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Ronald W. Hull

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Books by Ronald W. Hull
Nympho Stalker (Warning: Sexual and Child Abuse)
By Ronald W. Hull
Sunday, August 12, 2012

Rated "R" by the Author.

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Recent stories by Ronald W. Hull
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Not for the faint of heart...

Featured in my upcoming book: Verge of Apocalypse Tales

       Hi, welcome to my room.  It's rubberized, I guess, so that I won't hurt myself.  They have left me with this microphone to speak into, built into the wall, and this nice large screen with a thick acrylic cover that I can manipulate with my fingers in order to edit my words spoken through the microphone, but I cannot reach you on the Internet because it is blocked.        I'm also without a bra and wearing only the thinnest of bikini panties.  They are afraid that I might strangle myself with a bra.  That's okay, because they are watching my perfect 36Ds and I like that.  They don't know that I could take off these panties, wad them into a ball, force them down my throat, and choke to death.  Anyway, it's hot in here, I'm horny, and I guess I'll just take them off.  (She takes off her panties, pulls them down over her head and face, blows in and out through the thin fabric like a fish with gills, and generally, thumbs her nose at her captors watching intently from outside—she is mightily aroused and amused).
They told me to write my story, and that's why I'm writing this to you.  For I know that you will like me.  My name is, Amore… just Amore, like Cher.  I am an upcoming starlet.  Well, not a star yet, but an upcoming starlet, nonetheless.  You may have seen me on one of my many YouTube postings, or “Liked Me” on my Facebook page for even “Twitted me” on Twitter .  Until I become a big star and have my own reality show, I have been working since I was 14 taking pictures of stars and selling them for money.  Because I'm so attractive, it's been easy for me to get some of the best pictures in Hollywood. Oh… I'm not from Hollywood, but I came here early to get in on the action.  Oh, how those actors love little blonde girls!  The younger the better.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.  They want my story.  I think they want it so they can analyze me.  You know, so they can pick my brain.  My brain is hard to pick.  I got into Mensa easily, no questions asked.  My IQ is off the charts.  They said that I am “gifted,” whatever that means. I was a precocious child. School was always so easy I got bored and got in trouble all the time.  Quit school and hitched a ride out here to the West Coast.  I think I'm still here on the West Coast.  Hard to tell in these places with no contact to the outside world or anyone.  Anyway, I stole a camera and the rest is history.  Got a make a living.
There, I fixed some of the words that I didn't say quite right.  I kind of like this thing—this listening wallboard—my only stimulus.  By playing around with the words I can make them say almost anything; might even fool you.  Fool you, who?  Fool me, really?  Never mind.
Anyway, my given name is not Amore, it's Sandra Morrison, or just plain Sandy, not my nom de plume.  I was born to Jackson and Madeline Morrison in an ordinary Midwestern town.  I called my mother Mad, the name she used in the strip club she worked for, I think, and my father Jack, or Jack Off —the thing he always liked to do in my presence.  My first remembrance of him was when I was about two or so. Whenever my mama was out of the house—most nights—he would take me out of my crib and to his bed where he would play with me gently.  I had to give him credit for that.  He always played with me gently until it was time for me to leave him for others.  I still long for his touch sometimes.  At those times I called him Big Daddy.
When I was about five, Mama found him with a small boy and divorced him, thinking he was gay.  So, after the divorce, he got rights for me to visit him on weekends and holidays.  It was then when I learned to love sex with his big daddy.  But he never did anything to me other than just touch me gently or have me touch it and I'm grateful for that because that is why I love old Jack Off still even though I've grown to love many others.  Grandma always took care of me at home when Mama was out dancing, so I really enjoyed going to Big Daddy's whenever I could.
Mama Mad was a dancing fool and always wanted to go dancing on her nights off.  We would go over to a girlfriend's in the evening and the two of them would go out dancing.  Nancy, Mama's girl friend, had a teenage daughter and three little ones.  I always enjoyed playing with the little ones, showing them numbers and arithmetic, how to write, how use the phone in the emergency, and things like that.  Sometimes we would get out the crayons and just draw.  Anyway, Nancy had this boyfriend who had come over for dinner before we got there.  He decided to stay until they got back from dancing, sitting in the big chair in the living room with a drink he was sipping, watching television in the dark.  As I was teaching the kids, I couldn't help noticing how handsome he was, sitting there quietly and minding his own business.  He had a kind angular tanned face, a trim body of a boy, blue eyes and a smile that lit up the room—although he didn't show it much—topped off with straw blonde hair, kind of combed off to the side.
Sometime, about 9pm, the teenager took the little ones off to bed in the back room.  Since I was visiting, she made a bed for me on the couch and tucked me in.  She went off to bed and the handsome fellow turned on a sex channel on the cable TV and settled back to watch it sipping his drink.  I pretended to sleep for some time, but my curiosity about him got the best of me.  So I decided that I would be the first to speak.
