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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2011.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
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Custom Shoot
by Dudester (address withheld)

***

Mike is an ordinary guy, who in his private life is a 
pedophile. Checking out modeling websites, he sees the 
face of a Goddess and becomes besotted. He has no idea 
that once he joins the site, it will set forth a chain 
of events that will change his life forever. (Mf, ped, 
exh, rom)

***


Author Notes: The following is entirely a work of 
fiction. It was written purposely for the entertainment 
of adult readers. This type of fiction should never be 
read by minors. Readers of this type of fiction should 
never try to copy the actions within, lest they look 
forward to a very long jail sentence, followed by a life 
of forced poverty. 

This story contains graphic descriptions of sex between 
a preteen female and a grown man. If this type of 
behavior offends you, read no further. If this type of 
material is illegal where you live, please stop now and 
go away. 

This isn't a quick spank it story. It's an adventure 
wrapped in a love story. I hope that you enjoy reading 
it as much as I loved composing it. 

***

It all started with a membership in a modeling website. 
The site was somewhat exclusive-you had to be sponsored 
to get in. An acquaintance from another site had asked 
me if I wanted in. 

I had seen the site talked about and I jumped at the 
invitation. 

Once in, I found the site to be more topic rich than any 
other site I had ever seen. New members were required go 
over rules and regulations, and respond to acknowledge 
that they had read the rules. Since the site was about 
preteen and young teen models, I was surprised to find 
that all nudity and near nudity was banned. The site was 
exclusive, which made me surprised to find the ban on 
nudity. To be sure, I went over to the model section and 
spent hours going over the pictures. I looked carefully, 
but there was no nip or lip slips. 

I quickly fell into the fraternity of the site. It felt 
good to among fellow pedophiles and to discuss issues 
important to us. Some guys prattled on about this model 
or that, but a dozen of us did talk about the tragedy of 
child abuse, and our love of sweet little girls. But 
finally, I saw a model listed on the site who really 
turned my head. 

She was a Goddess. Her face was that of an Angel, with 
pure innocence. Her light brown hair fell past her 
shoulders. Her figure, with a slight bit of baby fat, 
looked to be barely eleven years old. Her breasts were 
tiny buds, barely noticeable in a tight top and damn 
near invisible in a loose top. Her photographer rarely 
posed her in a risqué pose. She always looked angelic, 
but the thing that added to her charm was that she 
rarely wore shoes. I'm not a foot fetishist, but she did 
look really divine in a white dress, or an outfit with 
her bare feet.

Her site offered no information on her, save a name. The 
bio section, up for the first year of the site, was 
always empty. Every week, a half dozen pics of her would 
appear on the site. I was curious if there was more to 
be seen, so I joined her site. Because I joined within 
the first six months of the site, I was given a 
"Founder's Membership". It was nice to be given a title, 
but six months down the line, I found the importance of 
having such a membership. 

The email announced an upgrade to the site. The email 
was sent out to all "founders". The announcement was 
that for the first year anniversary of the site all 
founders were invited to participate in the upgrade. For 
a one hundred dollar donation, you would get one free 
month and a costume worn by Jean Model during a shoot. 
For a five hundred dollar donation, you would get two 
months free, and a special file of unseen pictures. A 
one thousand dollar donation ensured three months free, 
the file, a costume, and an autographed picture. I found 
that five hundred would dent my savings, but I could 
spare it, so I sent it in.

Six very long days later, the zip file arrived. I nearly 
went into cardiac arrest when I found that the file was 
filled with nip and lip slips. Evidently, there was two 
or three oops moments in every photo shoot. I about wore 
myself out pleasuring myself to her little body parts. A 
week later I finally noticed the details in the pics. 
First, the pictures didn't have the Jean Model 
watermark. Second, the pictures had a three digit number 
stamped in the middle of each pic. The three numbers 
were the same for each pic, and they would be difficult 
to remove-even with Photoshop. This was to identify 
someone stupid enough to post the slips on the net, not 
that I would want to. I had private pics of my Angel 
that few or no one else had. 

