("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text













Archive name: lora.txt (FFm, bg, ped)
Authors name: Alasder (alasder@planet-save.com)
Story title : Lora and Me 

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

Lora and Me 
by Alasder (alasder@planet-save.com) 

***

Two orphanage kids adjust to a new life with foster 
parents. (FFm, bg, ped)

***

I was nine, nearly ten. Lora had just turned four. The 
first time I ever set eyes on her was in the 
supervisor's office of the orphanage. I thought she was 
the prettiest thing in the whole world, and instantly 
fell in love with her and vowed to kill anyone who hurt 
her or mistreated her. She had the loveliest, most 
angelic face I could have dreamt about, marvellous legs 
and a body shape that bewildered but intrigued me. 

Up to that moment there were two barriers that had 
prevented any meeting between her and me in the 
orphanage: boys and girls (except in the nursery) were 
kept strictly apart following a report in the 1980s 
that almost every decent looking girl in state care 
(and some real ugly ones as well) were raped before the 
age of thirteen, and kids under the age of six were 
kept in another separate nursery unit, but in fact the 
facilities there and the routine were no different (and 
certainly no less severe) from those in the other two 
units.

The supervisor beamed clover honey sunflower oil. "Here 
they are," she drooled needlessly - we had been 
standing there for nearly an hour. She leered at us and 
fluttered an arm in the direction of the other two in 
the room. "This is Mr. and Mrs. Schelden!" 

I already knew that and I assumed Lora knew it too; 
they had visited several times and had examined me as 
if I had been a specimen under a microscope and had 
asked a hundred and one silly questions to which I 
returned the answer I was pretty sure they wanted - I 
had rehearsed the answers (about God and gratitude, 
good manners and personal hygiene and naughty things 
little boys did with their hands) since I first 
realized there was a fighting chance of getting out of 
the hell-hole. 

I know there must have been such a time, but I still 
can't remember anything before the orphanage, and like 
other kids in a similar position there was literally 
nothing I wouldn't do to escape it. "Mr. and Mrs. 
Schelden are what we call 'foster parents'," she 
explained as if to a pair of rustic retards with 
hearing difficulties, "and they have come to take you 
home with them!"

I nodded as if I had learned something. Little Lora, 
obviously bemused by the proceedings, gaped at the 
well-dressed couple, then looked up at me for 
reassurance. I took her hand; it was a calculated act 
designed to melt the heart of the Scheldens and 
convince them that they had made the right choice. 

The strange thing was that I wanted to take the kid's 
hand; I wanted physical contact with this tiny female 
piece of perfection who had been introduced to my life. 
I held it tightly and could feel her beautiful life 
blood pulsing. Like all the other kids in the 
institution, her hand had the kind of coldness that 
seemed incapable of ever going away.

The deal was done quickly with little more fuss. The 
Scheldens signed some papers and handed over a fat 
bundle of twenty or fifty dollar bills, hands were 
shaken, and Lora was dumped, rather carelessly I 
thought, beside me in the back seat of a huge 
limousine, and off we went into our New World. The last 
image I have of the dreadful place was of the evil-
faced matron/supervisor pocketing half the dollar 
bills. 

The first hundred miles or so of our journey was 
covered in silence; the rear of the automobile had 
darkened glass on the doors and the pair in front 
seemed almost in another vehicle - they were so far 
away. Quite suddenly, in the middle of nowhere we came 
to a halt. Mr. Schelden left the car and relieved 
himself at the side of the open highway. He was about 
to ease himself back into the driving seat when it 
crawled into his consciousness that the kids in the 
back might just also need to reply to nature's call. 

I noticed the faintest trace of irritation when Lora 
seemed reluctant to perform in his presence. "Take your 
little sister in a bit," grumbled the man, "off the 
road and make sure she..." He did not have the 
necessary vocabulary. Mrs. Schelden made gooey eyes at 
the 'little sister' bit.

"I think she needs more than a pee, please sir!" I made 
the appropriate noises as if I were unhappy about 
having to mention the fact. "Do you have any tissue I 
could use to wipe her?"

It was a charade. Lora looked puzzled as I led her 
about twenty yards from the road, pulled her knickers 
to her ankles and told her to pee. She obliged. She 
tried to rise, but I kept her in a crouched position 
while I had a good look at her apparatus, and what I 
saw was, to me at that time, indeed still is, the most 
beautiful sight in the entire world. 

I wiped her with the tissue and ran my finger over the 
delicate groove from her back passage to her 
undeveloped clitoris. I could see our new father 
shifting in impatience. I decided I would have plenty 
of time to explore the wonders of her body. I made her 
stand, bent her over and made a great show of wiping 
her ass.

"He'll ask you if you are all right," I instructed my 
new sister. "Just say 'Yes thank you' and get into the 
car." I pulled up her panties. 

"Feeling better?" asked Mr. Schelden when we reached 
the limousine.

Lora looked up at me, then at the man. "Yes, thank 
you!" There was wonder in the little girl's eyes as she 
gazed at me again, and I thanked my lucky stars, my 
guardian angel, and all else that brought her into my 
life.

We resumed our journey in silence.

It was late summer dusk when we arrived 'home'. There 
was still light enough to take in the surrounding, and 
for the second time I was really and truly impressed 
with what life had thrown at me. I felt that I had 
landed on my feet, and only hellfire and a hurricane 
would shift me from this new paradise. There were vast 
sprawling lawns of luscious green grass, and gardens 
that appeared to stretch from here to infinity with 
real flowers, marble ornaments and splashing fountains. 

The plots of land we had at the orphanage were filled 
with potatoes, turnips and cabbages and tarmacadam or 
concrete. Here there were real fruit trees and trees 
that were simply begging to be climbed. There was a 
swimming pool. It was too much. I burst into tears, and 
it was not all a pretence to impress. Lora took my hand 
and the tears became real! 

