Author Topic: Softly, children . . .  (Read 1112 times)

Offline ChulBulee

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Softly, children . . .
« on: June 17, 2018, 08:14:47 am »



This is a short story I wrote many years ago. It was posted on an English Erotica site.



Softly,
Children . . .
 



 
It was as I had seen it be. As it should not have been.
Perhaps.
 
The two. The boy. And the girl. Innocent of their childhood. And unbelievably adult. Perhaps because I was seeing them, judging them with the eyes of an adult.
 
All of nine springs. And into their tenth. And once again, as I had seen many a time before, captivated by a magnetism totally their own. Yet, as always, enthralling me too.
 
Soon, I knew, he would be in her.

Soon . . .
 
The vest, almost pristine white, the grey, drab short pants would desert him. As would the soiled, sky-blue sleeveless frock, and the tiny white knickers desert her.
Revealing two nubile bodies warmed by the July afternoon. And heated terribly by an awesome desire to be one.
 
I had seen it all before. I would be seeing it all again now.
 
Soon . . .
 
The small, slim, gold shaft of penis nudging, nuzzling, neatly sliding into small, shy yet self-assured vulva.
 
They were cousins. My neighbours. Of the same age. Very together. Sharing everything. Even their bodies.
 
I had stumbled upon them by accident. On a hot and humid afternoon a few weeks gone by. Just a few days after we had moved into our new home.
 
Voices in their outhouse.

Pushing twenty, I was even then very much taken by a juvenile interest in mysteries. I looked. And I saw.
 
A chink between the frame and the wall in which nestled the only window of the outhouse. I have never seen that window open. Its solitary glass pane is dingy on the outside, and papered over inside with a film poster from bygone days

Whenever I peek in; there’s a moment of dank darkness. And then dawns a stupefying, sensual world beyond.
 
Them. Then him on her. Then him in her.
 
The small, slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
I had heard. I had read. And I had wished, desired, hankered, fantasised.
 
And now, here, these two, nine-year olds deep in the throes of it.

She, almost spread-eagled. A lovely golden-pink X. Arms wide above her head. Under him, her legs wide asunder. Him, between them.

Him. On her. In her. Hands resting a shade south of the translucence of her armpits. Slim, almost delicate arms bracing an equally slim, almost delicate torso. The lower halves of their bodies tenuously joined. The slim, gold shaft of his erect penis neatly pistoning into her receptive vulva.
 
A spring I hitherto did not knew was part of my anatomy began winding up, coiling tight somewhere in my pelvis. Obstructing, it seemed, the flow of my breath for a moment. And then giving it far greater momentum.
 
I was afraid that they might hear. The sharp intakes, the explosive exhalations. But there was no way I could control my breath. It did not dawn upon me that they were too engrossed, and too sure of their trysting place to even care. Their only care there was themselves. And what they did with themselves there.
 
Did does not do justice. Neither does happening. It happens because they will it, do it. And, with hindsight, now, they did it, because, once, at some time not known to me, it had happened.
 
The slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
My own palpitated, then distended.

She moved under him. Smooth, luminous thighs quivered, flexed, dimpled knees went up and up till the dainty little feet were flat on the gunny sack they were upon, the rounded ankles on either side of the lower part of his thighs, the coy heels caressing the twin roundures of her pert little bottom.
“Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)"
 
Faster and deeper indeed he delved into the secrets of her. His arms grew tauter, toes dug deeper into the coarse fibre of the sack. A flush of sunset limned his thighs.
Mine trembled as with ague.
 
 “Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)”
 
There was a tide, almost vicious, in his waist now. And a rhythm beautiful as he moved, rose, and fell. The slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
“Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)”
 
I would not have thought it possible. But it was.
The gold of his penis became a molten blur.

And then, the neat pistoning was no more. Nor was the rhythm and the cadence. Jerks and pulls, out. And vicious stabs, in. Faster yet and deeper still.
Somehow, the trembling of my thighs ceased. The numbing pain in the pit of my stomach gave way to a delicious tensing of the muscles in my groin, pulling apart my labia as they distend when one of my erstwhile lovers was ready to stab into me with her stiffened tongue.
" Tayz, tayz . . . " She said once again, while I, silently implored them to be slow, soft. . . as I sensed the all annihilating surge of an orgasm . . .
 
Togetherness, dissolution into each other, fulfilment in each other for them. Devastation, exhaustion; an annihilating climax for me.
 