Six months later, I had another offer from her site. 
Myself and two others (according to the email) had 
achieved "Benefactor" status due to our reply to their 
upgrade. We were given a choice of lingerie for a custom 
shoot, but we were warned that there would be no nudity. 
The custom shoot would run two hundred and fifty bucks. 
I picked a red babydoll negligee and sent in the money. 

Eight days later, the custom set arrived. The first pic 
was her holding up a sign announcing that this photoset 
was only for me. The rest of the pics were her in the 
red negligee, but there was something different. These 
pics were a lot more sexy than her usual pics. Six of 
the pics had her legs spread, and two of the pics were 
her pulling on her panties so that just her slit was 
covered. Some peach fuzz was available in her magic 
triangle. Five of the pictures, her top was open. She 
held the top so that much of her chest was exposed, but 
her nipples were covered. In the last three pics, her 
top was completely off. In the first pic, you saw her 
bare back. Also, the waistband of her panties were down 
and her bare ass was exposed. In the next pic, she was 
facing the camera, but her hands covered her tiny boobs. 
In the last pic, two fingers covered each nipple. 

I spanked myself sore from that set. A couple of months 
later, I received an email offering another special 
file, exclusive to me for only one hundred bucks. The 
email did thank me for my support. I sent in the money. 
Three days later, the file arrived. 

Checking my email, I was surprised at the size of the 
file. I opened the file. There was a picture section and 
a video section. I scanned the pictures first. Like the 
first special file, it was a collection of nip and lip 
slips, except for the last picture. In the last pic, she 
was facing the camera. She was completely nude. She was 
holding a sign below her breasts that read "Thanks 
Mike". In this pic, I could see how much she had grown 
in the last year, her breasts now a firm A cup. Her 
nipples were light tan and puffy. Her peach fuzz seemed 
to have become transparent, or else she was shaving her 
magic area. With anticipation and racing heart, I went 
to the video section. 

The first two vids were short. In the vids, Jean was 
topless and climbing out of a pool. The third vid, a 
little longer, she was also topless and laying on a 
chaise lounge next to a pool. She smiled at the camera 
and waved. In the fourth and final vid, the camera was 
in a bathroom. Jean walked in wearing a white terry 
cloth robe. She turned her back to the camera and 
dropped the robe. She then walked in the shower, and it 
was obvious that she wasn't alone. The camera person  
walked over and taped her taking a shower. 
Unfortunately, the camera only panned down when her back 
was to the camera. I got two minutes of her bare boobs 
and ass. 

Four long months rolled by before I heard from the site 
again. The email stated that in a week's time, an 
announcement was going to be made on the site about 
another upgrade. To Benefactors only, an offer was being 
made. For a one thousand dollar contribution to the 
site, Benefactors would be able to actually meet Jean 
Model. The paragraph below the offer, which looked like 
it was written in broken English by a lawyer, whose 
command of English was shameful, stated that I was 
responsible for my own traveling expenses, hotel, and 
restaurant fees. 

I did the math in my head, figuring in my donation, 
airfare to somewhere-most likely Russia, plus hotel and 
food. I would have to do some budgeting, but I would 
also to do some planning. I considered that this might 
all be a ruse, and that there might be some dark motives 
at play. I thought about the possibility of blackmail. 
Since I was single, and just a face in the crowd at my 
company, this was a no go. As for the possibility of 
kidnapping, my family was just wacky enough, that they 
would go on the morning network shows and cause a huge 
international uproar. This would backfire greatly, if 
tried. Finally, there was the possibility of murder-with 
robbery as a motive. To that end, I would take some cash 
and one credit card. If they planned to reap a harvest 
off of me, they would find the bounty less than 
bountiful. 

I sent in the cash, and waited. Three days later, an 
email arrived from a travel agency in New York City. The 
travel agency had a Russian name and announced that it 
was working for Jean's site. The email needed my name, 
date of birth, and address. I had identity protection in 
case this was a phishing scam. Two days after this, I 
saw the upgrade announcement on Jean's site. For certain 
donations, T shirts and autographed pictures were 
offered. A personalized picture was offered for one 
hundred bucks. 

