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From: "gm" <gm@mrdouble.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} HIDDEN BENEFITS (M/g INC 1/4) PART 1
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Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2004 08:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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The following story depicts explicit sexual contact between adult and 
under aged participants. Those offended by graphic descriptions of 
pedophilic/incestuous relationships should read no further. This is 
entirely a work of fantasy, and does not advocate the abuse of minors in 
any way, shape or form. All characters and events represented herein are 
completely fictional.

HIDDEN BENEFITS
PART ONE: 
THE WHITE BALANCE

1.

Summer in Chamberlain was hazy and idyllic. The city had the down-home 
atmosphere of a Norman Rockwell print; a sleepy patchwork of tree-lined 
avenues and painfully green lawns. The streets droned with cicadas and 
the ponds with dragonflies, their streamlined bodies glittering like 
emeralds in the morning sun. Its picket-fence suburbs were perhaps the 
most American of the regional townships. On a fine, clear day, you could 
almost smell the heady aroma of apple pie drifting down the sidewalk; a 
cinnamon wave exhaled from a thousand kitchen windows.

Kings Domain extended over the eastern ridge of the city, bordered by 
Memorial Drive on one side and Chamberlain Heights on the other. A 
large, rambling parkland crisscrossed by jogging paths and pine groves, 
it claimed a history dating back to pre-revolutionary times (hence the 
anachronistic title). The Commemorative Fountain at the middle of the 
Park was a favored meeting place with the Sole Parents Society, mainly 
due to its close proximity to the Adventure Playground.

Bradley Wilson couldn't be described as a sole parent, although he'd 
recently `inherited' responsibility for an eight year old child. His 
young cousin Angie Raymond had adopted him as a defacto father over the 
past few months, a role he'd grown into with a certain degree of rueful 
satisfaction. A second year Humanities student, Brad had originally 
joined Sole Parents hoping to free up his weekends via the care-giver 
exchange. Much to his surprise, he'd discovered a network of support 
entirely missing from his immediate family. He'd made several friends 
within the Society - mostly women his own age, quietly sympathetic 
towards his unusual situation. His weekends were still as busy as ever, 
but the hidden benefits were more than adequate.

And, if nothing else, it had provided numerous playmates for Angie, the 
proverbial blessing in disguise from Brad's viewpoint. 

The air was crisp and still as they made their way through Memorial 
Gardens. They were cutting through the Wildlands, a low, rolling pine 
glade riddled with bike tracks and mystery walks. Most Saturday 
mornings, the Playground was overrun by hordes of yowling children. Brad 
could hear their excited howls echoing along the trail. Sounded like a 
full scale riot, even at this distance. The majority would be little 
girls from the Heights district; pixie-faced angels decked out in pastel 
pinks and yellows. 

Brad felt his temperature starting to rise.

Angie scampered along beside him, swinging happily from his right hand. 
Her bright red sun-frock clung to her waifish figure, hemline sweeping 
about her knees with each capering step. Her eyes danced with sweet blue 
mischief; she'd been looking forward to this outing all week. Most of 
her friends from playgroup were going to be there, along with some of 
the girls from her school. It was shaping up to be a wonderful day. They 
were going to have a picnic on the grass with the ladies from Sole 
Parents, followed by a splash in the Fountain and a game of hunt `n' 
catch in the Fort. 

Best of all, Bradley had brought his SONY DIGITAL CAMCORDER (that was 
how she actually thought of it; in capitals and italics), the one with 
the 16MB INTERNAL and the TFT LCD DISPLAY and the USB 1.1 INTERPHASE.  
Brad had bought it down at Radio Shack a couple of weeks ago so he could 
tape her playing on the swings and slides and monkey bars. They often 
watched it on Brad's DVD before she went to bed; it was becoming 
something of a family tradition.

"Are you going to film me playing in the Fort?" she chortled, betraying 
her impatience to get the morning underway.

"Sure will," Brad replied offhand, glancing off into the pinewoods.

 "What about Lindy? Are you gonna film her too?" Angie demanded, tugging 
energetically at his hand. 

