Bee Sting, Part 2

by Louisa May

About an hour or so later, I was waking her up. "Lissa." I kissed her bed-mussed hair. "Honey. . . time to wake up."

She awakened like the child she was. Her large eyes opened and looked at me, puzzled. Then her face relaxed and she smiled a sleepy smile. She crooked a finger to me, confiding. I leaned in. "I fell asleep."

"Really? I would never have known."

She stretched, yawning loudly, and sat up. "Yep. I did."

I retrieved the clothes I'd gotten for her earlier. "Well, I wish I could let you sleep, but your Mom called, and she wants you home, she said they have someone over for dinner. And I have to go get Kaylee."

She thrust out her lower lip. "My Aunt Penny, I forgot. Holy smokes, what time is it?"

"Almost 5:00. Here's some clothes, honey."

"Woww. . . I was sleeping for. . . I was sleeping a long time." She quite unself-consciously pulled the covers off, buck-naked, and started dressing. As I handed her her flip-flops and her now-dry bathing suit, she looked at me. "Can I come over tomorrow so you can check to see if my sting is better?" She stepped into her flip-flops, then lightly patted her behind. "'Cause it still hurts. I mean, it's better. You made it better -- but it's still, you know, pretty hurty."

I brushed both sides of her dark, fluffy hair back. "Well, you do have school, honey."

"Yeah." She bit her lip. "Maybe after?"

I nodded, wondering. "Maybe. Okay. I think Kaylee has Band club. And then. . . oh well, I'd have to look."

Lissa was nodding, too. "Just to, you know, make sure it was getting better."

"Okay. We'll see."

"Okay." She crooked her finger at me. I smiled and leaned down to her. She kissed me quickly on the lips. "Thank you!" she whispered.

I whispered back, "You're welcome!"

On the way out the door, she called back, "Remember, you rock!" And she was gone.

Well. What a day. I looked at the clock. Hm, I still had fifteen minutes or so before I had to go get Kaylee. I peeked out the window and saw Lissa entering the back door of her house. Then I locked the door, shucked my sneakers off, and slipped off my shorts.

In my panties and shirt, which I quickly unbuttoned as I lay down, I proceeded to run my hands all over my body. I squeezed my nipples, rubbed down my belly, and especially pressed my hand between my legs, stroking the soft panties covering my heated pussy. God, I needed relief! I tucked a hand beneath the waistband and ran a determined finger down my slick slit. The image of my finger buried in Lissa'a cute little asshole, and of her delicious butt squeezing me. . . I still felt the warmth of her body on the bed . . . Oh! God! Ohhh. . .! I hadn't felt this kind of feeling since my childhood. Since the days I spent playing Pirate King and Slave Girl with my friend Tina. . .

I was eight or nine, and our neighbor's little girl, Tina, was about seven. And although we were only a couple of years apart, we looked anything but. Tina was small for her age, and cute as a button. I was quite a bit bigger -- tall for my age, and very athletic. And from the start of our acquaintance (they'd only just moved in), we both lived to play games of our own imaginings. Our favorite, especially in summer, was the Pirate King and his Slave Girl.

I, of course, was The Pirate King -- and Tina was my Slave Girl. She would be the poor little damsel in distress, and I would attack her captors, on ship, land, whatever. She would look on adoringly, sometimes giving me information as to how we could overcome the enemy -- then I would take her to my hideaway. This was always the best part, the part all the rest was leading up to -- because this was where we got into the secret games, the mysteries of our own growing bodies.

My "hideaway" was a small, unused root cellar beneath her house, which we'd accessorized with some mats, blankets, pillows. And which could only be accessed through a very small hole in the outer basement wall.

After making sure the coast was clear, I'd 'push' her into my lair, and she would cower against a cushion. In summer we were usually in bathing suits. The dialogue generally went like this:

Slave girl: "Oh, King, you were so brave to rescue me. Are you hurt?"

King: "Only a scratch, slave girl. Bad men like that cannot hurt me."

Slave girl: "Now I am yours. What is it you want from me? Anything you want is yours, O King. You are my master now."

At this point, I would usually look down at her, inspecting.

"Hmm. I will need to see what I have won. Take off all your clothes."

"My clothes? But. . . but then I would be Naked!"

We both loved that word. 'Naked.'

"Yes. I want to see you Naked."

"You want to see me. . .Naked??"

"Yes. Naked." At this point I would point the stick-sword at her. "Take off your clothes!"