I guess the upgrade response was less than tantalizing 
to the customers. Ten days later, for two hundred bucks, 
an offer was made for a personalized picture of Jean 
wearing an outfit, if it was sent in and was her size. A 
disclaimer added that no see through clothing would be 
acceptable. Her site, so far, had been non nude. To my 
knowledge, myself, and perhaps a few others, had nude 
pics of her. None of her nudes or slips had surfaced. 

A week later, I received an email from the site. I had 
been approved to meet Jean on a certain day. I was free 
to use the Russian travel agency, or manage my own 
arrangements to Sevastopol (in the Ukraine). I called 
the contact number for the travel agency. The woman who 
answered had an accent, but not a thick one. She sounded 
like she knew what she was doing. She gave me a quoted 
price on the airfare, which was as steep as I expected. 
She also looked at several airlines. We finally settled 
on a plane from my hometown to New York City, then on to 
Paris, and change planes one more time there for a 
flight to Sevastopol. 

Because the flight schedule would be so harried, I 
decided to take a sleeping pill on the flight to Paris, 
and a nap on the flight to Sevastopol. The strategy 
worked great, that and keeping to one carryon bag. I 
arrived in Sevastopol, in late afternoon, only slightly 
jet lagged. A woman of average looks, looking thirtyish, 
greeted me at the airport. She told me that she would 
provide my ride to see Jean. 

She led me out to the parking lot. We got into an older 
Volvo. We went through a part of the city, then left out 
on a road leading north. I noticed that we had a tail. I 
wondered if that was for her security, mine, or to make 
sure I wasn't some kind of law enforcement Officer. 
Finally, a little over an hour later, we arrived in a 
small town. 

The town looked like one of those master plan Soviet 
Villages. On our left was a shuttered factory. On our 
right was a long row of houses, practically identical in 
configuration. The houses looked to be at least forty 
years old, and perhaps were older. A little past the 
factory, we took a right onto what might have been a 
main drag. There were some shops, a gas station, and a 
newer store of some sort. There were also some shuttered 
buildings that might have been shops. We crossed a 
bridge over a creek into a much newer part of town. The 
houses looked newer and cleaner. There was a modern 
looking school, and close to the school, our 
destination.

The building must have been a social center of some 
kind. There were several dozen cars on one side of the 
two story building. I noticed that we went to the far 
side of the building, where there were several Mercedes, 
and a relatively new Volvo Station Wagon parked. 

As we entered  the building, I smelled chlorine. There 
must be a swimming pool in the building, most likely in 
the basement. The woman went to a desk that had a 
receptionist. The woman said something in Russian. The 
receptionist answered her, then we went to the right, 
through the lobby, and into a hallway, where the woman 
told me to wait. The woman then disappeared into a 
doorway. A moment later, three men came out, all of them 
in business suits. 

The man in the center of the trio was small in stature 
and quite thin. The other two men, a lot larger and 
heavier, were obviously hired muscle. The small man 
extended a hand, "You must be Mike McCay" he said in 
perfect English. 

"Hello," I replied as I shook his hand.   

"You can call me Marky, if you need to," he volunteered. 
"You've traveled a long way to meet a sweet girl, and 
she is quite sweet."

His wink at the end of that last sentence made me feel 
dirty. It's one thing to be a pedo and have your own 
fantasies, but to suddenly realize that you're meeting a 
man who is pimping a beautiful young girl can make you 
nauseous, if you don't have a thick skin and a casual 
disregard for anything but your own primal desires. He 
continued, "I manage Jean's site, as well as half a 
dozen others. She is quite the money earner. Last year, 
I took in six figures. That's a king's fortune in this 
part of the world."

I noticed that he said he made six figures, not her. 
Jean, probably not her own name, probably came from the 
poor side of town that we went through.  

