{ASS} The Lolita Method, Part II Case Studies - Romantic Artists (4a/7) .. by PRED
pr...@altavista.net
Lolita: Lydia, age 13
Humbert: Scott/PRED, age 19
Technique: Poet's(Musician's) Pitch
Note - This case study is a continuation of the events
described in the beginning of this study. These experiences occurred
during my second summer as a counselor in training (CIT) at a music
camp for gifted youth sponsored by a local college. Lydia was my
second Lolita kill and the best friend of my previous summer's
conquest, Tracey. (See Part 1, Chapter 1, In the Beginning, for
further details.)
When I returned to The Camp the following summer, I was a
second-year CIT with quite a reputation among the returning campers.
Alas, Tracey, my Romantic Artist prey from the previous summer, did
not return to The Camp. She had been awarded a flute scholarship to a
much more prestigious camp.
Naturally, I was a little devastated. I loved fucking that
tight Lolita pussy, and I was sure I'd never see that kind of action
again. In fact, I was resigned to spending the summer romancing one
of the older girls or CITs. I figured my little "indiscretion" with
Tracey was just a fluke. At that point in my life, I saw no future in
fucking "forbidden" girls. I told myself it was time to grow up and
get a "real" girlfriend. Tracey's best friend Lydia had other ideas,
though.
Lydia had been Tracey's best friend the summer before, and I
knew she knew what had transpired between us. Like myself, she would
surely be missing Tracey that summer. At supper on the first night,
she sat at my table and during dinner asked me if I'd heard from
Tracey. I told her what I knew about Tracey's scholarship, and we
compared notes. "So you guys still stay in touch ..?" she asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Oh .." she looked crushed for some reason. I was so dense at
that time in my life that I didn't read the signals. I just kept
talking, and she brightened up a little. Then out of the blue she
asked me if I was in charge of dining hall clean-up again that summer.
I told her I was, and she asked if I had picked a crew yet. I told
her I was going to ask people after we ate, adding that she was on my
list. This seemed to lift her spirits, and she said she'd love to do
it.
Now, this struck me as odd. NO ONE liked to dining room
clean-up, especially after supper. Of course there were some perks
with the job. They got to work with the coolest counselor in camp
(that would be me) and I let them steal an extra dessert or two.
Every camper had to do one daily chore - clean the practice rooms, set
up the stands for band and orchestra practice, etc. - and even though
dining hall clean-up at supper was one of the shittiest jobs my crew
last summer developed a kind of Dirty Dozen-style pride about their
jobs. We took a crappy job and had a lot of fun with it. Still,
Lydia's desire to work clean-up puzzled me a bit.
Lydia wasn't like Tracey. Where Tracey was shy, thin,
somewhat awkward and dreamy, Lydia was a full-blown, in-your-face
virtuoso Romantic Artist. She was short and even at 13-years-old
stacked like Dolly Parton. Her face featured big, pouty blow-job lips
and a peculiar brownish birthmark below the right corner of her eye.
She walked around in a wave of peasant skirts, tight tie-dye
tee-shirts and patchouli. Unlike most of the kids at the camp, Lydia
was truly talented, too
She played viola (which a big-sized violin to you
non-musicians), and she was definitely the star musician among the
campers. In fact, she had had a dozen scholarship offers to other
camps - Tanglewood, Eastman, Interlochen - but she'd chosen to stay
with this crappy college camp for some inexplicable reason. Like I
said, I was dense at that time in my life, and I didn't see WHAT she
was doing at all - asking me about Tracey, asking if we still stayed
in touch, asking to be on my dining hall clean-up crew.
Over the next several days, Lydia was there every time I
turned around. One day I was in the recital hall goofing around with
some kids after brass choir practice, teaching them the tune Cherokee
and how to improvise through some standard chord progressions. One of
the regular counselors could play some decent piano, so he was comping
behind us while I threw out a few choruses and encouraged the kids to
do the same.