I quietly called out from where I lay about 10 feet from him on the couch.  “May I see your pee-pee?"
Hearing me, the gentleman stirred, and quietly asked, “What?”
“May I see your pee-pee?”  I said a bit louder so that he could hear clearly what I wanted.
There was silence for some time and I was about to ask him again when he suddenly said, “Okay.”
I carefully crawled off the couch and walked barefoot over to where he was watching the sex movies on TV.  I looked up at his handsome face shining in the light of the television and smiled as I gently popped the button on the top of his jeans and slowly zipped down his zipper so that I could reach into the top of his briefs and pull out his thing.  His thing was flaccid, but big enough to get me excited.  I inspected it and his balls and quietly declared, “Geez you're big!”  Something that I couldn't say about Daddy's most of the time.  Having completed my inspection and satisfied my curiosity, I gently put his things back in his briefs and zipped him back up again.  And then, fastened the button back in place.  I was about to return to the couch, when he said:
“May I see yours?”
I was eager to please him, so I stood close to the chair and pulled down my shorts and cotton panties in front so that he could see in the flickering light from the TV.  He reached down and gently placed his finger in my crack sideways in a way that old Jack Off never did.  I felt the power of that finger and I fell in love.  After a brief moment, he removed his finger and  I pulled up my panties, and slipped off to the couch and back under the covers.  I was afraid that the teenager would come out of the back room or that my mama would come home suddenly.  I tried to go to sleep. but my love overwhelmed me and I had to ask him again.  I called out, “Can I see you again?”
He didn't say a word, but got up from the arm chair and walked quietly into the next room, the kitchen.  He wanted to get away from the doorway to the back bedroom where the teenager and the little ones were in case they heard us.  The light was on in the kitchen and he sat down on a kitchen chair.  When I came over, he said gently, “May I see again?”
This time, I pulled my shorts and cotton panties all the way down to the floor and stepped out of them as he placed his finger there again.  This time, I couldn't help myself it felt so good.  I found myself climbing up on his lap and wrapping my legs around his waist tightly as I cocked my head back to one side and planted my best Hollywood kiss on his lips.  Though partially closed eyes, I could see the startled look on his face, until it softened and he let me kiss him in the best way I could.  After drowning in his sweet liquor tasting lips, I pulled back and declared my love.  “I love you.  I love you.  I want to be with you.  I want to go with you.  I want to marry you.…”  The words tumbled out of my mouth like I didn't have control or good sense.  But I knew exactly what I was saying.  Sometime earlier, while I was teaching the kids, I fell in love just watching him.  And now I was telling him to his face.
His look became strained and he gently gripped me by my waist and lifted me off of him and back to the floor where I quickly pulled on my shorts and panties.  We said nothing and I went back to the couch and he went back to the arm chair.  Once again, I tried to sleep, but couldn't—just pretended.  Sometime later, it must've been about a half hour, he was kneeling by the side of the couch and touching me again as he softly kissed me on my half asleep lips.
After that, Mama Mad and Nancy came home and we had to leave.  I remember teaching my phone number real loud to the kids so that he would hear it.  But I guess he didn't, because he never called although I waited by the phone for days hoping that he would.  I never saw him again.  He was my first love.  But not my last.
One day, I was playing ball with my cousin, Robbie, in the backyard.  I was eight and I think he was about ten.  Anyway, he threw the ball into the little shed where Mama kept the lawnmower and garden tools.  I was wearing a short plaid school uniform skirt and my favorite yellow panties.  I was in the shed digging around in the pots and bags of fertilizer and things looking for the ball when I saw a shadow from the doorway, and looking through my legs saw that Robbie was eyeing me like he never did before.
Before I could say anything, Robbie blurted out, “Geez… Look at that ass! Can I get in those pretty panties?”
I found the ball quickly, turned around, and was about to throw it in his face when he came so close that I couldn't and he pushed me down on some bags of fertilizer.  I wanted to yell out but I didn't.  There were others out there in the yard and in the house that would have heard, but I didn't want to be accused of flirting with him because, as you know, I was in love with the guy who never called.  Robbie wasted no time in pulling up my skirt, pulling my panties down and sticking his finger directly inside me.  It hurt at first, but I didn't yell out. I just lay there like a dummy and let him play.  After a little while he moved the finger and it started to feel good.  I think he got scared because others were around, so he pulled his finger out, got a strange look on his face, and pulled my panties back up and patted my skirt back down.  Robbie stood up, with that strange look still on his face, and walked out.  He didn't even bother to pull me up like a gentleman.  Cousin Robbie just walked out and I had to brush the dust of the old shed off me and get up. He didn't know that I was starting to like what he was doing and about tell him so.  I never got a chance to tell Robbie that because they left soon and I never saw those cousins again.  So, I had to find someone new to love.