Changing gears, he went on, "Just wait until you see the 
new upgrade. You and the other donors  have bought us a 
couple of new cameras, and the resolution is beautiful. 
Wait until you see it."

He noticed that I wasn't into his "I am great" speech. I 
saw him change gears through his eyes. 

"In a few minutes, you'll be meeting my crown jewel," he 
said, "and that's what I wanted to talk to you about. 
You paid to meet her, and you'll get an hour of her 
time, but if you want to spend the night with her, and 
I'm sure you do, that will cost you another thousand, 
American."

I was prepared for this kind of eventuality. I fished 
one of two money clips out of my pocket and handed it to 
him. He counted the bills and looked up, with an ear to 
ear smile. 

"You'll find her in there," he said, motioning to a door 
at the end of the hallway. 

I walked down the hall and through the door. It was a 
somewhat small room. At the center of the room was a 
five foot by five stage with a raised bar next to it. A 
row of chairs lined three walls of the room. There was a 
small table with bottles of water and colas. I took a 
bottle of each and sat down at the bar that ringed the 
stage. 

A moment later, Jean entered the room through a door at 
the back of the stage. She was dressed in a thin see 
through piece of white fabric that went around her neck 
and tied behind her back. She was also wearing a white 
thong. She was carrying a boombox. She said "Hello," 
then plugged the boombox in. As Luther Vandross came 
through the speakers, she started to dance. Actually, 
her dance movements were the uncoordinated movements of 
a twelve year old girl untrained in dance. Still, just 
feet from me, was a beautiful girl, that just days 
before was only a computer fantasy. She was doing her 
best to try and entertain me and I let her know that I 
appreciated her efforts with a smile. 

The first song ended. Seductively, with a smile, she 
reached behind her back and untied the fabric. She then, 
slowly, pulled the fabric from her body and let it drape 
across the boombox. Wearing only a couple of inches a 
fabric, she started to dance again. During her dance, 
for a very brief moment, she sat on the counter next to 
my drinks and leaned back. I could smell the pleasant 
aroma of scented soap, and/or a nice shampoo.  

As the third song started, she slipped the thong off. 
Sitting back on the corner farthest from me, she spread 
her legs to reveal a bald pussy. Her red and inflamed 
pussy lips told me that she was sexually excited. She 
reached between her legs and rubbed her pussy a couple 
of times, then she realized that she was too far away. 
She came closer and resumed the pose, placing her tiny 
feet up on the counter so that I could get a better 
look. I motioned her to come closer. She looked 
confused, then eventually realized that I wanted her to 
sit with me. Finally, she ended up in my lap. In a half 
hug, I could smell her hair and feel the velvety 
softness of her skin as I caressed her thigh. In halting 
English, she said "Thank you Mike."

I asked her if she spoke English. She held up a couple 
of fingers to indicate just a little. Slowly, I asked 
her how old she was. With fingers and smidgen English, 
she indicated that she was twelve, but would be thirteen 
in a few months. Our conversation went on from there, 
with my finding out that she went to school at the 
school I saw, that she had a younger sister, and she 
wanted to go into fashion later. When she asked me about 
my home, I pulled out my I-Phone and showed her pictures 
of the New York skyline (to which she squealed 
"America!!"), and pictures of my house and car. She 
looked in my eyes and in a voice dripping in sadness, 
said "I like America." 

I think she was saying that she wanted to leave the 
squalor behind and live in a land of opportunity. I 
hugged her and we shared a kiss. I knew her desire and I 
felt a sadness in my heart. She laid her head on my 
shoulder. I leaned in and held her.

I must have lost track of time. I sensed a door opening. 
The woman who had brought me came in the room and had a 
short verbal exchange with Jean. Jean indicated to me 
that she would be five minutes and she went through the 
door she first came in. The woman smiled uncomfortably 
at me.

"You are to spend the night, yes ?" she asked.   

"Yes"

"I take you to hotel, and her" she replied.

I didn't like the way she said "and her". I realized 
that I was in an old world country. In old world 
countries, men make the rules and strictly enforce the 
rules. The woman didn't have a problem with me being a 
pedo, but she regarded the much younger and cuter Jean 
as competition, and she despised her for it. 