It has been as I have seen it be. Never varying. Yet never the same . . . 




Eik nazm jis peh tabsarey chaahiyein https://yumstories.com/index.php?topic=59034.0

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Softly, children . . .
« on: June 17, 2018, 08:14:47 am »

Offline engrdanial

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #1 on: June 19, 2018, 11:24:03 pm »



This is a short story I wrote many years ago. It was posted on an English Erotica site.



Softly,
Children . . .
 



 
It was as I had seen it be. As it should not have been.
Perhaps.
 
The two. The boy. And the girl. Innocent of their childhood. And unbelievably adult. Perhaps because I was seeing them, judging them with the eyes of an adult.
 
All of nine springs. And into their tenth. And once again, as I had seen many a time before, captivated by a magnetism totally their own. Yet, as always, enthralling me too.
 
Soon, I knew, he would be in her.

Soon . . .
 
The vest, almost pristine white, the grey, drab short pants would desert him. As would the soiled, sky-blue sleeveless frock, and the tiny white knickers desert her.
Revealing two nubile bodies warmed by the July afternoon. And heated terribly by an awesome desire to be one.
 
I had seen it all before. I would be seeing it all again now.
 
Soon . . .
 
The small, slim, gold shaft of penis nudging, nuzzling, neatly sliding into small, shy yet self-assured vulva.
 
They were cousins. My neighbours. Of the same age. Very together. Sharing everything. Even their bodies.
 
I had stumbled upon them by accident. On a hot and humid afternoon a few weeks gone by. Just a few days after we had moved into our new home.
 
Voices in their outhouse.

Pushing twenty, I was even then very much taken by a juvenile interest in mysteries. I looked. And I saw.
 
A chink between the frame and the wall in which nestled the only window of the outhouse. I have never seen that window open. Its solitary glass pane is dingy on the outside, and papered over inside with a film poster from bygone days

Whenever I peek in; there’s a moment of dank darkness. And then dawns a stupefying, sensual world beyond.
 
Them. Then him on her. Then him in her.
 
The small, slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
I had heard. I had read. And I had wished, desired, hankered, fantasised.
 
And now, here, these two, nine-year olds deep in the throes of it.

She, almost spread-eagled. A lovely golden-pink X. Arms wide above her head. Under him, her legs wide asunder. Him, between them.

Him. On her. In her. Hands resting a shade south of the translucence of her armpits. Slim, almost delicate arms bracing an equally slim, almost delicate torso. The lower halves of their bodies tenuously joined. The slim, gold shaft of his erect penis neatly pistoning into her receptive vulva.
 
A spring I hitherto did not knew was part of my anatomy began winding up, coiling tight somewhere in my pelvis. Obstructing, it seemed, the flow of my breath for a moment. And then giving it far greater momentum.
 
I was afraid that they might hear. The sharp intakes, the explosive exhalations. But there was no way I could control my breath. It did not dawn upon me that they were too engrossed, and too sure of their trysting place to even care. Their only care there was themselves. And what they did with themselves there.
 
Did does not do justice. Neither does happening. It happens because they will it, do it. And, with hindsight, now, they did it, because, once, at some time not known to me, it had happened.
 
The slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
My own palpitated, then distended.

She moved under him. Smooth, luminous thighs quivered, flexed, dimpled knees went up and up till the dainty little feet were flat on the gunny sack they were upon, the rounded ankles on either side of the lower part of his thighs, the coy heels caressing the twin roundures of her pert little bottom.
“Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)"
 
Faster and deeper indeed he delved into the secrets of her. His arms grew tauter, toes dug deeper into the coarse fibre of the sack. A flush of sunset limned his thighs.
Mine trembled as with ague.
 
 “Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)”
 
There was a tide, almost vicious, in his waist now. And a rhythm beautiful as he moved, rose, and fell. The slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
“Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)”
 
I would not have thought it possible. But it was.
The gold of his penis became a molten blur.

And then, the neat pistoning was no more. Nor was the rhythm and the cadence. Jerks and pulls, out. And vicious stabs, in. Faster yet and deeper still.
Somehow, the trembling of my thighs ceased. The numbing pain in the pit of my stomach gave way to a delicious tensing of the muscles in my groin, pulling apart my labia as they distend when one of my erstwhile lovers was ready to stab into me with her stiffened tongue.
" Tayz, tayz . . . " She said once again, while I, silently implored them to be slow, soft. . . as I sensed the all annihilating surge of an orgasm . . .
 