It came when I was ten.  By that time, I had left the old limp Jack Off behind for a number of guys who liked to stick their finger in me if I would suck on them and watch them jerk off.  I did it with guys at school, in the neighborhood, and relatives that would come to the house.  I used the shed a bit, the bathroom, a bedroom, a closet, wherever we could hide and I could give them a little touch.  They always came back for more.  Some of them even told me they loved me, but I would have none of it, because I wanted to love them all for giving me a thrill, but loved my firs most of all—the one who wouldn’t call.  I did likewise.  Mama Mad caught me a couple of times, scared the guy I was with so bad he ran off and never came back.  Spanked my little bottom so hard that it got all red and sore.  She would put me to bed after that, start crying like crazy, and then start feeling me down there just like old Jack Off always did.  I got so excited when Mama would spank me I couldn't believe it.  Her touch was welcome too.
(Amore looked around the room for the cameras—she knew they were there—she just couldn't see them.)  I suppose you want to know when I lost my virginity?  Well, if all the poking and probing hadn't done it, there did come a time when Grandma got sick and went to the hospital.  I was ten, so Mama Mad went off to her stripping job and left me alone in charge of the house and myself.  The first night she was gone, I flipped on the cable TV to the sex channel and was watching for a while and missing my lost first love, when I got an idea.  There was this guy, Tom Short, who really wasn't because he was 16 and played on the basketball court down the street every day when I came home from school.  He was kind of cute and I would always stop and watch him play for a little while.  One day, when I was watching, he ran over and handed me a slip of paper.  On the paper was a little heart that he had drawn and a phone number.  I assumed it was his phone number, so I put it in my diary and kept it, hoping that my lover would eventually call me and give me his phone number so that I could call him back and we could get back together—maybe I could get married to him and we could live together forever.  That night, I remembered that I had the number that Tom gave me, and gave him a call.
To get Tom to come over, I suggested that I was there alone, scared of being alone and watching the sex channel.  There was some potboiler movie on with subtitles and a scroll underneath that I was having a hard time reading while thinking of something else to do like calling Tom.  When Tom heard what I was doing and that I was alone, he seemed quite willing to help me in any way that he could.  Not to disappoint him, I ran into my bedroom and found the cute little sheer baby doll nightie with flowers on it and matching sheer panties that Mama Mad had given me for my 10th birthday so that she could photograph me in various poses and send them off on the Internet to her boyfriends like I was a beauty queen.  That's when I really began to love photography and dress up.  Tom said that he could come over; that his mother let him go anywhere he wanted in the evening, just as long as he was back home by midnight.
When the doorbell rang, I made Tom, wait.  I decided to put on a white terrycloth robe that my grandma gave me at the same 10th birthday party. I had made some popcorn to put out and a couple of sodas so that Tom would have something to drink and snack on while we watched the sex movies.  After he rang the doorbell about three times, I went to the door and let him in, making sure that I double locked the door like Mama Mad always said, so that no man would be able to break in and rape me.  And give me time to hide Tom if she came home early.
“Hi, Tom.”  I said.  “I'm so glad you decided to come over and keep me company.  Mama won't be home until after 2am and I was getting very frightened being alone.”
“Oh, Sandy, that's okay.  I was so glad to get your call that I would've done anything to come over here and help you out.  What's that I smell?  Popcorn?  My favorite.”  He kind of ignored my robe and me and rushed on into the living room without me. When I got there, Tom was standing in front of the TV with a handful of popcorn and with his jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out, watching intently what was going on, on the screen.
I asked, “Haven't you ever seen a sex movie before?”
“No, we don't have cable and nobody that I know does either—except you.  You must be lucky.”  He mumbled through a full mouthful of popcorn.
I took his hand, and pulled Tom with me over to the couch where we both sat down and Tom began feeding his face with both hands and washing it down with soda as he went.  The whole time, he kept his eyes on that TV screen like his life depended upon it and not once even glanced at me.  Finally, after about 15 minutes or so, he seemed to have had enough of the popcorn and soda, put his feet up on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch.
I had been nibbling on the popcorn myself and wet my whistle with a little bit of that no brand lime soda Mama bought cheap.  I leaned back myself, and noticed that a large bump had appeared in Tom's crotch and I could see his hand slip down to rub it as he watched some of the seamier scenes in the old, subtitled movie.  I guess he was straining to read the words because he still didn't pay any attention to me. I opened my robe a bit, but since I didn't have any boobs, I had nothing to show him that was anything like that big boobed woman on the screen.  I excused myself loudly and went to the bathroom.  Once there, I removed the robe and used some of mama's makeup to powder my face, paint my lips, and mascara my eyelashes just like Mama Mad did for my photo and video shoots.