Jean reappeared in the room, fully dressed, carrying a 
tote bag. I picked  up my carry bag. The three of us 
went out to the station wagon. The woman then drove us 
to an old two story building at the edge of town. I 
quickly surmised that it was a Soviet era hotel. The 
woman said something to a mousy and disinterested desk 
clerk inside the front door. The clerk handed her the 
key. The woman gave me a key and indicated upstairs. The 
woman then walked  out and left us. 

Jean and I went upstairs to room 206. The room was more 
spartan than any military room I ever saw while I was in 
service. The room had a bed and a square table that 
looked like it functioned for a desk. Jean and I laid 
our bags down. We sat on the bed. I stroked her hair for 
a moment. I was tired and laid down. I reached up 
towards Jean. She took the clue and laid next to me. I 
stroked her hair and smiled at her. She returned the 
smile and I saw curiosity in her eyes. 

After a short while, I asked her if she was hungry. The 
puzzled look told me she didn't understand. 
I gestured towards my mouth. She nodded and rubbed her 
stomach. We got up and went downstairs. I asked the 
clerk for food. He gave me a puzzled look. Jean jumped 
in and asked the clerk something in Russian while I 
fished a twenty out of my pocket. After a discussion, 
Jean told me "Bring food here," while she gestured to 
the floor. 

We waited upstairs. Forty minutes later, a man in his 
thirties brought food to the room. I took the box from 
him and handed him the twenty. He looked at the money 
and got a puzzled look. Jean said something to him. The 
man smiled and left. 

Jean and I dug into the box. There was some kind of 
beef, some potatoes wrapped in foil, boiled cabbage, a 
loaf of baked bread, and a pair of Coca Colas. We were 
starved and we dove in stuffing our faces. 

After the feast, we felt a lot better. Side by side, we 
laid on the bed. We smiled at each other as I ran my 
hand through her hair. Then, moving down, I slid my hand 
down her arm until it passed her hand, then, on to her 
stomach. I slid my hand under her top and started 
feeling her young firm flesh underneath. Her top started 
impeding my hand. She sat up and pulled her top off. I 
also sat up and started undressing. 

We were standing when we were fully nude. I took her 
head in my hands and kissed her. I then lifted her off 
of her feet and laid her on the bed. Laying next to her, 
I kissed her, then moved on to her neck, before finding 
her tiny breasts. I spent several minutes on each 
nipple, suckling on her tiny puffy nipples. Jean was 
breathing deep and grunting softly. I reached between 
her legs and found her sopping wet. She spread her legs 
as I fingered her slit. I moved down and started licking 
her little slit. She let out a girlish "Oooooooh" and 
gripped my hair as she arced her back. I could feel pre 
cum oozing out of me and running down my dick. I 
couldn't take it anymore. 

I moved in to mount her. Her opening was small, and it 
took a couple of pushes, but I got the head and maybe an 
inch in. She started moving her hips, matching my 
thrusts. After several minutes, I was little more than 
halfway in. We were totally into it. She was panting and 
holding my arms. Occasionally, I could feel her little 
heels digging into the back of my thighs. She would 
smile at me, but clearly, she was in a zone. I felt the 
thrill in my lower abdomen. I sped up my pace. As I came 
in her, she let out a little shriek. 

I collapsed, spent, on the bed. Jean was in better 
shape. She smiled, draped the lower half of her body 
across me, and kissed me gently on my chin and chest. In 
afterglow, we held each other, then drifted off to 
sleep. 

Dawn's light coming through the window awakened me. Jean 
had an arm draped across me. My bladder was screaming in 
agony. I tried pulling off of her without waking her, 
but I was unsuccessful. As she stirred awake, I indicted 
to her that I had to pee. She also had to pee. Our room 
didn't have a toilet-we had to go down the hall. We 
covered ourselves, then found the bathroom. Afterwards, 
we agreed that we were hungry. Jean dressed, then went 
downstairs and arranged for food to be delivered. 

