All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older. The following is a true story.

Her hair is Harlow gold

Her lips a sweet surprise

Her hands are never cold

She's got Bette Davis eyes

Prologue

They call me Stark.

Before I start with my story, let me give you a brief description of my situation.

My teen daughter, Reagan, is a member of her school's gymnastics team and her black coach is a top-notch coach who used to be a head coach for some large university back east. He is apparently very good and has even trained girls for the Olympics.

Reagan is extremely cute with a hard gymnastics ass that has not really changed since she was twelve-years-old. She is five feet two inches tall, roughly 110 pounds, blue-eyed, and dirty-blond haired which she usually highlights with bright blond.

But her craziest assets are her enormous DDs that look absolutely massive on her petite little frame. She has beautiful tits. They are huge for a girl her age and size, but they are also round and firm, riding high on her chest, and needing very little support. During her meets, they strain against the material of her leotard pulling tight across her chest. If her nipples become even slightly erect they stand out like lugnuts. Her aroused tits will often become the center of attention for the meet.

No matter how strategically she tries to squeeze her huge tits into her leotard, they still appear large enough to damper her performance. So far they have not slowed her down, but she is still growing, a year from now they may become too large.

The men in the audience love taking pictures of the girls during meets, and it is not uncommon for them to focus and zero in snapping away with their zoom-lensed cameras while the girls are in their most vulnerable and revealing positions.

Crotch-shots, as you can imagine, are very popular in gymnastics, especially the shots where the legs are spread wide and pointing upwards. Sometimes crotches are flashing so much I feel like I'm watching porn. The Internet is full of these pictures, the girls opening their thighs and fully offering their cunts to the audience. A crotch so taut and full and pure against the white flesh, it is a wonderful experience for the viewer to feast on, and sometimes for the father as well.

As a father, it is a powerful experience which I do not enjoy, but, strangely enough, it will often give me an erection. It is only when Reagan is performing that I get hard, not because I am aroused by her performance, but because her performance is arousing the other men in the audience. I have not a shred of doubt they later masturbate to the pictures of her crotch, and that thought gives me an erection.

This happens more often than you would think. I knew a guy who was a professional photographer and would often take pictures of girls in their underwear for advertisements. He told me it was quite common for the accompanying fathers to get erections during the photoshoots, especially when their daughter's crotch was being photographed. The shooting would start off slowly, but soon he would be spreading their legs wide enough to see down the sides of their panties and into their pussies. He confided in me that he would often move the girls around more forcefully than was necessary and place his hands on their inner thighs more than he needed to just to get the dad turned on. Sometimes he would spread their legs so wide the dad would become so turned on he had to go to the bathroom and jack off.

Some naive people may sneer at this biological reaction, but if you are a woman, or are not a father with a beautiful daughter, it is difficult to understand. Walking into a room with a beautiful teen girl at your arm is a feeling like none other. All eyes are on her, women as much as men, gazing at her with envy, and with lust, and they look at me like a God, a Supreme Being with testicles mighty enough to create the perfect princess of fertility, virility, and sexual gratification, a sexual she-wolf; the mightiest and most valuable of all creatures on earth. Under these circumstances the erection comes quite easily.

So now that you have a basic understanding of my situation, here is my story;

Chapter One

It all started one night after a meet. Reagan's floor routine had gone absolutely flawless. She had really turned her music on the audience and dazzled them with a top notch performance as good as anything you would see in the Olympics.

At the end of the meet all the family and friends who had watched from the stands wandered down onto the court and were congratulating the girls on their victory over a rival school.

It was the same gymnasium the basketball team used for their games and practices. Three large flags hung on one wall above the scoreboard advertising the school's state championships in Basketball; 1988, 2002 and 2024.

I did not go to these meets very often, usually it was my wife, Karen, who went. But two days ago her work had sent her to Las Vegas on a business trip, it would last twelve days or so. So I was performing the duties of both mom and dad until she came back.

I had attended the same school twenty years earlier, many of the parents were my age and had attended the school contemporaneously with me. None of them were really my 'friends', but we shared a friendly relationship.

When Reagan saw me she squealed and ran to me, her slim arms outstretched. She wore her standard royal blue leotard. Her hair was up in that typical gymnastics style--a twisted knot at the top of her head, and her face was covered in that psychotic makeup they always wear during meets. But even with her face and hair looking quite insane, the child-woman running towards me was absolutely gorgeous.

As a little girl, Reagan loved to climb trees, jump on the trampoline, and even jump from the roof into the swimming pool. She was one of those kids who always had scabs on her knees. She was the only little girl I ever knew who would catch any critter I asked her to. I would say, 'Hey, go catch that cricket', and without a second's hesitation she would run and pounce on it. She loved feeding bugs to the frogs she kept in a fishtank. Frogs are still her favorite animal today.

She's also really good at skateboarding. I was pretty good in Jr. High and rode my skateboard to school everyday. But she is even better. She can perform all of the standard tricks, and a few that only the professionals can pull off. She even does one where she rides off the roof with the board flipping in mid-air, then she gets both feet planted on it just as she hits the water.