When I came out of the bathroom, I could see that Tom had his hand in his jeans under his belt and was intently watching the screen.  I had purposely turned the lights off for a more romantic effect, so the only light was the flickering of the television screen.  I made no sound with my feet on the carpet; just walked over to the space between him and the flickering light and struck a few poses.  When he saw me there in my baby doll, and how sheer it was, he switched his attention from what was on the screen to me— to my delight.  I don't know if he could see my eyes at all in the dark, but they were sparkling and I'm sure the scent of the perfume was reaching him, too.  I danced closer and unzipped his jeans and pulled out his thing, now big, stroking it rapidly.  I stopped that by going down on him, tasting his salty liquid and feeling it throb in my mouth.  His hands found my butt and tender place and his fingers did the talking as he stared into my eyes with the look of the devil in his.
Before I knew what happened, he had pulled my panties off, and pulled me down on him, thrusting as he did. Tom's thing was so big it hurt like hell.  But I relaxed and begin to enjoy it just like I always did with the fingers.  Just when I was feeling really good and he was pushing his hips up and down like a jackhammer, I felt him come hot and sloppy inside me.  It was the most exciting thing I ever felt.  Tom pulled this thing out, wiped it off on my nightie that had somehow come off in our exertion like it was a rag, and slipped it back into his underwear and jeans.  I didn't care, I was still seeing stars as I dripped all over the couch and onto the carpet.
Tom was looking around wildly like he needed to go to the bathroom—and he did.  After he came out of the bathroom, he apologized with something like, “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.  I don't know what got into me.  You're too young.”  And then he left—just walked out the door without even kissing me.
After that, I took a different route home from school so that I didn't walk by the court where he played basketball with the other boys.  A couple of nights later, when I had another guy over, I heard knocking on the door and heard him calling and crying, but I told him to go away and that I never wanted to see him again, and that I would tell my mama about him if he came around again.  After my experience with Tom, I got the numbers of a bunch of guys and had them over one by one.  I bought extra soda so that Mama wouldn't see so much of it missing. I always carefully cleaned up all the stains after we had fun.  I always washed that baby doll and air-dried it outside in the shed were mama never looked.  After a while, I couldn't clean it anymore, so I went to the dollar store and bought a couple just like it so that Mama would always think that it hadn't been used.  After a couple of months, Grandma came back from the hospital, and I had to take care of her, so my fun was over for a while—except in the afternoon sometimes when I'd do it in the shed.  Mama Mad found out anyway, because I missed my period and she suspected right away that I was fooling around.  She took me to a doctor and that quack found out and put me under.  I woke up so sore that I couldn't have sex for a week.  Mama told me that I had been “fixed” and that if I ever wanted to have sex again I must make sure that the guy wore a condom because there were all kinds of nasty diseases that I could get by fooling around with every guy there was.  I didn't like to, but I paid attention to what Mama said and haven't missed a period since.  Haven't had any babies either.  I guess she fixed me good.
Grandma died.  Jack Off remarried and his new wife was an old biddy that didn't want me around.  And Mama Mad kept trying to dress me up like a little girl  for her pictures and movies while I wanted to go the other way and become a young lady.  By the time I was fourteen I had developed some boobs and was becoming both a young lady and quite a photographer.  I would set up a movie camera and make my own movies, and then post them on the Internet.  I grew tired of Mama Mad's intentions to keep me from growing up, and I split.  I packed a suitcase and hitched a ride to Los Angeles.  I never even called her to tell her where I was.
Wearing jeans and a jacket and my blonde hair tucked up under a beret, I looked more like a boy than a girl.  I just walked out to the main highway and stuck my thumb out like I'd seen in the movies.  Before long, a guy would come along, eye me, and then pick me up.  They bought me food and even let me stay with them in a motel on the way.  I gave them sex if they wanted it.  My third ride was an eighteen-wheeler and it took me all the way to the Coast.  I got along just fine with all the other runaways in the Hollywood area.  Sure, I had sex for rides, food, and clothes.  Sometimes even made a little money.  But I stayed away from pimps because I saw what they did with other girls and I wanted no part of it.  That's when I five fingered the Nikon from a camera shop on Rodeo Drive while a friend of mine, another runaway, distracted the clerk by asking him to show him a lot of cameras, getting them out of the locked case where they had been.  I thanked my friend with a little afternoon delight and was in business. 