We had to wait for the food. Although it started with an 
innocent hug, we ended up making love again. We had 
finished and were about fifteen minutes into afterglow 
when the knock came at the door. I slipped on pants and 
overpaid, again, for a meal. Jean and I ate, then 
dressed. Shortly afterwards, the clerk downstairs gave 
us a message-that my ride was coming. Jean went into a 
funk. While I packed, Jean sat on the edge of the bed 
and sulked. As I finished, I held Jean's head and kissed 
her. Her half kiss told me that she hated that I was 
leaving, that and her glassy eyes. I had no idea who she 
was going to be prostituted to next. I think she knew 
who and that was what prompted her sadness. 

It tore me up inside that I had to leave. I did some 
counting in my head. I had enough left in the bank to 
make another round trip to the Ukraine, but not enough 
for her, and certainly she wanted to bring her family. 
That would take bucks and I didn't have it. Then there 
was the matter of her manager/pimp. Surely he'd want a 
payoff to release her from a contract, if there was one. 
In any case, he wasn't about to let a golden goose just 
get away. He had hired muscle-did he also have 
underworld ties ? It would take a miracle to free my 
Goddess from the hell that she was living.  

Our ride arrived at the hotel. As we followed her from 
the hotel room Jean's mood became even darker. As we got 
in the car, Jean sat with a truly pissed off look, her 
arms crossed. Silence ruled the car as we left the hotel 
and made our way through the village. Our escort then 
made a gigantic mistake as she stopped off in front of 
Jean's house. 

I caught Jean's hand as she slid out of the car. We 
still had a gigantic language gap, but I knew enough 
body language to convey my meaning. Standing outside the 
car and facing Jean, I held her hands. Using my left 
hand, I gently touched her between her eyes. I then 
directed my finger to my chest-over my heart. I then 
poked myself in the chest and brought the same finger to 
her chest, over her heart. She understood, and tears 
streamed down her cheeks. I then kissed her forehead, 
and then her lips. Jean broke the kiss and ran in the 
house crying hysterically. I got in the car and couldn't 
help but notice that my driver had a satisfied smirk. 
She would regret that smug feeling, I would see to it. 

The plan came together in my head over the Atlantic. As 
soon as I got home, I accessed a website that links 
actors, or their representatives, and paying members of 
the site. I accessed the manager of an actor that I 
knew. In college we had been roommates. Senior year, he 
left to become a movie star. I became rank and file, 
still, because of a drunken night, he owed me a favor 
(because of my silence). I sent the manager an email 
stating a cheating scandal was brewing at ESU and it 
would behoove Stu to contact Mike from room 210. 

The reply email wanted details on the B.S. that I was 
manufacturing. I replied that I was Stu's roommate in 
college and he should contact me right away to 
straighten up a misunderstanding. I included my cell 
phone number. 

The next afternoon, my cell phone rang. Stu's voice came 
over the phone, but he advised me that his manager was 
listening. I then confessed that the cheating scandal 
was total crap, but I desperately needed a favor and I 
reminded Stu that he owed me one. Stu told me that he 
was going to call me right back, and he hung up. Five 
minutes later, when Stu called me back, I told him the 
story of my recent trip, glossing over certain details. 
I let him know that a beautiful twelve year old girl was 
being prostituted. I let him know I was low on funds, 
then I threw him a bone, letting him know that he could 
get one hell of an exclusive story to make a movie 
about, and the publicity would do him a lot of good. He 
just needed to provide some funds and lend some star 
power. Five days later, Stu and I were on a private jet, 
enroute to the Ukraine.  

When we arrived at Sevastopol airport, two limo's and 
some large guards were awaiting us. 
I rode in the lead limo and provided directions. A 
little over an hour later, we arrived at Jean's house. 
One of the guards, working as translator, went to the 
door with me. Jean's mother answered the door. The guard 
let Jean's mother know that we had come to take Jean and 
her family to the United States. Her mother had a 
disbelieving look, until she saw Stu. Her Soviet style 
stoicism suddenly evaporated. Stu, seeing what was going 
on, walked up to the door. Jean's mom quickly confessed 
that Jean was at a relative's house and she sent Jean's 
younger sister in search of her. At her insistence, we 
then came in the house so that she could make tea for 
all of us.