Lydia was coming in for string quartet practice, which started
in about fifteen minutes. She was watching us play while she got out
her viola. Then she marched up and started whipping out some pretty
hot fiddle - mostly arpeggios and scale patterns, but she was in the
chordline and playing by ear, which is pretty good when you're only
13. I encouraged her to take another chorus, and she played through
the changes again. Then I came in and started playing off what she
was doing in a call and response type thing.
The faster she played, the faster I played, matching her every
idea note for note. When we were done we had about twenty people
stopping to listen to us. The string quartet director, a REAL
classical prick, came storming up demanding to know what I THOUGHT I
was doing. I just kind of smiled at him and said, "You wouldn't
understand." Then I just packed up myhorn and left.
That night at dinner, Lydia was gushing all over me. She
wanted to know everything there was to know about jazz music - how to
play it, what to listen to, whether we could do a jazz group at the
camp. And, she wanted me to teach her personally. I was so caught up
in her musical enthusiasm that I never saw her ulterior motive. She
asked me if I had time to teach her jazz after evening orchestra
rehearsal, and I said yes.
This gave us an hour alone every night up in the practice
rooms, the same rooms where Tracey and I had fucked like rabbits the
previous summer. By now, Lydia's machinations were starting to sink
in. She was orchestrating as much time as possible to be around me.
At first I told myself I was crazy, that the previous summer
had been a fluke. I began thinking about fucking Lydia a lot, though,
especially when she'd bunch up close to me while we were practicing.
Her standard ploy was to feign some difficulty in the music, stop and
point to the page with her bow. As she did this, she'd lean her big
"forbidden" tits over and rub them lightly against my arm.
The first time she did this, my cock, which was already
rock-hard at the first whiff of her patchouli, started doing
somersaults in my cut-off shorts. I thought I spied her dropping her
gaze to my crotch for a second. When she made her little move again,
I watched her eyes again. It wasn't my imagination. The buxom
bimbette was crotch peeking.
Suddenly everything made sense to me. The events of the last
few days crystallized into a flash of revelation, an epiphany. I
continued with the lesson for another few minutes, before I cut off
and asked her if she wanted to quit early and take a walk. She said
"yes," and the next thing I knew we were heading across the campus
aimlessly -- talking, laughing, bumping into each other.
Under the shadows of a large tree we paused, and I took her in
my arms. We shared a passionate kiss, and that was the beginning. I
asked her how early she get out in the morning, and whether she'd want
to meet me in the practice rooms before breakfast. She said she'd
try, and I walked her back to her dorm.
The next morning, I arrived at the practice rooms to find her
already there waiting. We went into one of the rooms, closed the
doors, and started making out again. In a few minutes, I had her
tee-shirt up around her neck and was sucking on her big, bimbette
boobies. She was gasping and squirming, and I told her to sit down on
the chair. Then I lifted her skirt and plunged my head beneath the
folds.
She only offered one futile "No .. don't .." as I peeled back
her silky panties and licked her moist slot. When my tongue hit her
clit, she squealed and began mashing her cunt into my face. I slipped
a finger into her slice and finger-diddled her while I tickled her
love bump. "Oh, Scott .." she kept moaning as I took her to the brink
of an orgasm and beyond.
Her pussy juice soaked the metal folding chair and my face. I
pulled my head out from under her skirt and stood over her. My
bulging crotch was inches from her face, and I rubbed my short against
her cheeks while she rubbed legs and ass. Then I pulled back and she
bither lip.
In another second, she was unsnapping and unzipping my
cut-offs, fishing for her first man-sized cock. Tracey must have told
her something about my dimensions, because she was almost frantic to
see and touch my nine-inch cherry-buster. When she finally had it
free, I spanked it playfully across her cute face, strumming it
against her alluring birthmark while she giggled. Then she kissed my
dick lips and tongued the inside of my glans.
"I've never done this before," she confessed to me after a few
perfunctory slurps.
"Don't worry," I reassured her. "You're doing fine."