From that point for the next couple of months the 
Scheldens treated the pair of us like new toys, or new 
pets. We were given cordon bleu treatment in 
everything, dressed in the finest, fed until we were 
getting to be as fat as thanksgiving dumplings and were 
put on a diet on the best medical advice during our 
regular visit to the doctor and the dentist. 

We each had a computer, we shared a music center and 
television, the final word in latest technology, and in 
return we gave a convincing show of love and affection, 
and I expressed gratitude for both of us in frothy, 
oozing sentimentality because that was exactly what the 
Scheldens expected, and Lora, I had already decided, 
was still not the full hundred cent dollar when it came 
to an intellectual contest and had difficulty stringing 
one hypocritical lie on to another. She had many other 
qualities that more than compensated for her 
shortcomings. 

Already I was calculating how long it would be before I 
could fuck her without too many complications - like 
getting her pregnant or facing the wrath of foster 
parents or even higher authorities for underage rape. 
You learn about things like this at a very early age in 
an orphanage.

For that first week in this earthly paradise the 
Scheldens fawned and petted and pawed and pampered and 
powdered us. But first they had to scrub us nightly, 
cleanse us of the dirt and the disgrace of the 
orphanage. At least they put us in the bath together 
and left us to soak for a while. In the time that we 
were alone, I prised Lora's knees apart again and gazed 
my full at the prize. 

When they returned Clara Schelden first washed Lora, 
scoured and wiped and rinsed until the kid was almost 
red raw. Then she turned on me. I noticed the man wrap 
the little girl in a towel and lift her high in the 
air. As she descended he blew a raspberry kiss on her 
tiny pink pussy, and I vowed at that same moment to 
kill him simply for that.

There were problems with Lora's bedroom: a window had 
been broken during renovations and the decorators had 
not quite finished and her cot had not arrived. Would I 
mind if I shared my bed with her? And would I! It was 
one divine revelation after another, and several times 
I had to convince myself that all this was for real! I 
pretended to fall asleep almost as soon as I was 
bedded. 

When the Scheldens left I fumbled for Lora's nightdress 
and hauled it up over her hips, and caressed and groped 
and kissed to my heart's content. I knew the Scheldens 
would be looking in later to make sure that we were all 
right; after all who could resist such a sweet pair of 
foster children? Around midnight, when I was perfectly 
sure that we would be undisturbed for the rest of the 
night, I threw the bed clothes back, pulled the 
nightdress clear up to her armpits and simply consumed 
Lora's naked body, exploring every crack and curve with 
fingers and hungry eyes. 

I was half certain that I would wake from this 
beautiful dream at any moment and was determined to 
make the most of it while it lasted. Finally I spread 
her legs and crouched over her. I kissed and licked, 
then presented my cock to the little slit, almost like 
a peach that someone had cut down one side with a 
knife. I ran my cock up and down. It was the most 
delicious sensation I had had in my life up to that 
moment. I noticed, quite suddenly, that Lora was awake. 
And smiling down at me! The routine became a nightly 
ritual I never grew tired of.

It was a year and a half after we arrived that the 
first slight defects began to appear through the layers 
of veneer. Rolf Scheldens, who was several years 
younger than his wife, was away from home for 
increasingly longer periods. It started with him 
'working' overnight at the office in the city, which 
graduated to the odd weekend 'due to pressure of 
business' then to the 'business conference' that took 
up most of the week. 

It was as if a cloud had enveloped the house. Clara 
became progressively more and more morose. I heard her 
muttering to herself: 'The bastard is screwing his 
secretary!' She also became less tolerant, especially 
with Lora, and then, as if to compensate, was 
embarrassingly more loving, especially with me. I was 
eleven, Lora five, but Clara still insisted on 
supervising our bath time - always Lora first. 

Once my sister was safely tucked away in bed, Clara 
switched her attentions to me. Lora was always put into 
bed in her own room, but invariably woke up in the 
night and joined me in mine. Clara thought it 'sweet' 
and Rolf considered it 'a huge joke'. Certainly they 
made no attempt to reprimand or correct, which was fine 
by me. I liked having a bed mate who was not an older 
boy hell bent on getting a cock up my backside or into 
my mouth as in the orphanage.

There was one particular occasion, when Rolf had been 
away for nearly the full week, I was getting out of the 
bath, still covered in soapy lather, and Clara 
insisted, more sharply and abruptly that I am sure she 
intended,  that I get back in while she rinsed me off. 
She used the shower head to supply the water but her 
hands removed the soap. She caressed my chest and 
shoulders then concentrated the spray on my genitals.

"My goodness, Robbie," she crooned, "but you are 
certainly growing!" She glanced at my inert dangler, 
and added, "In all the right places!" She ran her hands 
over my belly and down. She grasped my cock and was 
delighted at the reaction. She examined the meat to see 
'if my balls had dropped'. "And clean enough to eat!" 

She made pretend gobbling noises, then took my cock 
into her mouth and chewed and sucked. I felt myself 
enlarging and hardening and my whole body started to 
tremble. I could feel the straining in my balls as my 
system attempted a first ever ejaculation. 

I think she sensed or felt the surging strain. My cock 
was in her mouth and her hand was wrapped around my 
balls. She pulled away and said, "We shall save that 
for later, young man!" more to herself than to me. I 
suspected that she was having second thoughts about the 
wisdom of trying to suck off an eleven year old foster 
son. She wrapped me in a towel as large as the blanket 
on my bed; I was getting too heavy to carry, but she 
laid an arm across my shoulder and guided me to my 
bedroom. When I made to put on pajamas she stopped me. 

"It is too hot for these things tonight."

She lay on the bed alongside me and caressed my face 
and chest, then kissed me full on the lips. She prised 
my mouth open and plunged her tongue to the back of my 
throat while rubbing herself to a feeble, jerking 
orgasm. After about ten minutes she swung off my bed. 
Lora, thumb in mouth, stood silently at our adjoining 
door watching. Clara ignored her and left the room. 
Lora climbed into bed and cuddled up close to me.