Togetherness, dissolution into each other, fulfilment in each other for them. Devastation, exhaustion; an annihilating climax for me.
 
It has been as I have seen it be. Never varying. Yet never the same . . . 


Good tempoed well crafted stuff ..
I am not very good in English and sometimes such literature goes a feet above my head . .Yet this piece of art stirred something deep inside my aging flesh for sosome instance . ..
Though it's something that I never witnessed or faced inin my 44yrs life yet the imagination aand situation through not in my native or well understood language yet it commucommunicated a genuine impact ...
Would be more thrilling for desi readers if in Urdu Font or Roman version although  it may need a complete  re-creation
But I am sure it's gonna unique and Sensational piece
Thumbs up ...

YUM Stories

Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #1 on: June 19, 2018, 11:24:03 pm »

Offline ChulBulee

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #2 on: June 20, 2018, 01:09:31 am »



This is a short story I wrote many years ago. It was posted on an English Erotica site.



Softly,
Children . . .
 



 
It was as I had seen it be. As it should not have been.
Perhaps.
 
The two. The boy. And the girl. Innocent of their childhood. And unbelievably adult. Perhaps because I was seeing them, judging them with the eyes of an adult.
 
All of nine springs. And into their tenth. And once again, as I had seen many a time before, captivated by a magnetism totally their own. Yet, as always, enthralling me too.
 
Soon, I knew, he would be in her.

Soon . . .
 
The vest, almost pristine white, the grey, drab short pants would desert him. As would the soiled, sky-blue sleeveless frock, and the tiny white knickers desert her.
Revealing two nubile bodies warmed by the July afternoon. And heated terribly by an awesome desire to be one.
 
I had seen it all before. I would be seeing it all again now.
 
Soon . . .
 
The small, slim, gold shaft of penis nudging, nuzzling, neatly sliding into small, shy yet self-assured vulva.
 
They were cousins. My neighbours. Of the same age. Very together. Sharing everything. Even their bodies.
 
I had stumbled upon them by accident. On a hot and humid afternoon a few weeks gone by. Just a few days after we had moved into our new home.
 
Voices in their outhouse.

Pushing twenty, I was even then very much taken by a juvenile interest in mysteries. I looked. And I saw.
 
A chink between the frame and the wall in which nestled the only window of the outhouse. I have never seen that window open. Its solitary glass pane is dingy on the outside, and papered over inside with a film poster from bygone days

Whenever I peek in; there’s a moment of dank darkness. And then dawns a stupefying, sensual world beyond.
 
Them. Then him on her. Then him in her.
 
The small, slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
I had heard. I had read. And I had wished, desired, hankered, fantasised.
 
And now, here, these two, nine-year olds deep in the throes of it.

She, almost spread-eagled. A lovely golden-pink X. Arms wide above her head. Under him, her legs wide asunder. Him, between them.

Him. On her. In her. Hands resting a shade south of the translucence of her armpits. Slim, almost delicate arms bracing an equally slim, almost delicate torso. The lower halves of their bodies tenuously joined. The slim, gold shaft of his erect penis neatly pistoning into her receptive vulva.
 
A spring I hitherto did not knew was part of my anatomy began winding up, coiling tight somewhere in my pelvis. Obstructing, it seemed, the flow of my breath for a moment. And then giving it far greater momentum.
 
I was afraid that they might hear. The sharp intakes, the explosive exhalations. But there was no way I could control my breath. It did not dawn upon me that they were too engrossed, and too sure of their trysting place to even care. Their only care there was themselves. And what they did with themselves there.
 
Did does not do justice. Neither does happening. It happens because they will it, do it. And, with hindsight, now, they did it, because, once, at some time not known to me, it had happened.
 
The slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
My own palpitated, then distended.

She moved under him. Smooth, luminous thighs quivered, flexed, dimpled knees went up and up till the dainty little feet were flat on the gunny sack they were upon, the rounded ankles on either side of the lower part of his thighs, the coy heels caressing the twin roundures of her pert little bottom.
“Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)"
 
Faster and deeper indeed he delved into the secrets of her. His arms grew tauter, toes dug deeper into the coarse fibre of the sack. A flush of sunset limned his thighs.
Mine trembled as with ague.
 
 “Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)”
 
There was a tide, almost vicious, in his waist now. And a rhythm beautiful as he moved, rose, and fell. The slim, gold shaft of erect penis neatly pistoning into receptive vulva.
 