"I'm going to better than Tracey," she whispered with
determination, half to me and half to herself. Then she just got down
to the task of sucking. I told her to just relax her mouth, then I
began fucking her face gently while she struggled to take every inch I
fed her.
For a girl who had never sucked dick before, handling a
nine-inch prick her first time must have been very humbling. I
started seeing her face get very frustrated whenever she gagged or let
my cock-head slip out of her lips when I downstroked. "It's all
right," I cajoled her as she jumped back in the saddle and gave my
mouth-stallion another ride. "It's just like playing jazz," I joked.
"It takes practice. You have to learn to think a whole new way."
She nodded her head and kept at it for a few minutes before
drawing back. She had definitely improved, so I petted her hair and
told her how well she did. I let her watch me jack my cock off to a
finish then, and she just stared with big wide eyes at my furious
stroking. "Put your hand out," I told her when I finally felt my nut
start to bust.
She reached out and cupped her little hand my throbbing
prick-helmet as it pulsed and pumped out a thick spurt of spunk. The
first jet shot up and strafed her cheek, and she started back with a
yelp. The rest spewed into her open palm, and she now took over
milking me dry with her other hand. Years of viola playing had made
her grip and powerful and delicate at the same time, and her hand job
was exquisite. When I was finally done dumping my load, I took her
cum-filled hand and pressed it against her lips and cheek.
She nodded, opened her mouth and sucked the glob into her
mouth. She alternated then between cleaning off her fingers and my
dick, spit polishing both as I stoked her hair. And that's how our
first "practice session" went. Each morning and evening after that,
we devised the means to steal a few private minutes for "further
lessons." She lost her virginity to me five days later in the same
room.
After the oral preliminaries, she just leaned back in the
metal chair and said, "I'm ready now. I want to, okay ..?"
I nodded, asked her if she was sure, and listened to her
repeat her desire to "lose it" right then and there. So I told her to
lean back in the chair while I took her plump legs in my hands. I
lifted her feet up and her skirt tumbled to her waist. I told her to
peel her panties back while I bent her legs up even farther.
That must have been a hell of a way to get her cherry popped,
bent up in that metal chair like a hairpin, her ankles practically at
her ears. She didn't complain, though. She just wore that same
determined look she always did. All her years of intensive musical
training had made her realize that sacrifice and pain are a large part
of growing and developing your full potential.
Calmly, as she shivered anxiously, I told her to spread her
pussy lips and tickle her clit. I bent her legs back even father,
then lowered my raging nine-inch cherry-shredder into her virgin
sluice. I butted my cock-head between her puffy pussy lips three
times, hitting her hymen with successively stronger strokes, before I
let my fury rip full-force on the forth assault. I could feel the
tough membrane give with a sharp tear before her tight young cunt
tunnel just sucked me inside.
Lydia bit her lips until they bled as I buried myself to the
hilt in her fresh, fallow fuck-hole. My balls slapped the pillowy
cheeks of her young plump ass as swiveled my hips and reveled in her
deflowering. Then I fucked her passionately, cueing her to keep
stroking her clit while I piledrived my prick into her blood-soaked,
pubescent pussy.
She stifled her groans by biting her lip even harder. I was
drilling into her like a jackhammer, lost to the moment, not caring
whether I hurt or pleased her. Her pretty face was contorted in
fuck-agony, and she had taken to biting her tongue now to quell the
screams pounding out of her lungs. "Fuck .." she hissed before her
body went totally limp and slid out of the chair.
She landed on the floor with a flurry of legs and arms. Blood
stained her cunt and upper thighs. My cock, free from the vise-like
grip of her vulva, just started spurting cum wildly, spattering and
soaking her hair, face, stomach, tee-shirt, and skirt. She reached
up, grabbed my dick and sucked the last few drops of my seed into her
thirsty mouth.
"I love you," I told her as she sucked. I didn't know what
else to say and figured that was probably what she wanted to hear
after such an ordeal.
"Oh, Scott, I love you so much," she cooed as she sucked.
After that day, I possessed her entire being the rest of the summer.