Generous George

By the age of sixty-five, George was both a supremely skilled and extremely cautious user of firm, young female flesh. His activities had never got him into any trouble of any kind and he'd only very rarely been suspected of anything untoward. Long estranged from his few living relatives, out of whose lives he had quietly drifted many years before, he lived alone and comfortably, having built up a very decent pension pot during his many years of working as an outwardly sober and serious finance director.

He preferred not to put down roots and for many years this preference had led him to buy and sell houses rather often, taking advantage of surging properly prices along the way and thereby further improving his fortune. He was careful not to annoy his neighbours at any of the houses in which he had lived. But he also kept himself to himself and those living close to him rarely got to know the quiet, well-dressed and prosperous-looking gentleman, beyond simply exchanging greetings.

When he read about sordid fools ending up in jail for the organised and systematic abuse of vulnerable young girls, he tutted inwardly, and took note of their many mistakes. Of these, being rooted to one town or city seemed, to him, fraught with unnecessary risk. But such, he supposed, was the fate of the married family man with a taste for taking advantage of confused, stupid and poverty-stricken teenage girls. Never having desired adult women, George had never wanted to settle down with one. It suited him quite well that those few people, mostly former colleagues and contacts from work, wondered among themselves that he might be a repressed homosexual. Ever pragmatic, he had never discouraged some rumours when they reached him. A neat case, he believed, of throwing potentially enquiring minds off his true scent.

Another thing that often struck him about those arrested and publicly shamed for their taste for young girls was their sheer greed. More than capable of enjoying the memory of an adventure for long after its conclusion, George only very seldom went on the hunt. Whenever he did, he would have first carefully evaluated the risks involved and have done his best to collect vital information likely to help him succeed in his aim. Although delicious little bodies inflamed him mightily, he remained an organiser, a planner, a project manager throughout.

Now residing in a charming village now far from one of Hertfordshire's larger towns, he had for some weeks been collecting intelligence and working to select a target. Whenever he returned to the town from London by car, he had made it his habit to collect a few groceries from a convenience store at the edge of one of the town's sprawling council estates. This was because for the last few years, George had enjoyed most success with the scandalously under-dressed teenagers who resided in such place and whose coarse, often aggressive demeanour was obviously a layer of protection, under which these unfortunate creatures had poor self-esteem, no prospects and a fairly banal existence. 

On one hand he deplored their incredibly sluttish clothes and make-up. But, of course, on the other hand, it excited him terribly. His conquests would never be seriously physically harmed and any liberties he did take were, he felt, more than mitigated by his very generous treatment of them in other ways. When George had one or more playthings on the go, the girls would have plenty of cash to waste on more tarty clothes. They would also be liberally plied with alcohol and, in the last couple of years, cocaine. George quite enjoyed the drug himself, but its true power was in how it dazzled fourteen and fifteen-year old strumpets who had grown up admiring the neighbourhood drug dealer.

George was now quite sure of this main target. As he had hoped and expected, on one of this trips to his favoured convenience store, a likely looking little slut had boldly approached him and asked him to buy her alcopops. He had tut-tutted but had agreed to help her. 

"I was young once too. I remember what it is to fancy a drink and to be too young to get it. There's no harm in it if it's not all the time."

So little Kayley, a sulky blonde had been given her drinks. George had even refused her money.

"It's on me," he said. "I'm sure you've not got much money and I enjoy helping people out when I can."

"Thanks, mister," she had simpered. 

Over the weeks that followed, Kayley had started to look out for George's car, dashing from her home to accost him before he reached the shop. Each time he was a little more generous, but he never asked for anything in return.

"He's a fucking paedo," muttered Kayley's friend Chelsea.

"Don't be like that. He's never touched me."

"I bet he thinks about you and wanks off, laughed Chelsea, unknowingly hitting the nail on the head.

But Kayley's trust had been won. Now all that was needed was the right opportunity to move his project along.

It came early one Thursday evening, when the girls were heading into the town to attend an under-18s event held at a tacky nightclub there. Tottering in their high-heeled ankle boots and wearing small scraps of cheap fabric on their bodies, they were annoyed not to have found any money for drinks. The under-18s club night, of course, was strictly alcohol-free. They'd wanted to get there tipsy and in higher spirits. Thus thwarted, then, they tottered to the bus stop. George spotted them, and saw that the street was quiet. No one walking thereabouts and only the occasional passing car. He slowed to a halt at the bus stop, eyeing Kayley's shiny pink miniskirt and Chelsea's indecently tiny black shorts.  A great disturbance was caused in his underwear.

"Hello, Kayley. You girls must be off somewhere special. I'll bet you've had a few naughty drinks to get your spirits up."

"No, we've got no money."

"Oh, that's no fun. Can I help you, I wonder? Buy some drinks, perhaps. But you can't hang around in the street in your lovely outfits, can you? Bound to attract unwanted attention. So I have a better idea. Why don't you both jump in the car. We'll go to my house. I have plenty to drink and I have another little treat for you. I've overheard girls your age going on about cocaine. But of course they can never afford it. Well, perhaps you'd like to try a little. Just to get you in the mood for your dancing later."

The girls never made it to the disco. In the long night ahead, they fucked and sucked at George's direction, out of their minds on drink and drugs. When it was time to wish them both goodbye, George handed them each a roll of banknotes, asking them to buy themselves a few little presents.

"Now, ladies," he continued. "Two questions. Can you keep your visit here strictly secret from everyone you know. Also, if you can, would you like to come and see uncle George again soon?"

Both questions, of course, were answered in the affirmative and for a few wonderful weeks, George entertained his new pets rather often. Sometimes they both came. Sometimes just one of the pair came alone. Either way, when he was balls-deep in a cocaine-addled fifteen-year old strumpet, George felt very good indeed. Neither of his girls minded too much if hair was pulled, faces slapped and bottoms spanked hard. They also endured his deriding them in horrible terms: cum-slut, fuck toy, worthless cunt and so on. For the more carried away George became, the more generous he was with gifts and money when their time together was over.