"Yeah, if she's wearing a dress," he answered offhand. Angie didn't 
bother asking the most obvious question; she already knew the answer.

"What about Jane?" she inquired, bouncing about at the end of his arm.

"She always wears shorts," Brad observed laconically.

"Not this time!" Angie exclaimed in all seriousness, "I told her she had 
to wear a skirt today!" 

Brad almost laughed despite himself. What else had she ordered Janey 
Glover to do?

"OK, then" he agreed magnanimously, as if conferring some vast favor. 
Flexing the tendons along his forearm, Brad hefted her off the ground 
and allowed her to dangle from his wrist with her feet waving in mid-
air. He carried her along the trail for some twenty odd steps, then 
dropped her lightly onto her feet. She skipped ahead along the path 
singing a hopscotch ditty he recalled from his childhood: Tom-and-Becky, 
sitting-in-a-tree-K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First-comes-love, then-comes-marriage, 
then-comes-Tom-with-a-baby-carriage! He smiled at the memory: fresh-
faced school girls with yellow ribbons,  tartan skirts and white cotton 
panties. They were young, they were animated, they were hauntingly 
beautiful. And not one of them could have held a candle to his little 
Angel.

They walked on a little further until they came to a sunlit clearing 
with a log bench at one side. Bradley took a seat, turning the digicam 
over in his hands and flipping the cover off the lens. Angie ambled on 
for several paces, then looked around when she realized she was walking 
alone. Turning back to join him at the bench, she scrutinized her cousin 
with a quizzical expression.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"I think it's time we took a white balance," he answered, looking 
experimentally through the viewfinder. Angie knew what he was talking 
about, he'd been teaching her how to use the camera around the house. 
Trouble was, they couldn't set the highlights out here on the bike 
trail. Everything was the wrong color.

"We forgot to bring the big white card," she said, absently kicking her 
feet through the woodchips.

"Well, we'll just have to use your panties then, won't we?" Brad 
replied, snapping open the LCD.

Angie's expression changed. Her little mouth gaped open, her cheeks 
flushed with surprise as she registered his words. Her skin started to 
tingle, storm of butterflies erupted through her belly. Her fingers 
dropped protectively to the front of her dress, as if it was preparing 
to rear up by itself. She knew exactly what he wanted her to do, and it 
made her head spin with embarrassment.

"Brad!" she cried, looking `round the pine-glade, "we can't do THAT!" 
Her voice dissolved into a stream of helpless giggles. He couldn't be 
serious. Not here, not now.

"Why not?" Brad asked, testing the autofocus, "I've seen your undies 
before." 

"But that's different!" she protested in righteous indignation, although 
he was completely right: he had seen her undies like a zillion times 
before).

"How?" Brad retorted, arching one eyebrow inquiringly. 

"I don't know, it just is," Angie sputtered in girlish 
exasperation, "anyway, you can't set the balance off my panties."

"They're white aren't they?" Brad asked reasonably enough. 

"Well, yeah ..." she replied, blushing wildly. He was teasing her, she 
could see that now, but she sensed something hidden beneath the good-
natured ribbing. This was more like the games they played most nights, 
upstairs in bed after they'd finished watching TV. Angie loved Brad's 
games; they were always cute and funny and deliciously naughty. Three 
nights ago, he'd filled her tummy button with chocolate sauce (putting a 
cherry on top for good measure). The sauce had been unbearably cold, but 
she'd enjoyed it immensely - especially after Brad started licking it 
out with his tongue. She'd screamed and kicked and squirmed in his arms, 
but after he'd finished, she'd begged him to do it again. And again. And 
again.

[he'd done something else to her that night; something which also 
involved his tongue and a bottle of chocolate sauce - but she knew they 
wouldn't be doing anything like THAT until they got home this afternoon]

"Well, yeah ... they are," she finished, shuffling from foot to foot in an 
agony of indecision. 

"Well, I guess it's settled then," Bradley said, lifting the Sony to eye-
level.