“Tayz, tayz . . . (Faster, faster)”
 
I would not have thought it possible. But it was.
The gold of his penis became a molten blur.

And then, the neat pistoning was no more. Nor was the rhythm and the cadence. Jerks and pulls, out. And vicious stabs, in. Faster yet and deeper still.
Somehow, the trembling of my thighs ceased. The numbing pain in the pit of my stomach gave way to a delicious tensing of the muscles in my groin, pulling apart my labia as they distend when one of my erstwhile lovers was ready to stab into me with her stiffened tongue.
" Tayz, tayz . . . " She said once again, while I, silently implored them to be slow, soft. . . as I sensed the all annihilating surge of an orgasm . . .
 
Togetherness, dissolution into each other, fulfilment in each other for them. Devastation, exhaustion; an annihilating climax for me.
 
It has been as I have seen it be. Never varying. Yet never the same . . . 


Good tempoed well crafted stuff ..
I am not very good in English and sometimes such literature goes a feet above my head . .Yet this piece of art stirred something deep inside my aging flesh for sosome instance . ..
Though it's something that I never witnessed or faced inin my 44yrs life yet the imagination aand situation through not in my native or well understood language yet it commucommunicated a genuine impact ...
Would be more thrilling for desi readers if in Urdu Font or Roman version although  it may need a complete  re-creation
But I am sure it's gonna unique and Sensational piece
Thumbs up ...


It is a true story, I spied on those two for more than a year and would have for more if we hadn't moved to different locality. It was something absolutely magical.


Eik nazm jis peh tabsarey chaahiyein https://yumstories.com/index.php?topic=59034.0

Offline engrdanial

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #3 on: June 20, 2018, 03:54:59 am »
اسکو رومن  رسم الخط یا اردو میں دوبارہ آج کی سوچ اور تجربات و نشاھدات کی چاشنی سے لکھ کر دیکھیں
امید ھے شاھکار ھی ھو گا


Offline ChulBulee

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #4 on: June 20, 2018, 11:37:29 am »


اسکو رومن  رسم الخط یا اردو میں دوبارہ آج کی سوچ اور تجربات و نشاھدات کی چاشنی سے لکھ کر دیکھیں
امید ھے شاھکار ھی ھو گا




اردو میں اتنا تپّڑ نہیں ہے کہ مضموں کو شایانِ شان طریقہ سے نبھا سکے


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Offline engrdanial

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #5 on: June 20, 2018, 11:57:44 am »


اسکو رومن  رسم الخط یا اردو میں دوبارہ آج کی سوچ اور تجربات و نشاھدات کی چاشنی سے لکھ کر دیکھیں
امید ھے شاھکار ھی ھو گا



اردو میں اتنا تپّڑ نہیں ہے کہ مضموں کو شایانِ شان طریقہ سے نبھا سکے

چلئیے جی
ھمارے نصیب
جو ھے
اسی پر اکتفا کرتے ھین
[/r]

Keep it up with your best personal  capacities
Seen in a topic where behria did marvlous job.
But it was in Roman so easily translated.
Thanks for replying.

Offline Hirni

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #6 on: June 24, 2018, 02:19:01 am »









Posting such a piece here is sheer waste of time, talent and energy.







Please visit my profile and view my posts.

Offline engrdanial

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #7 on: June 24, 2018, 07:08:49 am »









Posting such a piece here is sheer waste of time, talent and energy.
وجہ مہاراج؟
پھر وہ جگھہ بھی تو بتائیں جہاجہاں اسکس پوسٹ  کرین
واٹس اپ؟
فیس بک؟


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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #8 on: July 10, 2018, 02:34:40 am »





Posting such a piece here is sheer waste of time, talent and energy.


وجہ مہاراج؟
پھر وہ جگھہ بھی تو بتائیں جہاجہاں اسکس پوسٹ  کرین
واٹس اپ؟
فیس بک؟





Hazaron English Erotica sites hein, saikrron nihayat umda hein




Offline Hirni

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Re: Softly, children . . .
« Reply #9 on: August 05, 2018, 02:09:57 pm »

Posting such a piece here is sheer waste of time, talent and energy.


وجہ مہاراج؟
پھر وہ جگھہ بھی تو بتائیں جہاجہاں اسکس پوسٹ  کرین
واٹس اپ؟
فیس بک؟


Hazaron English Erotica sites hein, saikrron nihayat umda hein



Very True
Please visit my profile and view my posts.