"What was she doing?" she asked quietly.

"Looking to die!" I exclaimed, and it was not 
altogether a joke. "If the filthy old bitch touches me 
like that again, I'll kill her!"

"Rolf touches me too," said the kid in a solemn voice.

"Then I'll kill him too!"

And we both giggled. And got on with our nightly 
palaver.

When I had worked in the vegetable gardens of the 
orphanage, the boys were warned about a native snail-
like gastropod usually found around the base of some of 
the walls in the hours of daylight. The old man who 
supervised our labors explained its deadly poisonous 
potential - it excreted a creamy froth that could cause 
almost instant, but extremely painful death if it were 
to be ingested - and even went to great lengths to 
detail in morbidly descriptive terms how it worked. 

In darkness, the creature left its hiding-place and 
made a meal of green vegetables, particularly cabbage 
and lettuce, both of which took up nearly half of the 
orphanage garden, and left a clearly visible white scum 
behind as proof of its gluttonous activity. Any food 
contaminated by its excretion had to be discarded (as 
in most normal households) or thoroughly washed (in the 
orphanage where nothing was thrown away). 

For most of the boys, I am sure, it was simply another 
piece of useless information; in my case it registered. 
The old man taught us how to handle the stuff (not with 
bare hands, for the poison was more than a trifle 
persistent) and how to dispose of the offensive little 
bastard without damaging ourselves permanently. 
Fortunately, it is comparatively rare, restricted to a 
narrow corridor of the Mid-West United States and has a 
limited active life during the growing year in the 
garden. In season, however, the excretion is one of the 
deadliest poisons on the continent - and it is within 
reach of every homicidal maniac in the country.

On one of our favorite bicycle rides to the ruins of an 
old frontier fortress where most of the wooden 
structures had decayed and only the old stone remained, 
I noticed the telltale traces of the gastropod at the 
base of a wall while Lora was having her pee nearby. I 
made a mental note of its precise location. Lora and I 
indulged our usual play which always resulted in her 
knickers being removed. On the day of this discovery, 
however, my mind was on other things. That night, after 
another of Clara's sucking session and her groping and 
masturbating on my bed, I referred to the poisons 
register on the internet. And Clara's fate was sealed, 
so to speak!

The only problem that remained to trouble me was 
whether Rolf Schelden could cope with the pair of us 
alone; there was no way I was going to do anything that 
could send us hurtling back into the hell hole that was 
the orphanage. I really had to think this one out to a 
logical conclusion. A possible solution came in a 
rather unusually innocent way.

Our foster-dad had just been promoted to something like 
vice-president of the law company he worked for. He was 
in a magnanimous mood, but mostly he wanted to show off 
to us - 'set us a good example,' he would have said! 
And to show us off as a demonstration of his public 
spiritedness and benevolence. Lora and I were to spend 
the day with him in the city. And again we were given 
the royal treatment as he showed us around the towering 
building where he worked. He posed to suitable effect 
and affected importance in the presence of his 
subordinates. Yes, we were impressed, and made all the 
correct appreciative noises. 

And then we met his secretary! She was a wow! With a 
lot left over! I caught the look between her and her 
boss and I knew in a flash of receptivity that the pair 
were fucking regularly. I also knew instinctively that, 
with his wife out of the way - other than by an 
expensive and mess-making divorce - he would marry this 
much younger bowl of fruity lusciousness. 

The hypocrite in me also agreed that she could take 
Clara Schelden's place in the sucking sessions any 
time, and no way would I object! Everything was falling 
into place. All that remained now was for gastropod to 
pull a finger out of its ass and get back into season. 
I was confident that I could work out a means of 
administering the poison just as soon as the 
opportunity presented itself. And Clara Schelden was 
cold!

I was twelve, racing towards teenage. Lora was six and 
becoming almost unbearably beautiful. The obnoxious 
bitch Clara was sucking me nearly every time her 
husband was working overnight, which meant it was 
regularly. She even succeeded in bringing me off for my 
first orgasms, and she swallowed every gob and blob of 
it. 

I was interested in the sensation of shooting off, but 
the greed displayed by Clara in the swallowing bit 
really disgusted me and made my stomach lurch. The odd 
thing was, though, that when I tried it later and 
succeeded with Lora, I insisted that she swallow. Lora 
obliged - if I had asked Lora jump from the rear window 
of the speeding school bus, she would have done it 
without question. Yes Lora obliged, and it was the most 
beautiful and sensual thing I have ever experienced as 
I jerked off into her mouth, and I renewed my vow to 
kill any who tarnished this patch of perfection.

We were in our favorite hideaway in the frontier 
fortress. I placed her against the stone wall of what 
was once a cookhouse. I pulled her shorts and her 
panties down to her ankles and I kissed and probed at 
her pussy. We had done this often before; it had become 
part of the ritual of a day out for us. But, as an 
experiment, I unzipped, produced my 'dick emery' and 
asked her to take it in her mouth and suck. 

I have had a number of blow jobs since from others, 
male and female, but nothing has ever come close to 
matching the technique of my kid sister. She sucked 
superbly and tongued and used her teeth to just the 
right degree, but it was when she looked up at me for 
reassurance with those angel blue eyes, I shot like a 
master of arms down her throat. The amount of stuff 
that spurted out of me that day really amazed me, and 
to some equal extent, scared me. 

I had no idea that I was capable of producing so much 
semen; compared against this, what I was putting into 
Clara Schelden's mouth was little more than a token 
effort, which nevertheless seemed to satisfy the evil 
old bitch. In passing, it has to be said that Clara had 
started trying (with no success) to jack me off; I had 
shown Lora how to do it, and she could have me shoot 
off in minutes!

