I call myself kiddie-lover because I hesitate to use the word 'pedophile' as too many dumb-asses out there immediately think that means somebody 'active'. I, however, am a writer because this is the domain where a love/lust of under-18 can be lived out in harmless fantasy. To this end, I try to achieve a satisfying realism in my stories. I like to explore all degrees of pedophilia from loving to coaxing to coercian to outright force, but in moderation.
Oh impossible sweet home for my stiff shaft of flesh,
yet your tiny hole between two hairless puffs opens for it.
Progress hurts you, my little blonde angel,
your sweet blue-eyed face beneath me pained.
For this, I am sorry.
I run a hand through your hair, over your little skull,
and were you taller I would be kissing your mouth.
But I knew our wedding night would be a challenge thus,
and I carefully push thick hips between tender short legs.
Open them wide, I gently say.
Slowly I stab-stab my top two inches
in a narrowness which clams and drags my skin.
It hurts me too, I say, exaggerating
a little and gasping over your cute young head.
Gotto fuck this little girl, my brain rages.
Your sobs are a bitter-sweet melody to me,
my husky adult sighs harmonizing it.
I tossed off the covers to better see
your fragile flat white form I'm loving.
Moreover, to see my grown one fucking it.
Your little feet around my back,
you're such a good brave girl I moan.
On my elbows, my big strong groin
pushes precise on your tender small vulva.
Half a penis rhythmically fucks it.
Your sapphire eyes are watery and distressed,
this not so easy as our earlier loving,
but now is not a moment I can stop.
"It's okay, my darling, nearly done."
Balls, cock - all of me clenches.
You don't understand why I'm gasping and groaning,
erratic and crazy as if I'm ill.
But I expect, sweetie, you will learn to connect it
with the thick hot flow passing into you now.
Oh God, I've fucked your child-vagina!
I roll off my wife of a day,
my hand still on your head, soothing your tears.
I do so want you to enjoy our love,
in as many of its forms as possible.
Just understand now, that this was affection.
Mostly semen, a little blood down there.
You 'll be okay, you did wonderful my sweet.
Our mismatched sizes is nought but a hurdle,
to be overcome with practise, patience and time.
You're only eight years old, after all, Amy.
Then you give us a dose of reality with what extreme size differences can really mean.
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