Erotic young sex stories pre teen. Little Emma.



Erotic young sex stories pre teen

Erotic young sex stories pre teen

Rated M for adult situations, including acts of pedophilia and rape. Fiction M - English - Drama - Chapters: It is morning when I am escorted to your room, and the sunshine pours in through your office window. I notice your curtains are lacy, and I think they fit you well. I stand at the door after the guard leaves me, and your eyes meet mine. They are blue, like the sky. I look at your desk. On it is the familiar writing tablet and pen. You are sitting in your comfy plush chair with your legs crossed, wearing red once again.

Catching me watching you, you smile at me. I consider sitting in the seat directly across from you and your desk like I had done yesterday, but I don't want to. It is located directly under the window, and is made out of dark leather.

You nod your head and gesture with your hand. It is cushiony, and I sink into it a little. The sun warms my face, and I feel at peace being in this room with its white-washed walls and homey appearance. You ask me, "Where do you want to start? I am looking at a photo frame on your desk. It is of you with two children. You look reluctant to answer, but after a minute or so, you do. I love them very much. And Caitlyn is five.

I can tell that you are uncomfortable. Or even go as far as to—as you say—rape them? Then I get up and walk over to your desk and look closer at that photo. You are there, surrounded by your two kids: My eyes meet yours and I smile. They are smoldering with something: Taking a seat across from you, I tap at your tablet. Red ink is scrawled upon the page. You can't bear to think about a creepy pedophiliac man touching your children. There is no true profile.

For the past eleven years, I've been molesting and raping children right under your nose. I was a first grade schoolteacher. You have never considered the thought that perhaps your child's teacher was a child molester, have you? Or hell, even you Uncle Buck from West Virginia. It can be anyone. Your notion of a pedophile and my notion of a pedophile are completely different from one another.

Heterosexuals love the opposite sex. Homosexuals love the same. Trisexuals love both too, including themselves. The majority of us really aren't. We simply love children. Not all relationships are sexual, like you all's. They're definitely emotional, like you all's. We're not only interested in kids for sex. We just greatly enjoy being in their company, and that's all.

Only you have relationships with adults, and we have ours with children. I shake my head as a no and you look at me. I know that's a pretty random question, but just tell me the truth. Imagine your large erection penetrating a little girl of five, just finished with being a toddler. Think of the bruises and contusions. She has her whole life to reflect upon having sex with an adult at age five. Her feelings will catch up to her, and it could do a lot of emotional damage.

She could become horribly depressed and develop serious psychological problems. In her confusion, she could do something bad like become addicted to drugs or hate herself. It will not only affect her physically and mentally, but it will affect others around her too: It could happen because of a fellow adult, too.

You throw down your pen against the desk and look deeply at me. She's five, and you're thirty-four. How could she possibly know what she's getting into? You could have been manipulative or she could've just been frightened and said yes.

We don't know what a five-year old thinks, and that's why we have rape laws to prevent these kinds of things from happening. You sigh and sit back in your chair, grabbing your weird pen again.

You're way over the age of consent, and they definitely were not. They didn't even have the legal right to give consent, and it was your responsibility to be, well, responsible. You were the adult, not them. They didn't understand, and you did. You took advantage of that, and that's one reason why you're in trouble. It's called statutory rape. You give me a half-smile, and go back to writing in your tablet.

There is silence and I decide to speak up again. You watch me with your eyes. Your voice sounds frustrated again. It makes perfect sense. As I said earlier, I love children and I have relationships with them. I wasn't being violent. You stop writing and look back. Your face is sad, and you then avert your eyes and instead stare at your notes.

I keep watching as you shake your head no, and that is all I need. Getting up from my chair, I pace around the room. And then pace around again. My brain hurts and I feel trapped. I growl out of pure frustration, and then walk back over to your desk without sitting down.

Instead I place my hands on it and lean over to stare into your eyes. They are blue and scared. I shake my head. Wasn't putting me behind bars enough? Do they think I am crazy? Why do I need a fucking psychologist? There's nothing wrong with me. I try to, but it is hard. You threaten to call security on me, and I say that I have no intention of hitting you or anything else.

I simply just want to know. To mostly everyone and anyone. I understand you like them a lot, but it can't be. In single every country there are statutory rape laws. Don't you ever wonder why? Maybe they do and know. It's too much to handle.

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Erotic young sex stories pre teen

Rated M for adult situations, including acts of pedophilia and rape. Fiction M - English - Drama - Chapters: It is morning when I am escorted to your room, and the sunshine pours in through your office window. I notice your curtains are lacy, and I think they fit you well.