At first I freelanced by myself.  Sticking my camera in a oversize purse and going to parties.  Once there, I would be in position to get shots of some of the upcoming stars and starlets that the paparazzi couldn't get.  It seemed that the Red Carpet crowd couldn't get enough young new meat off the sidewalks to get hooked on all kinds of drugs and weird practices.  I stayed clear of that.  I didn't even have a tattoo or any piercings, (She does a little pirouette in the middle of the room, stark naked, so that the cameras can see every inch of her body) and I still don't have one.  I would do nothing to disturb my natural beauty.  Well, I did one thing.  I was only a 34B, so as soon as I had enough money I went to a famous Hollywood plastic surgeon and he did a little breast implant and now I feel more normal—more like a woman.  He was so good, I went back a few more times to pinch a little here, tuck a little there, until he improved on perfection.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Those parties were great.  I met some really in people and got some fabulous pictures that I sold to the tabloids.  That turned out to be my problem.  As soon as they got word that I was selling the pictures, they turned on me and blacklisted me from the party circles.  They were fickle anyway, and did that a lot with the people they picked up from the street.
Those pictures brought me a considerable amount of money that enabled me to get an apartment and settle down at 14.  Of course I told everyone that I was 18 and they believed me because of my makeup and the way I carried myself.  My Social Security card and California driver's license with a fake birthday on it didn't hurt either.  Guys would always ask me my age, and I would flip out that driver's license and prove them wrong.  Hee, hee… They were so stupid.  Anyway, after I got my boobs fixed, that problem pretty much went away.  I thought about going into the porn business and even tried a couple of audition videos but that didn't interest me as much as becoming a real star, like Marilyn Monroe, one way or another.  I started growing a lot of hair and that bothered me.  I bleached it for a while, but that didn't work very well, so I went to an electrolysis clinic and had it removed.
So, I became Amore and joined the growing crowd of the Hollywood paparazzi.  Even though I was blacklisted from parties, I already knew some of the stars and starlets, and they would let me take pictures as part of their promotion, as long as they had a say in what I turned over to the tabloids.  Soon, I was making six figures and able to buy myself a little place up in the Hollywood Hills.  At first, I was able to hang with the street paparazzi, and even recruited some of them for my crew.  However, when they saw that I got special favors and pictures from some of the stars, they began to get jealous, and before too long, if they saw me show up with my crew at any of the normal places, they would do everything in their power—including getting violent—to keep me from getting any photos at all.  I always seem to stir emotions like that.
Well, my emotions could get stirred too. There was this star, Lance Beau, that came on the scene suddenly, and in one year starred in three blockbuster hit movies: The Day Before I Knew You, Gobi Raiders, and A Star Fell.  And did I fall.  The first time I saw him on the Red Carpet, I knew.  He was my love, my first love.  Like that night when I first saw him, we didn't have to speak a word.  I just had to have him and would do anything to make him mine after all these years.  You know about all the men that came my way.  Well, I was ready to throw them all out the window for one evening with Lance.  The first thing I would ask him was, “Can I see your pee, pee?” to see if he would remember.
That first time I tried to get his attention on the Red Carpet, by shouting out his name like so many others,  Lance didn't even turn my way and kept walking away from me, so I didn't even get a picture.  I put my crew to work and soon got his address, his private cell phone number, and his private e-mail address and passwords.  These guys were good and I paid them handsomely for it.  I knew that he would like me as soon as he remembered who I was—that little girl of his dreams.  All I had to do was make contact—reach him—and he would remember and everything would be all right.  Right?
I started by sending Lance an e-mail:
Subject: Getting Reacquainted
Hi Lance,
I'm just writing to let you know that I have finally found you after ten years and I'm so happy that I have.  If you remember that night like I do, once seeing that I have all grown up, you will want to see you again.  Please return this e-mail and I'll tell you how we can get back together.
Love Always,
I knew that the e-mail went through, because it wasn't returned.  I waited patiently for two or three days and when I didn't get any response, I decided to send him my website and e-mail addresses.  To sweeten things up, I went on to his Facebook page and told him that I “Liked” him a lot.  I started sending e-mails every day with different pictures and things, but I never heard a thing from him.  Finally, after about five days of this I received an e-mail.  I was very happy until I read it.
Subject: Harassment
Ms. Amore,
Mr. Beau does not know who you are or how you got his e-mail address, but he is very upset by the e-mails that you are sending him and wishes that you cease and desist immediately or he may have to take legal action.
The Abuse Team
I was undaunted by this message.  After all, it came from some anonymous, “The Abuse Team.”  And not from my beloved Lance.  I redoubled my efforts.  First, with the help of my assistants, I staked out his compound in the Hollywood Hills.  However, whenever the gate opened, he always came out in a limousine with darkened windows.  I never saw him in a sports car or even an SUV, just enjoying himself.  I wanted to change that.  Perhaps it was because a number of paparazzi had also staked out his driveway that he resorted to such stringent tactics.  There was always a chase of the limousine, but never any opportunities to meet him or get pictures.  The limousine usually lost us on the Hollywood Freeway or security gated studios or parking lots.