The thing that cast the last die, was the night when 
Clara, after bathing me, insisted that I lie naked on 
top of the bed. She also discarded her clothing and 
positioned herself over me. She started sucking, but 
then, when I was fully erect, she sat above me and 
directed my cock into her wet, hairy ancient cunt. She 
smelt of stale fish. There was no difficulty in sliding 
inside her, and I vaguely felt her muscles twitching. 

Truly, I felt the vomit beginning in my gut; my 
thinking got stuck on the proposition: it was either 
this or the orphanage. Fortunately the bitch was in the 
desperation stages of advanced heat; she jerked 
insanely, shouting crude obscenities about her husband 
knocking up his secretary, then orgasmed. The juices 
poured out of her. The vomit was on the way up to my 
gullet.

Clara moaned crazily then asked me, "Did you come, 
darling?" I nodded. I knew it was an unspoken lie, and 
I suspected Clara knew it too. But, after all, the 
woman had only days left to live so an agreeable lie 
was of little consequence. She bent over and kissed me 
with sloppy lips. "We'll do it again!" It was like a 
threat of doom. "Often!"

She dismounted, collected her clothes and left the room 
without a glance at Lora who was standing at our common 
door. The kid clutched a three hundred dollar teddy 
bear. The inevitable thumb was stuck in her mouth. The 
light behind her from her own bedroom made her 
nightdress almost transparent and silhouetted her 
perfect shape.

"Can I sit on you, Robbie?" she asked quietly as she 
joined me on the bed. "Like she did?" Lora now always 
referred to her foster mother as 'she', and both foster 
parents together as 'them'.

"Tomorrow, sweetheart. I promise!" I felt unclean. I 
did not want to contaminate my kid sister. "Let's just 
cuddle and get to sleep. I have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Can we kiss?" And we did!

Clara Schelden was a pig, not only with me, but in 
everything she did. In eating she excelled in piggery. 
One delicacy she simply could not resist was French 
cream cheese which she could devour by the imported 
shipload. And it was the one thing I could be sure that 
she alone in the house would eat; Rolf was too besotted 
by his own athletic Adonis shape-conscious ego to 
indulge, and an article he had read in some freak 
magazine suggested that it could affect male potency 
adversely. 

Lora made a sour face when the greedy bitch made the 
supreme sacrifice and put a tiny portion of the stuff 
into the kid's mouth - just enough to put Lora off 
imported French cheese for the rest of her life. 

I paid particular attention when Clara was stacking her 
shopping into cupboards, the larder, the fridge and the 
freezer. Every time she handled a carton of French 
cream cheese she would open it, run her sticky finger 
along the surface of the contents and lick it clean. It 
was an utterly disgusting habit that would have called 
for a thorough thrashing in the orphanage. French cream 
cheese, I decided, would be the death of her!

Before Lora and I set out on our next weekend bike ride 
to the old fortress, I pulled a couple of pairs of 
plastic gloves from the roll in the kitchen. I made it 
like a kind of pretend Indianapolis game and Lora was 
perfectly happy to wear them if I was sporting them. I 
also pocketed a small pair of cooking forceps from the 
kitchen and a tiny discarded plastic box, the inside of 
which I smeared thickly with butter substitute. 

That's all it required. Selecting the fattest snail 
took only seconds while Lora was having her pee; it was 
lifted by the forceps, put into the box and the box put 
in the leather satchel on my bicycle. I cut short our 
excursion on the excuse that I thought it was going to 
rain and with the promise that we would play 'doctors' 
indoors.

.But first, I said, I would make peanut butter 
sandwiches while Lora got undressed in 'the examination 
room'. Clara did not object to us using her kitchen, 
indeed the lazy bitch had begun to encourage us to 
'fend for ourselves'. I let the gastropod gorge itself 
for fully a minute on the latest carton of cream cheese 
before dropping the creature into the disposal unit on 
the kitchen sink. 

I placed the carton of cheese, with the lid temptingly 
half-open in the optimum position on the top tray of 
the fridge, then washed out the empty box and the 
plastic gloves and dumped them into the trash can. I 
scoured the forceps with steel wool and put them in the 
dish washing machine then scrubbed my hands a couple of 
times.

"Where's the peanut butter sandwiches?" demanded my 
naked kid sister when I finally made it to my bedroom. 
The entire operation had taken less than fifteen 
minutes.

"I thought it would throw you off your lunch." I made a 
show of studying the sky from the window. "I don't 
think it is going to rain after all," I said. "Put your 
clothes on and I'll take you to the playground in the 
town park." Next to our bike rides to the frontier 
fortress, the public park in town was Lora's favorite 
outing. "We'll stay there until lunch." By which time, 
I reckoned, Clara Schelden should be dead.

On our return three and a half hours later to the house 
I let Lora run on ahead, hopefully to find the body. I 
deliberately slowed my pace. As expected, she raced 
back from the house. I simulated surprise.

"She lying on the floor!" she yelled at me. Everything 
was going according to plan. I had to force myself not 
to smile. She gasped for breath. There were even a 
trace of tears. "There's blood everywhere!"

Electric eels wriggled in my stomach. "Blood?" That 
shouldn't have happened; there shouldn't be any blood. 
Instinctively I grasped my kid sister's hand. I 
repeated, "Blood?" and Lora nodded enthusiastically.

"On the walls!" she exclaimed. "Everywhere!" She made a 
sweeping gesture with her arm. "The carpet is soggy wet 
with it."

Something had gone badly wrong; there shouldn't be any 
blood. We edged slowly towards the front door. It was 
wide open as Lora had left it. The idea flashed into my 
mind.

"Was the door open when you got here?" I demanded.

Lora seemed frightened by the urgency in my voice. Her 
lower lip trembled. She nodded. I drew her close and 
held her tightly. I peered into the wide hallway. It 
was as the kid had said. The wall that I could see was 
spattered with blood. There was blood on the wall 
mirror and the telephone table and on the pale grey 
carpet and on the richly colored Indian rug with the 
artificial tiger head. And Clara Schelden lay front 
down in the middle of it with her head smashed in and 
her body bloodied to her bare ankles. I felt my gut 
heaving.