While she made the tea, the translator tried to impress 
upon her that time was of the essence. Jean's mom, 
instead made the tea and babbled on about how impressed 
she was to have a movie star in the house. The tea was 
hot, thick, and way too sweet for me. The translator 
continued to work on her, but Jean's mom was besotted 
and she tried to flirt with Stu. Stu, to his credit, 
played along, although he tapped his wrist watch a 
couple of times. The entire atmosphere in the room 
changed when Jean arrived. Jean took one look at me, 
screamed, and ran into my arms.    

The hug was intense and heartfelt. Jean said something 
in her language. 

"She was worried," the translator said, "that you would 
never return."

"Let her know that we have come for her and her family 
and time is of the essence."

The translator did his job. There was a quick and heated 
verbal exchange between Jean and her family. The 
translator jumped in, aiding Jean. The translator then 
asked me, on Jean's behalf, if this was forever. 

"It is for as long as she wishes."

When he translated, Jean grabbed me and kissed me long 
on the lips. Jean then barked an order at her family. 
The three females then went to work. Two of the guards, 
anticipating a need, brought boxes from one of the 
limos. 

Two hours later, with just necessities, Jean and her 
family said goodbye to their house. Jean cuddled next to 
me on the ride to the airport. It was only then that I 
addressed an ugly bruise on her face. It turned out that 
our escort had told everything to Jean's manager. With 
her manager present, Jean was then "disciplined" by the 
escort, and she assured us that there were more marks-
from a belt-across her backside. Upon hearing this, Stu 
shook his head in a disapproving way. 

Eighteen hours later, we arrived in the United States. 
In New York, Stu and I parted ways after agreeing to 
meet again in California in a week's time. Jean and her 
family then went with me to my home state of Texas. I 
didn't take them to my home, but rather to the country 
home of a friend. He had a friend, a translator, present 
when we arrived. I then explained to Jean and her family 
that the arrangement was just for a short time. In less 
than a week, I would come for them again. I then went 
home for some much needed rest, I would need it. 

Sure enough, three days later, Jean's manager fell right 
into my trap. He had made the trip and brought his 
muscle with him. He was on my turf, and he was going to 
regret it. My condo has security precautions, and I saw 
the unworthy trio long before they realized it. Tucking 
a gun into a shoulder holster, I went outside and talked 
to them through the security fence. I expected the 
threat I received, and I pretended to submit. I told the 
slimy son of a bitch that he would have to follow me to 
where she was at. I then texted my friend to let him 
know that we were on the way. I then drove, with slimy 
and his muscle following, to a nearby rural airport.    

I turned off of the highway onto a country lane with 
fence on both sides. Suddenly, two Constable cars came 
shooting out of a barn and towards us. Six Constable 
cars shot off of the highway and came up from behind. In 
a minute, fifteen shotguns were trained on the slimy 
trio. 
I then got out of my car and played my trump card.

I walked up to slimy. 

"Listen," I told him, "I don't know if you know how deep 
the shit is that you are in. You are in the wrong 
fucking place to think that you matter. A trial would 
put you away forever and ever, but it would be painful 
for me and Jean, and her family. Therefore, I'm going to 
give you a 'get out of jail free' card and I suggest 
that you take it. I'm going to give you a check for 
fifty thousand dollars, and you're going to go away, 
forever. The check will more than reimburse you for lost 
revenue. In return, you will never bother Jean, or any 
member of her family, ever again. Just one fucking 
threat," I gritted my teeth, "and the Texas Rangers will 
gladly send Interpol after you. You won't have any place 
on the planet to hide, and you'll either die in a jail 
cell or a slum apartment. Do we read each other 
fuckwad?" 