I stand at the door after the guard leaves me, and your eyes meet mine. They are blue, like the sky. I look at your desk. On it is the familiar writing tablet and pen. You are sitting in your comfy plush chair with your legs crossed, wearing red once again. Catching me watching you, you smile at me.

I consider sitting in the seat directly across from you and your desk like I had done yesterday, but I don't want to.

It is located directly under the window, and is made out of dark leather. You nod your head and gesture with your hand. It is cushiony, and I sink into it a little. The sun warms my face, and I feel at peace being in this room with its white-washed walls and homey appearance. You ask me, "Where do you want to start? I am looking at a photo frame on your desk. It is of you with two children.

You look reluctant to answer, but after a minute or so, you do. I love them very much. And Caitlyn is five. I can tell that you are uncomfortable. Or even go as far as to—as you say—rape them? Then I get up and walk over to your desk and look closer at that photo. You are there, surrounded by your two kids: My eyes meet yours and I smile. They are smoldering with something: Taking a seat across from you, I tap at your tablet.

Red ink is scrawled upon the page. You can't bear to think about a creepy pedophiliac man touching your children. There is no true profile. For the past eleven years, I've been molesting and raping children right under your nose.

I was a first grade schoolteacher. You have never considered the thought that perhaps your child's teacher was a child molester, have you? Or hell, even you Uncle Buck from West Virginia. It can be anyone. Your notion of a pedophile and my notion of a pedophile are completely different from one another. Heterosexuals love the opposite sex.

Homosexuals love the same. Trisexuals love both too, including themselves. The majority of us really aren't. We simply love children. Not all relationships are sexual, like you all's.

They're definitely emotional, like you all's. We're not only interested in kids for sex. We just greatly enjoy being in their company, and that's all. Only you have relationships with adults, and we have ours with children. I shake my head as a no and you look at me. I know that's a pretty random question, but just tell me the truth. Imagine your large erection penetrating a little girl of five, just finished with being a toddler.

Think of the bruises and contusions. She has her whole life to reflect upon having sex with an adult at age five. Her feelings will catch up to her, and it could do a lot of emotional damage. She could become horribly depressed and develop serious psychological problems. In her confusion, she could do something bad like become addicted to drugs or hate herself.

It will not only affect her physically and mentally, but it will affect others around her too: It could happen because of a fellow adult, too. You throw down your pen against the desk and look deeply at me. She's five, and you're thirty-four. How could she possibly know what she's getting into? You could have been manipulative or she could've just been frightened and said yes. We don't know what a five-year old thinks, and that's why we have rape laws to prevent these kinds of things from happening.

You sigh and sit back in your chair, grabbing your weird pen again. You're way over the age of consent, and they definitely were not. They didn't even have the legal right to give consent, and it was your responsibility to be, well, responsible.

You were the adult, not them. They didn't understand, and you did. You took advantage of that, and that's one reason why you're in trouble. It's called statutory rape. You give me a half-smile, and go back to writing in your tablet. There is silence and I decide to speak up again. You watch me with your eyes. Your voice sounds frustrated again.

It makes perfect sense. As I said earlier, I love children and I have relationships with them. I wasn't being violent. You stop writing and look back. Your face is sad, and you then avert your eyes and instead stare at your notes. I keep watching as you shake your head no, and that is all I need. Getting up from my chair, I pace around the room. And then pace around again. My brain hurts and I feel trapped. I growl out of pure frustration, and then walk back over to your desk without sitting down.

Instead I place my hands on it and lean over to stare into your eyes. They are blue and scared. I shake my head. Wasn't putting me behind bars enough? Do they think I am crazy? Why do I need a fucking psychologist? There's nothing wrong with me. I try to, but it is hard. You threaten to call security on me, and I say that I have no intention of hitting you or anything else.

I simply just want to know. To mostly everyone and anyone. I understand you like them a lot, but it can't be. In single every country there are statutory rape laws. Don't you ever wonder why? Maybe they do and know. It's too much to handle.

Erotic young sex stories pre teen

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3 Comments

  1. He was shocked when school began last year and he found out he had a female who identifies as male in his class. He was late getting good to the car so I asked him why.

  2. They climbed up the rope ladder together and sat on a platform together and at one point, when the little girl was elsewhere and Sophie was swinging and fell, the little girl ran over, concerned. She smiled as she recalled his rugged charm and his public school accent. Instead, I was plagued with nightmares, and the worst of all, I was plagued with her.

  3. When the hell did she get up here? A young boy walked past--someone she obviously knew--and she scowled at him and said, quietly, "dirty bastard.

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