Tina would then stand up, shaking. (She was a really good actress.) I remember feeling a whooshing in my missy in anticipation of her compliance. She always had a two-piece suit, and I a one-piece. She slipped the top over her head, baring her flat chest and dark little nipples. Then she would look at me again, pleadingly. "ALL my clothes?"

"All your clothes." Then she would peel her bottom down, slowly, sadly, and step out of it. She stood looking at me, scared. Her little slit, I remember well, was quite pronounced: it sat high on her pubis, and her labia stuck out a bit, like it was sticking out its tongue..

"Hmm." The King walked around her. In our game, I was actually allowed total freedom -- because I was the King. I would stroke her nipple, caress her bare bottom, dandle her soft, golden hair. Then I would proclaim my decision, one we'd both come up with, to further explore our game. "I must inspect your secret treasures."

"But. . . but no one has ever seen my secret treasures. They are hidden, and I must not show them."

"Must not?! I am your king, right?"

She was instantly contrite. "Yes, yes. You are my King, but--"

"I am your master. You must show me your treasures." Her lip quivered. "Yes. Yes, master. I will show you."

And then Tina would lie back on this little arrangement we'd set up of a few cartons with pillows on them, her feet down and legs together. I would then kneel in front of her.

"Open yourself up, slave, and show me your treasures."

And Tina, reluctantly, would raise her legs up, then open them wide. Her bare little missy gaped slightly with her movement. I moved in, my hands now on her thighs. I could smell her excitement, and felt my own deeply.

"Hmm." My most-used kingly expression. "Hmm. . ." I touched a finger to her slit, which was always a bit damp at this point. Then I pushed her legs back further. She helped with her flexibility, letting her legs be pushed back almost to her ears.

"Hmm. . ." I touched a finger to her rosy little anus, which spasmed slightly. I looked up at her. Her expression was meek, frightened, submissive. "I think I should see what's inside here."

"No, please, master."

"Yes," as I licked my finger, "I'm going to see." And I started toying with Tina's little asshole.

"No, please. What are you. . . what are you doing?"

I leaned my face between her legs and glared at her. "I'm doing whatever I want to do, slave." I started to push my finger into her asshole.

"No! Oh, dear. OH! Please, master, stop!"

I removed my finger and got it even wetter with my spit, then wriggled in further. "Ah, so THIS is your treasure, in HERE!" And I dug in, my finger now almost all the way inside her little anus.

Tina was playing the violated slave girl to the hilt. "NO, please! OH, what are you DOING? No!!" She breathed heavily, watching me. Then in her own voice: "Jenny, I have to poop."

I looked up at her, then back down at my buried finger. "So poop."

She made a face. "Not with your finger in there! Silly!"

This was fascinating. "No, really, Tina. Go ahead and poop. I want to see."

Her eyebrows rose, and her mouth opened, then closed. After a pause: "Really?"

She was willing! "Really. It would be so awesome." I lightly wiggled my finger as I spoke. "And, and you could still be Slave Girl. It'll be great!"

She considered, then looked down between her legs. "You're moving around in my bottom and it's really making me want to poop. And won't it make a mess?"

I looked around. Right at hand there were a few odd pieces of cloth, and a few towels. I grabbed some and gathered them at the base of our "seat." There. Now you can poop and we can just clean it right out."

She looked a bit doubtful, but game. And, I thought right then, really, really cute. "Okay. . . well, it's coming really soon."

"Good. Do it." And I started wiggling my finger harder inside her. "Ah HA, Slave Girl, what is this in here??"

The strangeness of the situation, and Tina's obvious urgency, lent new drama to her role. "Oh Master, I think. . ." she grunted, moaning. "Ohh. . .I think something is happening. MmmuhHH. . ."

And I felt her poo push against my fingertip. How very amazing! I pushed back a little. "I feel something. What is it??"

"It's," Tina grunted heavily, pushing against my finger. The poo moved, starting to surround my finger on its journey Out. "It's coming. . .from inside me! Mmpp!!" And my finger retreated as the poop slid heavily out of her asshole. It was lightish brown, and fairly smooth and thick. It smelled, but not terrible. Kind of like a spicy fart. Tina squeaked, triumphant and embarrassed at once.

I watched the poo tumble to the towelled floor, and just as it did, another, thinner poo followed, and now Tina was peeing as well. Her pee was pretty forceful, and it jetted up and out, and hit me in the face before I could get out of the way. I hooted, laughing. She smiled, blushing. I will never forget that look.

Ministering to little Lissa today brought those memories flooding back. I thought about both, and fingered myself to a lovely, langorous, and powerful orgasm.