I decided to take a new approach.  First, I had my assistants get me the layout of his compound.  And then, I laid out my plan for how I would enter the compound and find him and his most vulnerable moment when I could proclaim my love once again.  I decided to bide my time until the moment was just right.  First, I thought I would tease him, just to get his curiosity.
My assistants were very good and got me detailed plans of the whole compound, including all the security points and cameras—something I thought I could make use of.  Thanks to Google, I got the aerial shots of his neighbors as well.  Next door was the compound of a retired executive and his wife.  He was 93 and she was 90.  After a little surveillance, I found out the place didn't have very much security, was run down and easily entered.  I also noticed that the lights in the place went out promptly at 9pm.  Well suited for my needs.  Behind its walls, the place hadn't been cared for very well and was quite grown over—perfect for my needs.  After learning this information, about 9:30pm the next night, I had an assistant drop me off on a back street in my cute little second-story outfit with a backpack carrying my high-powered telescopic camera with beam microphone to catch Lance in his most intimate moments.
As I hit the sidewalk and crept towards the compound of the old folks, my heart accelerated with excitement and I found that my burglar garb became quite confining and hot.  I just couldn't wait to take it off… But I couldn't just yet.  There was a gap between the rear gate and the wall at the old folks place, and I easily slipped through it and was moving up the driveway when I encountered a rather large dog that appeared to be a Labrador with his tail wagging in a friendly greeting.  I immediately ran over to him, roughed up his ears and rubbed his huge head while he gave me some wet kisses.  The whole building was completely dark, but there was of bit of moonlight that enabled me to see without using a flashlight.  My night vision is quite good and I rarely need any help to get around at night.  I then slipped into the overgrown garden toward the back wall.  When I reached the adjoining 12 foot wall to Lance's place, there was a huge live oak tree with a massive branch jutting over the wall in a location directly opposite what I figured to be Lance's master bedroom on the second floor of his mansion. No security camera was aimed at that spot. I easily climbed the tree to see.
Just over the wall on Lance's property, there was a branch in the huge limb over the driveway that afforded a nice place to sit and look at the mansion directly ahead.  Unfortunately, except for some security lights, the place was dark.  Lance was gone.  I took off the dark sweater and jeans and draped them over the branch and settled in for a long night of waiting, naked.  About two or three hours later, I put the sweater and jeans back on because it had cooled off considerably, and so had I.  Careful not to reveal the bright screen on my telephone, I called my assistant who bitched at me for calling him at 4am and met him at the entrance to the driveway to the old folks’ compound.
After a little checking, I found out that Lance was out of town on a shoot for his next big movie.  Fortunately, it wasn't one of those year-long things, and he would be arriving back the following Friday.  My excitement grew as Friday approached, and I couldn't wait to get back up in that tree.  Like before, I arrived at that branch in the live oak about 9:30pm, only to find Lance’s mansion dark again.  I took off my burglar garb and settled back against the limb and waited.  Finally, about 11:30pm, bright lights flashed my way and a limousine sped up the driveway and into the huge garage.  I was surprised to see a single figure leave the garage for the house.  Ah, Ha! I thought, he drives his own limousine as a chauffeur to fool the paparazzi—brilliant!
I saw lights in the first floor for a long time, but from my vantage point I couldn't see anything through the windows except an occasional shadow and sometimes his feet walking about the place with some dogs following him around.  I got cold again and had to put my sweater and jeans on before I saw the light come on upstairs about 2am.  I had a clear view of his master bedroom from my vantage point and I was sure he had a clear view of me.  He seemed preoccupied with what he was doing and didn't even look out the window as he undressed and walked off into the bathroom.  I got so excited I wanted to strip right then, but thought that I would wait until he came out of the bathroom.  After about another half hour, he did emerge, soaking wet with a towel and that's all as he fiddled with a remote and turned on a large video screen.  He then settled in a large chair with the drink that he had brought up from below and proceeded to masturbate to whatever was on the screen.  I got so excited I couldn't contain myself and started to strip without him, and even masturbated watching him through the telescopic lens of my camera.  My beam microphone even caught some of the sound from the video he was watching.  He came quickly and wiped off with the towel, turned off the video and the lights and went to bed.  I was coming myself in the tree and hoping that he was watching me from the dark.  When I trained the camera on him to see, he was fast asleep.  I called my assistant and went home.
I told you that I was going to bide my time, but after what I saw him do, and had the video to prove it, I couldn't wait to meet him and show him some of mine—the real thing.  The next night, I was in the tree by 9:15pm.  Lance was home and downstairs.  He didn't come back up until about 11pm when he immediately undressed again and headed for the shower—apparently his routine.  When Lance came back out, I was ready for him.  I had stripped completely naked and with a small light that I had mounted on the branch stretched out, spotlighted for him to see.  And, lo and behold, Lance immediately saw me when he came back into the room and rushed to the window with his towel draped across his waist, covering him.  Lance seemed quite surprised to see me as I waved and began masturbating for him to watch.