"Some fucking snail!" I exclaimed aloud. I drew Lora 
back. "We're going to bike back to town," I told her. 
"We'll have to tell the police about this!"

The house was out-of-bounds. The police swarmed like 
warrior ants over the place. Press photographers and 
television cameramen, reporters and interviewers 
appeared from under the stones and camped on the lawns. 
A police-woman and a human gorilla in police uniform 
refused to let any of the media vampires anywhere near 
Lora and me. Rolf, of course, came back from the city 
immediately. I was pleased to see that he had his 
secretary with him. 

Lora and I spent two hours playing computer games in a 
room at police headquarters before Rolf came to collect 
us. He took us back to the city and we put up in a 
suite at one of the top hotels; it had four bedrooms, 
but only two were more than partially slept in, if at 
all! All through the night Lora kept insisting that I 
tell her what was going on, and in the other bedroom my 
foster dad and his secretary were likewise engaged 
throughout the night. 

At the breakfast table, Rolf waved a hand in our 
direction as he said to the woman, "These are my kids!" 
His smile was enamel. "Robbie and Lora!" Things had 
been too hectic the previous day to allow 
introductions. He pointed, rudely I thought, at his 
secretary. "This is Paulette!" He seemed to have 
forgotten our visit to his office and had missed 
completely my evaluation of their relationship. He 
seemed to be lost in thought, but he managed to say, 
"Well, shake hands!"

"When can we go home?" asked Lora quite irrelevantly 
and ignoring the introduction and especially the 
woman's offered hand.

"Not for a day or two, honey." I could see that Rolf 
Schelden was having difficulty maintaining the tolerant 
smile. "The police want to find out how Clara." He 
tried to get words that he wouldn't choke on and that 
the kid would understand. "The police have to find out 
who did this dreadful thing." I noticed that the two 
adults exchanged glances, and I began to wonder if they 
had engineered the murder. 

"Then we have to get the place cleaned up." He made it 
sound like an irritable chore rather than the aftermath 
of a horrible homicide. "And then we have to make sure 
that it can't happen again." 

He threw me a peculiar look as he made the last 
statement, and I began to wonder if he suspected 
anything about my intentions; or maybe there was a 
threat intended. "We'll go back as soon as we can, 
honey!" Again he exchanged fully charged glances with 
his sex-loaded secretary. She smiled sweetly.

It was two days later in the same hotel in the city, 
sitting at a late evening meal with Rolf Schelden and 
his honey-pot secretary, I fluttered my dark eyelashes 
in the woman's direction and asked in the sweetest, 
most innocent voice, "What is going to happen to us? 
Lora and me?" Both of them stared at me, the man with a 
forkful of meat on route to his big mouth. "I mean, 
will we have to go back to the orphanage?" And I 
reached out for and took the kid's hand!

The dumb blond stared outrage at the man. Schelden 
lowered the fork. He looked embarrassed and I thought, 
'The bastard was really contemplating sending us back!' 
He gazed at his secretary as if trying to assess her 
ability to understand. "Of course not," he said to me 
while still looking at her. "What do you take me for? I 
adopted you, didn't I! Now, what kind of fool question 
is that to ask, Robbie?"

"Who is going to look after us?" I insisted. I was 
clutching my kid sister's hand; I had actually got into 
the habit of thinking of Lora really as my sister. "If 
Mrs. Schelden isn't coming back." There were tears in 
the woman's eyes. My performance was worthy of an 
Oscar.

"Eat your dinner!" said the man. "I don't want you to 
worry your head about things like that, either of you. 
And I don't want to hear another word. We'll be back 
home in a couple of days." He seemed about to say 
something more, but instead lifted the fork to his fat 
mouth.

I felt reasonably confident that I had secured at least 
the immediate future for Lora and me. I cast longing 
looks in her direction. I was certain that if I didn't 
fuck her soon I would explode from sheer frustration.


Lora and Me
Part Two
by
Alasder


It was almost a whole month before we could return 
home. Lora and I settled in immediately. It took Rolf 
another few weeks to get back to 'normal'. He did a lot 
of work from home which required the presence of the 
sexy secretary in the house. We generally ate together, 
for a while with meals brought in by an outside caterer 
or in local restaurants at weekends, but that was as 
far as any social intercourse went. Otherwise, the 
adults stuck to their routine and their territory and 
we were content in ours. 

There was no doubt that the honeymoon of our early days 
was over. It was obvious that the original idea of 
taking us from the orphanage had been Clara's. Nor 
could we pretend that the house had not been 
partitioned; a couple of times Lora was severely 
reprimanded with more than required severity for 
trespassing out of her space into compromising and 
embarrassing situations. 

"They were making naughty on the floor," Lora giggled. 
She was not the full one hundred cent dollar when it 
came to an intellectual exercise, but the kid was 
observant. "And swearing at each other!" She could give 
me intricate and intimate details; I learned in the 
orphanage that information is marketable and extremely 
functional. "They kept on saying 'fuck' to each other!"

I was perfectly happy playing with Lora, mostly in the 
secret corners of the garden, climbing trees, Lora 
first, of course, (I have never tired of looking at her 
apparatus), digging and planting, rolling on the lawns. 
We only retreated indoors when the weather was too 
unfriendly to be outside. I attended to her little 
accidents and emergencies, and nursed her and bathed 
her. I supervised her home assignments from school and 
made sure that everything she returned was absolutely 
factually correct and in her own handwriting. 

She slept in my bed where we resumed our kissing and 
licking sessions and sexual experimentation. I fondled 
her and she sucked me or jerked me nightly, and it was 
going to be only a matter of time before I started to 
fuck her for real. I did all the chores I had done 
before, like taking the trash can down to the end of 
our road where the garbage collectors could empty it, 
and collecting the letters from the box where the 
mailman left them. Lora and I did most of the washing-
up after meals at home. 

