the more she fantasised as to her own de-virginising and what form exactly it might take. One could reasonably speculate that at eighteen she had indeed left her run a tad late, but with the exception of this - her one little night-time electronic indulgence – she really had been a good Catholic girl!
That was however until she came across "Holly's Story."
Penned by an author calling himself Tiger, the tale recounted the events leading up to a father's intimate deflowering of his youngest daughter the night of a school dance. What exactly it was about the story so intrigued her was hard to define. Perhaps it was the image of so young a girl dressed-up to the nines, returning home early to find her father splayed out across the lounge, arm-wrestling his pecker as he drooled over a computerised slide-show of digital pictures, zoomed-in to highlight multiple features of his daughter's youthful anatomy. She read on breathlessly as, sobbing with embarrassment and shock, Holly fled to the cloistered refuge of her bedroom, only moments later to be confronted by her father who, knowing she would inform her mother on his wife's return, told his daughter "I may as well give you something to really tell her."
At the point he subsequently pulled her panties down as she stood there shivering and commenced upon a program of fully indecent exploitation of her virginal body, paying especial attention early on to her young breasts, Tiff was a lost cause and midway towards her second orgasm of the evening.
In the ensuing days, "Holly's Story" was all Tiffany read. Having cut and pasted the article, she would sit cross-legged on her bed, in just her panties – the notebook between her slim legs, submerging herself more and more into the girl's character as the self-made waves of ecstasy washed over her.
It wasn't, she was sure, any reflection of her own paternal lusting, although, if one were honest, she had conjured up the odd wide-screen image of being forcibly taken by her father on more than one occasion. It was she decided, the skill of the author in painting such a vividly realistic picture of what could only be described as white-hot incestuous carnality.
Mornings now, she was beginning to wake-up with her hand in her knickers and her nipples in a fully aroused state. Tiff began wondering if in fact the story had any basis in truth. Was Tiger perhaps publicly cleansing his own conscience? Hell, she knew nothing about him – he might only be a teenager himself for all she knew. It was only a fantasy-site after all. She had to know more.
Figuring she might contact the site direct and make enquiry about the author, she emailed the webmaster there - with little expectation of hearing back from anyone. "Gonna look like just another author-groupie," she told herself.
Imagine then her wholehearted surprise, when she received a reply overnight from none other than "Sextails'" resident webmaster/administrator. The elusive "Tiger" himself.
Pleased that his story had been well received and especially by so young a girl of all people, he confided in Tiffany his earlier background as a long-time subscriber, writer, editor and later co-founder of the re-vamped site. Far from being a teenager he admitted diplomatically to being "considerably older." There was he assured her, no factual person upon which "Holly's Story" was based. "If only", he was understandably thinking.
In the coming weeks, Tiffany exchanged many emails with Tiger, and if the truth be known, he began to find himself spending an inordinate amount of time dwelling upon the "cute little Aussie brunette" whose picture, down-loaded from one of her emails, smiled back at him from the east-face of the filing cabinet. She was very pretty he had to admit. Just five foot three as she had told him, she looked considerably younger than her years – almost a little beach girl he thought to himself. He traced the outline of her hips with his finger, studying her nicely tanned skin, contrasting as it did, with her neat school uniform. He looked again at the short summer skirt and her crisp white shirt and tie. What wondrous sights they alone hid? Such a beautiful and well featured little face, highlighted by deep blue eyes that sparkled with youth and tease. Her shoulder-length hair was neatly cut and styled. What he would have given to be able to run his fingers through it – just once! His gaze dropped to her small hands clasped neatly in front of her and knowing what activites they had obviously wrought in areas he only dared imagine, he was suddenly finding the room unusually warm for that time of year.
Propped-up near her pillow, Tiff hugged herself as she read Tiger's latest email. She too had his picture and had often wondered what it must have been like growing up in the southern States. Could anything be further removed than a comfortable middle-class upbringing in suburban Sydney? Around six foot, he had obviously looked after himself physically and reminded her vaguely of Kevin Bacon during his Footloose days. When she had finished reading his words, she simply closed her eyes and wondered…..
In the run-down to her final exams that hopefully would see Tiffany graduate (like her sisters) at the end of the year, her father had informed them all that due to business commitments, he would by necessity, be travelling to the US mid September, which as it happened, was the traditional three-week school vacation before that last term. Tiffany took this information on board with but polite indifference, until she heard the words. "For most of the time Tiff, I'll be holed-up in Kansas City."
KC of all places she thought, and Tiger she knew, spent so much time at Springfield, barely a couple of hours drive south-east of Kansas City so he'd told her.
How she ever convinced her father to take her, would make for interesting reading, but is surely evidence of his youngest daughter's powers of persuasion or perhaps of his own inability to deny his sexy eighteen-year old anything when she gets the "I love you daddy" and the "I'm sooo cute you got no choice" eye-flutters in full swing.
She emailed Tiger with the news of her impending itinerary of course, but this achieved little besides their jointly increased peristaltic rates. She knew that for the week they'd be there, they were booked into the Marriott on West 12th Street, but what latitude that would give her for any sort of freedom she couldn't say. Asking her father if she could spend some quality time with the webmaster of an erotic-story site might not be the way to go.
Tiger, not without his own social restrictions, merely wrote back, telling her that there was no way he wasn't going to see her and that "something would be arranged – whatever it took." The clandestine intimacy of it all appealed somehow to Tiffany's sense of the romantic. At heart, she really was a wild child.