Angie could feel her defenses crumbling; Brad was waiting expectantly, 
and part of her secretly wanted to please him, the way she did at home. 
She was already tugging at her hemline, raising the dress to mid-thigh. 
Her arms were buzzing with gooseflesh, her heart drum-rolling with 
anticipation. This was so incredibly naughty: despite her tender years, 
Angie knew that little girls didn't just lift their skirts in public. 
Not on purpose, anyway. But then again ... 

It wasn't much different to when Bradley filmed her hanging upside down 
from the Jungle Gym. Or when she came down the High Slide with her frock 
sailing around her waist. Or when she showed her friends how to do 
cartwheels on the grass. As a matter of fact, Brad had a small library 
of AVIs dedicated his little cousin. Angie getting dressed in the 
morning. Angie putting on her babydoll. Angie doing handstands in the 
backyard. Angie modeling her new underwear in front of the mirror; Angie 
dancing in her new underwear in front of the mirror.

"A little higher now, Angel," Brad said, dropping to one knee in front 
of her. Angie looked down and discovered that she'd been twisting the 
frock between her fingers, unconsciously hoisting the curtain, so to 
speak. The hem was less that an inch from the tip of her panties. Her 
legs were trim and rather shapely for her age, the skin as pale as an 
English carnation. Angie stared up in round-lipped surprise, struggling 
to suppress her high, tinkling laughter. What was she DOING?!

"Bradley -," she sniggled breathlessly, unable to believe she was 
actually doing this. The front of Angie's skirt began to rise, just the 
barest flittering of red cotton. A sense of exhilaration filled her 
veins. She glanced away in childish denial, her cheeks glowing 
maraschino red. This was soooo embarrassing! Why did he always do this 
to her?

"Come on, no need to be shy," Brad coaxed, gesturing with the 
camera. "we'll watch it tonight after we finish dinner."

This was too much for Angie. Sputtering with repressed mirth, she hiked 
her dress up over her waist, her tiny feet dancing with excitement. 
White satin panties flashed into view, gleaming with an alabaster finish 
in the sunlight. Tight elastic trimmings dimpled her pearly flesh, 
floral lace insets embellished the hips. They were her prettiest undies; 
Brad had bought them for her last week, and she'd worn them especially 
for him, knowing he'd be watching her on the monkey bars this morning.

Of course, she never dreamed she'd be offering him this `sneak preview.'

"All right, now - big smile for the camera," Brad instructed, pressing 
the zoom, "skirt right up to your chin, Angel-Girl." 

"Noooooooo!" Angie moaned, but the dress climbed up her bare torso all 
the same. Waves of sweet humiliation rolled through her tummy. He only 
needed her panties for the white balance: why did she have to hold her 
frock so high? He didn't need to see her whole body, did he? Giggling 
uncontrollably, she posed for the digicam with her sleek, supple figure 
on exhibition.

Brad tracked the camera up and down, marveling at the lush expanse of 
naked midriff spread out before him. Her nipples were dark and ripe, 
standing out on her chest in hard, crimson circles. They were 
surprisingly large for a child her age (perhaps announcing the onset of 
an early puberty). They provided Brad with literally hours of pleasure 
every week, particularly in early the morning. They'd been sharing a bed 
for five months now, almost since she first came into his care. 

Seeing them now - huge and red and throbbing with arousal - Brad began 
to wish they'd never left home. Much as he relished these Saturday 
morning expeditions, he could think of a few things he'd rather be doing 
at the moment (again, things involving his tongue and a bottle of 
chocolate sauce - as well as a more prominent section of his anatomy) 
Well, a promise was a promise, and Angie had earned her reward. He 
didn't want to disappoint her. Besides which, he needed new footage for 
the archive.

Lowering his sights fractionally, Brad zoomed in on the girl's navel.

Angie had one of those painfully cute belly-buttons that curved in like 
a tiny thimble. He'd always found it one of her most appealing features, 
and never lost an opportunity to explore it with a gently probing finger-
tip. Even now, he couldn't resist tracing an index around its softly 
pursed rim. Reaching out with his right hand, he dipped his pointer 
inside her tummy-cup. Angie jumped in galvanic reaction.

"Bradley, don't!" she squealed, jiggling her pantied hips, "that 
TICKLES!!"