We were picked up by the school bus service from the 
end of our road and dumped there on the return trip. 
And gradually, degree by degree, life became much as it 
had been before Clara's murder. From what I could see, 
apart from one or two extra security devices, Rolf's 
promise 'to see that it didn't happen again' did not 
count for much. We did have more frequent visits from 
the sheriff or his deputies, but these very soon became 
routine as Mrs. Klotsky, our newly acquired 'daytime 
only' housekeeper, plied them with coffee and cookies. 

Mrs. Klotsky was the common-law wife of the man who 
came two or three times each week to tidy up the 
garden. The one worry that lingered, even when the 
trauma of Clara's death began to evaporate, was that 
we, Lora and I, would find ourselves back in the 
orphanage. I did not have a great deal of faith in Rolf 
Schelden's assurances. We were already in the advanced 
stages of parental neglect: he never enquired about our 
progress at school or supervised home tasks, never 
insisted that we brush our teeth or wash behind our 
ears, never gave a thought about the things we ate, and 
could not have cared less about what we did when we 
were alone or together! At bath time and bed time, Lora 
and I ran naked around the house, we slept naked, and 
never once did he reprimand us.

One of the first things I did on the day of our return 
to the house, before Mrs. Klotsky arrived, was to visit 
the kitchen on the pretence of fetching my kid sister a 
cold drink from the fridge. Everything seemed to be in 
place. Except for the carton of French cream cheese! It 
had been the most expensive brand on the market and not 
top of a farm worker's shopping list. I could feel the 
eels wriggling in my gut again. 

I assumed that a thieving cop had removed it; I could 
hardly bring myself to believe that they could connect 
it in any way with Clara's death. Perhaps Clara herself 
had taken it. But why kill what was already dead and 
her skull had been smashed in beyond possible 
recognition, which for some reason made it seem 
unlikely. Anyway, it was gone, and, in a way, I was 
relieved! For the one inescapable fact was that I had 
intended to kill the woman - I really meant to end the 
life of another human being and the cream cheese had 
been a very evident reminder of the fact. 

Murder had become part of our daily diet on television, 
so much so that we took it for a fact of life without 
it having a great deal of significance. But gazing at 
the spot where the cream cheese had been on the tray in 
the kitchen fridge suddenly brought it home to me that 
murder had become something more than a statistic or a 
feature of a television program as far as I was 
concerned; it was something that somehow had become 
part of my life and, more than that, somehow it made me 
responsible for Clara Schelden dying. I kept an eye on 
the local television news and on the newspaper 
headlines and listened to the local radio station, half 
expecting to learn of some unexplained death by 
poisoning, but nothing significant surfaced.

I argued that perhaps the snail was the wrong type or 
that the poison had not worked with cheese, but I found 
myself difficult to convince. I tried to forget it. But 
it wouldn't go away. There was use trying to pretend it 
was all a bit of childish fun. I was nearly twelve and 
the awful realization slashed into my brain: I was a 
potential killer. 

Not only had I genuinely intended to murder Clara for 
sexually abusing me, the fact persisted that the poison 
I had prepared may still be in circulation and may be 
used to effect on some unsuspecting victim. Perhaps it 
ran in the family. Perhaps that was why I landed up in 
the orphanage in the first place. Perhaps my father and 
grandfather had been killers. I even considered going 
to the police to confess, but concluded that was the 
most direct route back to the orphanage and would 
almost certainly mean that I would be separated from my 
adopted sister. I couldn't live with that thought.

I sought solace in Lora's body. I stripped her on the 
least excuse and studied and touched her most tender 
spots and kissed her all over; I had become obsessed 
with the kid in a kind of guilt-ridden sublimation. At 
least once every day from the time we returned to the 
house she sucked me off or jerked me or I shot off 
between her thighs. I even had a go at her backside as 
she lay naked on our bed, but it hurt her so much I had 
to give up. 

I also had an attempted assault on her pussy, again 
with no greater success. In return I pampered her and 
petted her and ran and fetched and carried for her; 
anything she wanted I would get for her, lawfully or 
criminally, if I could. As time passed we became 
inseparable. Only dimly was I aware that she needed me 
as much as I wanted her.

I started junior high when I was thirteen. It was a 
couple of miles beyond the elementary school. It was a 
tearful Lora who left the bus without me for the first 
time. She stood at waved at the school bus until it was 
out of sight. I truly felt sorry for the kid. I 
couldn't concentrate on my new surroundings and had to 
be chastised by a couple of the teachers. 

The junior high was a newly constructed affair and even 
the principal, his staff and everyone else were 
obviously having as much difficulty as I was in 
settling in to the routine, and I suspected that I was 
being used as a scapegoat and whipping boy -- students 
and staff alike knew that I was orphanage fodder which 
was tantamount to be a leper in our corner of the 
woods. The outcome was that for that first week, we 
were released mid-afternoon, a good couple of hours 
early. I left the return bus at the elementary school 
and kicked my heels in the dust until the screaming 
kids poured out.

Lora ran to me at the main gate of the school. She was 
in tears.

"Billy Gallacher touched me!" she exclaimed and pointed 
a finger at her crotch. "Here" She prodded herself. 
"And Barney Wester!"

"Gallacher?" 

My stomach churned. Billy Gallacher was the school 
bully, a thick-necked ape of a boy. He was fourteen, 
but stupid, quite literally, totally dead 
intellectually. There was no other place for him to go, 
so he was kept back at the elementary school to do 
repetitive basic learning skills and to help the 
janitor shift furniture and clean out the toilet 
facilities. The important thing was that he was nearly 
twice my size and marginally insane and should quite 
properly have been institutionalized. The other boy, 
Wester, was an over-weight nonentity who went from one 
companion to another - anyone who would tolerate him.