Instead of welcoming me by reciprocating, Lance went to the bedside table and grabbed a cell phone and started animatedly talking while shaking his fist.  I had lashed the camera to the tree and was getting the whole scene on tape, including what he said.  From his actions, I knew I was in trouble, so I grabbed everything and threw it in the bag, including my clothes, and skinned myself up a bit heading down the tree and through the brush naked with my backpack.  I could hear sirens in the distance and there was no time to stop and dress, so I streaked through the neighborhood until I found a place where I could hide behind some bushes and put my burglar clothes back on.  From the sound of the sirens, several police cars responded to Lance's call.  Luckily I was several blocks away in my hiding place by then, in a cold sweat over what just happened.  “Got to be more careful.”  I told myself.  So careful it would be.
Against my internal feelings, I stayed away for several nights.  Finally, when I couldn’t stand staying away any more and arrived again, I found that the old folk’s compound had been tightly secured, making it more difficult, if not impossible, to enter.  Still, I was undeterred in my fervor.  My guys secured the new security layout, including all the motion detectors and cameras for Lance's place and discovered that he was using a security service to run the whole thing owned by one of my paparazzi friends.  With the right amount of persuasion—you have to guess what that was—he agreed to turn off the security system for a period of about 15 minutes so that I could enter the compound without being detected and then, turn it back on.  At my call, he would do the same when I left.  It's sweet when you know someone you can manipulate and get things done your way.
I joined the crowd of paparazzi that staked out the compound and waited until Lance left, two days later, in the afternoon.  I wasn't sure whether to come back or not that night but I decided to act anyway—impulsive, I guess.  I had my guys keep an eye on the road and the limousine did not return before nightfall, so I decided that it was time to go—to get there before Lance did.  
Knowing that the old folks’ home had cameras and motion detectors set up, I brought a rope ladder with me with a treble hook attached, used for scaling walls by some of my paparazzi friends to the corner of the wall of the old folks' place and threw the hook over the wall.  It caught, I pulled it tight, and climbed the ladder up over the wall.  Knowing that the security system on their compound was connected to Lance's, I called my guy for my 15 minutes interval.  Within 5 minutes I was climbing a tree and letting myself down the wall into Lance's compound.  
As I gathered my things in the driveway, three dogs came rushing toward me from around the mansion.  I knelt down in a low position and they greeted me as though I was one of the Labrador's friends.  It was a good thing because one of them was a Doberman that was quite skittish.  Another was a Great Dane that was also quite nervous.  And the last was a Malamute with a huge carpet of fur that felt like a lush warm fur bed when I hugged her.  The only thing better would be to do it naked—and I planned that.  I quickly undressed and placed the ladder on my backpack under a bush behind the garage and proceeded to the back door of the mansion, which was open—remotely unlocked by my man.  I entered, but not before I hugged the Malamute one more time, feeing her warmth in the cool night air, and then kept the dogs from following me into the house.  I had left my camera behind as a hindrance, and wandered throughout the house, casing it out, before climbing the long winding stairs to the second floor and Lance's master bedroom. Knowing that the cameras would be coming back on in a minute, I sought out his large, walk-in closet and found a nice place to hide behind a shoe rack.
In my excitement, I gently masturbated while waiting for my man to arrive.  Lance didn't, and eventually, I fell asleep.
To my surprise, the light came on in the closet and woke me up.  Fortunately, all Lance did was hang his clothes up, stark naked.  He didn't see me lying there behind the shoe rack and left the closet immediately, turning out the light again.  I heard the shower come on in the bathroom and my curiosity overcame me. I crawled out of the closet and over to the open bathroom door and peered in from dog level.  I could see Lance behind the translucent shower door taking a hot shower with the clouds of vapor filling the shower and the room.  I watched for a moment, and then looked for a hiding place in the room.  Lance’s bed was king sized and on a pedestal, so I couldn't hide under there.  There were only a couple of chairs, so I couldn't hide there either.  There was a desk with a computer on it and a large screen TV in the room and that was about it.  I tiptoed over to his drink and took a quick sip.  It was a gin and tonic—not to my liking.  I put it down and made a beeline for the closet.
Lance came out of the shower, but didn't go to the closet where I was hiding behind the shoe rack again.  I saw the lights go out and crawled back to the closet doorway and peered out from the corner, my chin on the floor.  Lance had turned on the TV again and was looking out the window toward the place where I had been in the tree before.  The TV was the only flickering light in the room and fortunately it was aimed away from the closet so that I didn't think Lance could see me peering around the corner at him.  Once again, I saw him masturbating to what was on the screen that I couldn't see and I got so hot I almost crawled out from the closet and jumped him.  Instead, I just masturbated along with him as silently as I could.  Like before, he finished quickly, turned off the TV, finished his drink while silhouetted against the window in the dark, and went to bed.