"Really?" he enquired politely, "well, how about this, then?"

"NOOOO!! STOP IT! DOOOOON'T!!" Angie screamed at the top of her lungs. 
This was out and out torture; but for some reason, she didn't try to run 
away. The skirt remained poised at her shoulders, waving from side to 
side like a can-can dancer's. Chuckling under his breath, Brad continued 
spidering his fingers around her tummy, ignoring her shrieks and pleas. 
Stamping her little feet, Angie whipped her head from side to side, 
golden ringlets swishing around her face.

"BRADLEY! STOP! DON'T TICKLE ME!! NOOOO!"

The torture went on for close to a minute (and would have gone on 
considerably longer if not for the imminent risk of discovery). By the 
time they finished, Angie was trembling from crown to heel, pink-faced 
and short of breath. 

"You're mean!" she said crossly, dropping her frock back to a more 
dignified position. Her hair was a mass of wild blond curls and her left 
shoulder strap had slipped half-way down her arm. She slid it back over 
her shoulder, pushing out her lower lip in a classic teenie-pout. "You 
always tickle me too much, Bradley!"

"Hardly tickled you at all," Brad remarked, closing the LDC with an 
echoing click.

"Yes, you did! And it wasn't funny."

 "You look so pretty when you're sulking." 

"I'm not sulking!"

"Come over here and give me a kiss."

"No!" she refused decisively, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief 
once again. She hadn't really been angry with him; like all little 
girls, she adored a good tickling in the arms of big, strong man; 
especially when she had no choice in the matter. She just wanted him to 
make it up to her was all. And yes, she wanted to give him a kiss - 
along with a cuddle and a great big hug - but she also wanted him to 
make her. The same way he did when they snuggled up in bed together.

Fortunately, Brad could read her mind as easily as he could read her 
expression.

"All right, that's it," Brad said, rearing up off the ground with his 
arms outstretched, "I think it's time for a spanking." Angie screamed 
and ran down the path, woodchips scattering in every direction. She knew 
he wasn't really going to spank her, but only thing better than being 
chased was being caught. Her toes scarcely touched earth as she bolted 
out of the glade, but fast as she was, Bradley was on her in an instant. 

He swept her up with an ear-splitting roar, tossing her high overhead in 
a twisting spiral of arms and legs. The world turned upside down for an 
amazingly long moment, then she was plummeting into his hands, her dress 
filliping in the updraft. Gathering her voraciously against his chest, 
Bradley angled her head up so that her face was only an inch from his. 
She struggled in his grip like the heroine in a Victorian Romance - but 
she didn't struggle very hard.

"What's it going to be Angel-Girl?" Brad rasped in his best Jimmy 
Cagney, "a smack in the lips, or a smack on the fanny?"

For an answer, Angie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on 
the corner of the mouth. It was little more than a chaste, virginal 
press of the lips, but it was warm and sensuous; as pure as the love of 
a child. The kissed, they smooched, they spooned and they necked until 
Angie remembered why they'd come down here in the first place. Brad put 
her down on her feet (somewhat not without some regret; his member had 
turned rock solid some minutes before and was now threatening to burst 
its denim constraints). 

"So - Janey's going to be wearing a skirt today?" he asked, taking her 
hand as they set off down the trail.

"Yeah," Angie replied, beaming up at him, "that long blue Scottish one 
you like so much."

Bradley's eyebrows went up towards his hairline. Little Janey Glover in 
blue tartan? His blood-pressure started to spike, a tide of nostalgia 
poured through his heart like a half-forgotten song (Tom-and-Becky-
sitting-a-tree-). Remembering those long vanished playmates with their 
plaits and their skipping ropes and their dainty white underthings, he 
was glad they'd decided to come out this morning. Quite suddenly, he 
couldn't think of a better way to spend a weekend.

As he'd noted earlier, the hidden benefits were more than adequate.

TO BE CONTINUED.

EMAIL ME FOR PART 2: 
TOPSY-TURVY
-or, watch this newsgroup--
But, I really like hearing from my readers!

gm@mrdouble.com 

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