"We were playing touch football," Lora sobbed. "He 
burst into our game. He and Barney Wester. They pushed 
me to the ground and pulled up my dress and pulled down 
my panties and touched me." She prodded her finger 
again into her crutch. "Here!" She was trembling with 
outrage and the tears poured from her.

I saw Gallacher with his gang. Most of them lived 
around the school and did not come and go by bus. Billy 
Gallacher himself was the only son of a nearby local 
tenant farmer, notoriously incompetent and idle, and a 
sex pervert who fucked indiscriminately, human and 
animal, kin and stranger. The boys were a motley 
collection who usually hung around Gallacher because 
they were afraid of being dissociated from him; they 
haunted the school playground until the other kids had 
dispersed. I told Lora to get into the bus and go home. 

I approached the group of boys. My knees were 
trembling, serpents wriggled in my gut. But the vision 
of some ignorant lout touching my sister in places I 
regarded as my personal, private and exclusive 
territory fired my steel.

"You touched up my kid sister!" I put as much 
aggression into my voice as I could. I was sure the 
clown, stupid as he was, would sense my lack of 
confidence and hear the tremor in my voice.

"Yeah!" The thick lips curled like a savage dog. "What 
of it? Nice touch! Neat little cunt! And tomorrow I 
might fuck her." He turned his head to share his sneer 
with his followers. "We all might fuck her." 

That was my chance. I hit him on the side of the face 
between his right eye and the top of his ear. I had 
seen the maneuver in many fights in the orphanage. I 
threw everything I had into the punch for I knew, in a 
fair fight, he would have mauled me. The effect was 
even more dramatic than I could have anticipated. For 
fully five seconds he stood transfixed, rooted to the 
spot with the silly grin spread across his face. His 
arms had dropped loosely by his side. 

His eyes turned heavenwards until only the white 
showed, then very slowly the eyelids closed. He 
collapsed. There was a gasp of shock from his 
supporters, but no one could have been more surprised 
than I was. However, I had to put a brave face on it. I 
knelt by the face and pressed a thumb into the tender 
spot behind his ear and could feel the pulse. I waited, 
several minutes, until there was a flicker of life from 
his eyelids then pressed heavily - another evil trick 
picked up in my previous existence. I released the 
pressure when I guessed he was about to pass out again. 

I spoke softly to his ear. "If ever you as much as look 
at my kid sister, ever again, I'll kill you!" It was no 
idle threat; my mind was rapidly working out how I 
could get the idiot to ingest the excrement of my 
gastropodic ally. My earlier guilt complex had 
vanished. "You and your whole family!" I took hold of 
his throat and pressed tightly. "Do you understand what 
I am saying?"

The eyes opened widely. Sheer amazement was written 
plainly on the blank face. He nodded feebly. His lip 
trembled. "Sorry, Robbie," he stuttered. "It was a 
joke!"

I stood and placed a foot on his ankle and pressed. I 
felt a bone crack. The fourteen year old yelped in 
agony. I turned to the other boys and scowled. "Where 
is Barney Wester?" The tubby red haired boy gasped, 
swung from the group and wobbled away as if the demons 
of hell were at his heels. The others snickered self-
consciously and shifted uncomfortably then began to 
drift away. I looked one last time at the boy on the 
ground. I now felt sure of myself. I was no longer 
afraid of him. In fact, I felt some pity.

"I don't want to make a big deal out of this, 
Gallacher," I said, "and I don't want to make a regular 
habit of knocking you about. But I will if I have to. 
Do you understand what I am saying to you?" Again the 
head nodded. The jaw dropped open. He was writhing in 
pain and attempted to clutch his injured ankle. 
"Tomorrow you will apologise to my kid sister in front 
of your gang. If you don't I'll be round at your place 
in the evening, and if I don't see you, I'll beat the 
shit outa your sister or even your dad!" The thought of 
tackling the mad monster of a woman that was his mother 
was too much to be taken seriously.

I really felt good. I helped him to his feet. I brushed 
him down when I noticed the school janitor coming in 
our direction. I swung away with as much nonchalance as 
I could muster. My feet did not seem to touch the earth 
as I walked homeward. I imagined myself as super-hero. 
I decided I would enjoy Lora in bed that night. Indeed, 
as soon as I got inside the house I took her to our 
bedroom, stripped her and checked that her cherry was 
still intact then jerked off over her belly.

It was about six months after the Gallacher episode 
that Paulette, the zoomph of a secretary, moved into 
the house on a permanent (or so they thought) basis. 
She arrived in a private cab followed by a couple of 
mini-furniture vans. Removal men spent all morning and 
part of the early afternoon carrying in bits and pieces 
and rearranging what was already in the house. Lora and 
I had a couple of days off school - it was an official 
holiday. 

We kept as much out of the way as we could, but Lora 
was curious about the stuff the woman had brought. It 
was the first time ever that she asked me to take her 
back home when we went on our bicycle outing to the old 
frontier post, and in the afternoon she declined the 
invitation to the play park in the town.

In bed on that second night after the secretary had 
moved her things in, Lora was able to give me an 
inventory of all the possessions the woman had brought. 

"She has a gun!"

My blood curdled. I hated guns; they spelt trouble, and 
a fast track back to the orphanage. For several nights 
I found it difficult to get to sleep. Clara Schelden 
had been a pathetic, passive soul; despite her protests 
in my presence, she would allow her husband to walk 
over her. Paulette was something else again, and not 
one to allow her affections to be tampered with, and I 
had visions of her turning a gun on Rolf, and of us, 
Lora and I hurtling back through time to that fucking 
orphanage. 

After about a week of inner turmoil I decided that 
something had to be done! But what? An accidental 
poisoning so soon after Clara Schelden's murder was 
almost certain to arouse the suspicion of the most 
easy-going lawman, and no matter which direction the 
wind of suspicion blew, Lora and I would pay the 
ultimate penalty. No matter how I approached the 
problem, the end result always seemed to add up to Lora 
and I were destined for the orphanage. We existed on 
the proverbial knife edge and the slightest disturbance 
of the balance could ruin everything.