Slimy nodded.

"These nice Constables will now escort you to the 
airport. I suggest you take the first plane out of 
Dodge, and you never return."

I then handed him the envelope with the check. I got in 
my car and I saw the Constables motion to slimy and 
company. It took ten minutes to unravel our little 
traffic jam.  

I immediately drove over to my friend's house. Jean's 
mom was outside hanging laundry on a laundry line. She 
smiled and waved. I ran inside and looked around. I 
found Jean, her younger sister, and a young female 
friend of my friend gathered around a piano. Jean and 
her sister were playing on the piano. They all looked up 
as I entered the room. Jean's face lit up and she 
squealed in delight as she jumped up from the bench. She 
ran over and squeezed me in a bear hug. My friend's 
wife, upon hearing the noise, entered the room. I saw 
her and tried to tell her the news.

"It's over, he..."

"I got the call, I know," she said. "She might not 
understand the news. We set up a way to communicate. Do 
you see the laptop in the corner ?" she asked, pointing 
to my left. 

I made eye contact with Jean. We both went to the 
corner. I typed in what happened on a pre-set website. I 
hit enter. Jean then read the translation. Her face lit 
up again and she squealed, again, in delight. 

Less than two hours later, I had three new roommates in 
my condo. Less than a fortnight later, I had Jean's 
mother and sister in their own condo nearby. It was the 
trip to California that was the most poignant and 
emotional part of the entire event. In California, we 
were to meet with Stu, his manager, a translator, and 
three people from the studio to take Jean's story, in 
the hopes that a movie could be made of her life. As we 
walked in the studio conference room, Jean's eyes 
immediately fixated on an upright piano neatly tucked in 
the corner. The piano probably had a purpose in pitches 
made for movies, but Jean saw an opportunity to bare her 
soul. 

"Can I ?" she asked, pointing at the piano. 

"Yeah," Stu said.

I looked at Stu and he shrugged his shoulders. Jean went 
to the piano and lifted the cover above the keys. 
Looking at Stu, she said "For you, in English, I learn." 
She then began to play the piano and sing in a mezzo 
Soprano voice:


"Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long,
and you think that love is only,
for the lucky and the strong.
Just remember, in the winter,
far beneath the bitter snows,
lies the seed, that with the sun's love,
in the spring, becomes the rose."

As she finished, there wasn't a dry eye in the room. 
Deeply moved, I walked over to hug her. Seeing the 
moisture on my face, she got a look of curiosity and 
concern. She wiped the tears from my cheeks. I returned 
a gentle caress to her face, to which she leaned into. 
Stu stood up. Deeply moved, he offered, "That is the 
most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I was going to 
rankle you on all the money I spent on this, but now I 
see it was well spent. Well done Mike. Let's sit down 
and make a movie."

The End.

Epilogue: Jean learned English within a year, as did her 
sister. Both flourished in their new surroundings, as 
both discovered a world of things not previously 
available to them. With practice, my love life with Jean 
attained a level of greatness. I had her on the pill to 
prevent any oops from happening. The hormones agreed 
with her, not only making her more beautiful, but 
desired by teen boys at school. By then, I had her 
wearing a ring, which only slightly helped. I still had 
to warn boys that called, to tell them that she wasn't 
available. 

The movie was only a mild success. The movie included 
the scene that unfolded in the conference room. A few 
movie critics found the moment either maudlin or 
contrived. Jean sparkled in the flashbulbs that popped 
during the movie premier. I made sure that she wore an 
understated blue dress. Of course, offers poured in 
after the movie premiered. We turned them all down as we 
were trying to have a normal life, which we ended up 
doing. Jean will be starting high school in a local 
private school soon. She modeled the school uniform for 
me, which led to several nights of naughtiness on the 
part of the naughty student, and her teacher, or 
principal, or school counselor. All is well with the 
world. 

If you like this, there's more at my site: 
http://www.asstr.org/~dude/PTandTeen.html

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is 
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in 
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real 
life" can look forward to many unproductive years 
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their 
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 71