A little later, I could hear him breathing deeply and knew he was asleep.  I crawled out of the closet, around the bed, and into that big leather chair that was still a bit wet and warm from his presence.  I curled up on that relish and tried to sleep.  I didn't.  I couldn't.  I was too keyed up about him lying there next to me in that bed.  I had to jump up and circle his waist with my legs and kiss him like I did before, only this time for real—as a real woman that he could love.  I cherished that thought and hung on to it as I gently called out, “May I see your pee-pee?"
Lance stirred a bit, muttered something I didn't understand, but didn't fully wake up.  I asked again.  “Ma and I see your pee-pee, Lance?”
Startled, Lance sat up in bed, and stared at me, naked, bathed in the light from the security lighting through the window.  And then he yelled, “Oh no… Oh no!”  And started jumping up and down on the bed like some frustrated child who didn't know what to do.  Finally, Lance jumped off the bed on the other side, grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand and ran downstairs.
I could hear him frantically calling the police and knew I had outworn my welcome.  He must've flipped the switch on the alarms, because they started going off all around and I heard the dogs outside start barking.  I leapt over the bed, and down the stairs four steps at a time, past Lance in the kitchen still on the phone jabbering a mile a minute, and out the door, heading for the corner of the garage where my stuff was.  The dogs were on my tail and would have dragged me down except, after I turned the corner, I crouched down and they fell over me, once again lavishing me with their wet kisses when they found out I wasn't fair game, but their loving friend.
With no time to dress, I threw the trouble hook over the wall right there, and climbed up.  The dogs forgot that I was their friend and started snapping at my heels again.  Once over the fence, I struggled with the backpack and treble hook through the heavy brush on the way to the other wall.  I could hear sirens all around.  By the time I got to the other wall and climbed up it, there were three police spotlights on me as I stuck my head up over the wall.  Since I knew I was caught, I raised my hands, climbed up and stood on top of the wall, starkers, for all the cops to see.  They didn't cut me any slack for it.  After I climbed down the wall and they handcuffed me, one officer wrapped his jacket around me since my backpack was still on top of the wall where I left it.
I don't know why Lance rejected me.  I'm perfect now and old enough.  He should've remembered that wonderful time, six years ago, when we first met.  I'm so despondent about it, I don't know what to do.  I have no options now.  I guess that's why they locked me up in this place.  I think I'm going to cry…
The next morning they found her, just as she had predicted, choked to death on her wadded up panties, shoved down her throat until she choked to death in front of the cameras and some sleepy technicians who failed to see her doing it until it was too late.  Amore, a.k.a. Sandra Morrison, 16, was pronounced dead of suicide by the staff psychiatrist at 8am the next morning.
A month later, Lance Beau, a.k.a., Lawrence Pigski, was arraigned, indicted, and charged in the sexual molestation of Sandra Morrison, a ten-year-old child.  Given a leg monitor, he was free on bail of two million dollars until his trial two months later.  At Lance Beau's trial, in spite of his very expensive lawyers, he was convicted of one count of child molestation, ordered to serve one year of public service, three years of probation, and forever be labeled as a child sexual predator.  His lawyers got him off the mandatory ten year incarceration in state prison where he would have surely been sexually assaulted.
When police questioned the widow of Jackson Morrison, they learned, and verified with coroner’s records, that Morrison had died of asphyxiation while masturbating, a common practice among teenagers to enhance the high.  Jackson Morrison had also ingested enough Viagra to cause a heart attack or stroke.
Police couldn’t find Madeline Morrison, a.k.a., Madame Amore, her strip dancing nom de plume.  She disappeared one day six months after her daughter, Sandra, disappeared.  At first, labeled  as a “runaway,” an Amber Alert couldn’t  be issued for Sandra.  Later, when police suspected that both Sandra’s parents may have killed her, Madeline didn’t  show up for work at The Misters’ Club one night.  Rumor at the club was that an anonymous old multimillionaire had taken a liking to her and he changed her identity and may have even married her.
The websites Amore set up and her accounts at Facebook, and Twitter, as well as the website her mother had to promote her little princess stayed up a few years, as long as advertising money flowed to the host’s coffers.  The many videos and pictures of Mama Mad’s little princess circulated forever, prized by websites and blogs that pandered to that kind of tragedy.
Copyright 2012 © Ronald W.  Hull


       Web Site: Ron's Place

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Reviewed by Jane Noponen Perinacci 8/12/2012
This reminds me somewhat of "Lolita". This is very thought provoking! Oh, the life of little girl!

Love ya!


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