Lora and I continued to run naked about the place. 
Paulette showed no inclination to suck me or fuck me; 
as a matter of fact, I was shattered at the complete 
apathy with which she regarded us or ignored us. Mrs. 
Klotsky spent longer hours in the house, and slept in 
on several occasions when Rolf and the concubine 
secretary had reason to be away from home. And then, 
once again the wheel of fate took an unexpected turn.

I had never considered myself to be particularly good 
at anything. Orphanage kids are conditioned to consider 
themselves lucky if they can keep a nose above the 
water-level of mediocrity. At junior high school, it 
was discovered that I had a special aptitude for 
numbers; I was in the top section in all my math 
classes and on a couple of occasions when it really 
mattered I secured top marks in examinations. 

It was a time when pressure was put on the educational 
system to produce mathematicians and scientists. I 
achieved some sort of fame in a national competition 
and appeared on television as an orphan who showed 
promise and could make it to the top. 

The one thing that Rolf Schelden readily associated 
with was public success where he could get even a 
passing mention. He appeared as my mentor and guardian 
on television and avowed to millions of witnesses that 
my future was secure in his hands. And it went without 
saying: Lora's future and mine were inseparable! 

Rolf also at that time took a greater interest in our 
welfare at home, asked about our health and hygiene, 
was a bit more careful about the things we ate, made 
sure we were properly dressed with the help of Paulette 
and Mrs. Klotsky. On the odd occasion when the 
secretary was absent, he also showed more interest in 
Lora as a budding beauty and demonstrated more 
affection than he had even done since that first ever 
time he had blown a kiss on her naked pussy at bath 
time. 

I made a vow to intensify my supervision; any kind of 
sexual advance, I promised myself, and Rolf was dead. I 
questioned her nightly about the things Rolf said and 
did to her in my absence and made her promise to tell 
me if ever placed a finger where it ought not to go. 
And all this time my own sexual activity with my kid 
sister was becoming more and more intimate and intense. 
By my sixteenth birthday, I knew I had to fuck her for 
real.

It was also around my sixteenth birthday that I noticed 
that the peculiar smell of the orphanage, and the 
almost uncanny coldness, had completely gone from 
Lora's body - it had taken all these years quite 
literally! Lora was eleven. I still ensured that she 
washed herself properly, showered or bathed at least 
once every day. Rolf's reawakened concern for our 
welfare had waned and it was very much left to me again 
to see that my adopted kid sister was properly turned 
out for school and was socially acceptable in her dress 
and body hygiene - I even packed a spare pair of 
panties and a deodorant stick in her satchel. 

I was even applying a trace of coloring to her lips and 
face because the other girls at school has started 
putting on lipstick and eye-shadow. It was shortly 
after that she began to give off that distinct young 
girl smell deliberately designed to drive males crazy. 
After years of being shunned as an orphanage kid, she 
was invited to a number of birthday parties, and a 
couple of guys at the school had asked her out on 
dates. 

I took her to the parties and brought her home, and 
even let one of the boys take her out - with the threat 
that I would break both his arms if he tried anything 
on other than a goodnight kiss. Lora was less than 
enthusiastic about any of these extra-curricular, 
beyond-the-house activities where I was absent; she was 
bashful by nature, and to be honest, anything but 
educationally gifted. But she was mine! Nevertheless I 
insisted that she put in an appearance at the parties 
and tolerate an evening out with one of the boys.

Then shortly after her twelfth birthday a series of 
events, insignificant on their own, one after the other 
tended to shift the direction of our lives. By pure 
chance I had come across one of the most useful books 
ever published in America - and one of the most 
blatantly ignored - called 'The Single Father (and the 
Growing Daughter)'. 

I found the information in the book slotted into my 
situation in almost everything I did with Lora in mind 
- even the chapters on the inevitability and the 
potential dangers of a developing sexual relationship 
and how to escape (or cultivate) them. The book also 
has the best practical advice anywhere on the onset of 
puberty. I read through the entire volume several times 
and made copious mental notes so that I would be ready 
for and able to deal with emergencies.

Lora was accustomed to getting her injuries cleansed 
and bandaged by me. She had bled often, from her nose, 
from open wounds, or when she lost a tooth. 
Consequently it was no big deal when her periods 
started. She came to me. I explained menstruation and 
she accepted that it was a fact of life as natural as 
the occasion hiccup. After they became a regular 
feature, I marked them on her calendar so that she 
wouldn't be caught out in an embarrassing situation. 

I showed her how to use the simple sanitary towel and 
explained how later we would use tampons, and stressed 
the greater need to keep herself clean. It was this 
time, I think, that created the closest bond between 
us, and I, for the time being, assumed the role of 
single dad with a growing daughter. It was also one of 
the most sensitive times, for I still existed on the 
edge of a razor-sharp blade and would have readily 
killed anyone who as much as looked unkindly at Lora.

Around that time there had been a series of child rapes 
in the county. There was even a case of an eleven-year 
old being made pregnant which led ultimately, through 
the recently introduced genetic testing, to the arrest 
and conviction of one of the rapists. One other black 
kid was gang-banged by a group of white supremist 
youths; she also became pregnant, but killed herself 
and the unborn baby with an overdose of pills. 

I had to make the point with Rolf, and for once in the 
blue moon cycle, he listened and agreed that something 
had to be done with regard to my kid sister. There were 
long stretches of the school day when I could not be 
with her, and the fact that I had been offered a place 
in the state university meant that these stretches 
would become longer. 

The outcome was that Lora was given the very latest 
contraception - a very simple needle jag which, the 
expensive medical consultant assured us, would last for 
the entire year. Her life would be unchanged: she would 
still have her monthly period, for instance, and feel 
normal sexual urges.

Then relations between Paulette and Rolf began to show 
signs of stress. I helped in this!

END

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not 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.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Kristen's collection - Directory 27