Basically, it made perfect sense that she Reagan fell in love with Gymnastics. She did it without any pressure from Karen or I. We knew nothing about the sport, but around age eight she asked for money to buy a leotard, and ever since then she has been plowing forward full-speed-ahead talking about performing in both college and the Olympics.

She takes sports very seriously. She is a combative perfectionist with an intense competitive streak which can turn every potential weakness into a strength.

Her movements are decisive and strong, like a leopard. To watch her move is to witness a blend of physical acuity and mental resilience rarely seem in human beings. Whether she is jumping, powering through a routine, riding her skateboard, or just walking home from school, she always knows exactly where her body is in relation to the ground.

But even more than that, there is something very special about Reagan that I can't really put into words. It's almost supernatural, like the 'Lady of the Lake' from King Arthur, or 'Galadriel' from Tolkien, she carries a certain majestic power with her, an untamed power of femininity and mystery, and everyone who encounters her seems to sense it.

When I saw her running towards me, I could not stop the giant shit-eating grin from stretching across my face. I truly love the fuck out of her.

How can a girl her age have tits that big?

Her boobs were so fucking big, they were bouncing up and down obscenely as she ran to me. Her boobs looked good, they always looked good. They looked good in the morning jiggling under her bra-less t-shirt as she brushed her teeth, and they really looked good in a sports bra with deep cleavage, so good that when she ran on the treadmill she got the attention of every guy at the gym.

Large breasts in sports are often associated with back and neck pain, skin rashes, even anxiety and low self-esteem. But luckily Reagan suffered from none of those.

She caught me in a bear hug and squeezed me with extra fervor. My heart moved with an odd joy it sometimes emitted when I hugged her, a joy I did not quite understand.

When we broke she asked, "Did you like it?"

"Of course I did, you did so good!"

Immediately she began rattling on about how well she had performed. As I listened, I probed her face and contemplated her beauty; her high cheekbones and strong chin, and her mouth upturned and cute like a rainbow. I also contemplated how fast she was maturing, not just physically, but mentally, there was already something in her expression seemingly beyond a teenager's capacity.

Besides her breasts, her craziest physical characteristics are her huge eyes; mysterious and captivating and beautiful, they are large and deep-blue and can appear almost purple under certain light. Intense emotions can be conveyed from them, from surprise to defiance to anger, and they shift quickly in dramatic expression when she becomes anxious.

Suddenly her coach walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. I received the same feeling I get when Darth Vader enters a scene. Long black fingers wrapped over her like snakes, so long were his fingers that the tips seemed to reach all the way to her upper-chest.

My ancestry is mostly German, my wife is predominantly Scandinavian, so Reagan's skin is quite pale. The dark African fingers of the coach compared to the white skin of her chest was a contrast the likes of which I had never seen and a brief vision popped into my mind of him sliding his hand down her chest and into her leotard to grab a breast.

He was at least six feet two inches tall, broad shouldered, muscular, short haired, very dark-skinned, and looked to be in very good shape. Wearing dark glasses, he leaned in towards Reagan so close I wondered if he were attempting to look down the top of her leotard.

I had never met the guy, but my sixth sense was certainly on alert, that same sense found throughout the animal world warning grazing animals that a predator is a foot. I had heard the parents discussing him many times. He was well-known within the international Gymnastics community. But most importantly, he was good, very good, and could apparently turn the most introverted uncoordinated girl into a gymnast.

"Why don't you head into the locker room, Sweetie." He spoke softly.

He completely ignored me before turning and casually walking away.

What a dick.

"Yes, coach." She spoke to his back submissively, then she turned back to me.

"I've got to go, but I will meet with you out front after we dress back into our regular clothes."

"Sure, take your time." I answered.

She beamed at me once more then turned and bounded off. Even when running towards the locker room doors, she moved with an athletic grace that delighted everyone who observed her.

I watched her tight little ass for a moment. She made it to the locker room just as one of her teammates did and it was funny watching their little asses struggling to enter through the doorway at the same time.

But just as I was turning to walk to the main exit with the other parents, I saw the coach walk into the locker room behind her, the girl's locker room.

Visit my channel for a continuation of the story.

All characters in this story are 18 years of age or older. This following is completely true.

Her hair is Harlow gold

Her lips a sweet surprise

Her hands are never cold

She's got Bette Davis eyes

Prologue

They call me Stark.

Before I start with my story, let me give you a brief description of my situation.

My teen daughter, Reagan, is a member of her school's gymnastics team and her black coach is a top-notch coach who used to be a head coach for some large university back east. He is apparently very good and has even trained girls for the Olympics.

Reagan is extremely cute with a hard gymnastics ass that has not really changed since she was twelve-years-old. She is five feet two inches tall, roughly 110 pounds, blue-eyed, and dirty-blond haired which she usually highlights with bright blond.

But her craziest assets are her enormous DDs that look absolutely massive on her petite little frame. She has beautiful tits. They are huge for a girl her age, but they are also round and firm, riding high on her chest, and needing very little support. They strain against the material of her leotard pulling tight across her chest. If her nipples become even slightly erect they stand out like magic markers. Her aroused tits will often become the center of attention for the entire meet.

No matter how strategically she tries to squeeze her huge tits into her leotard, they still appear large enough to damper her performance. So far they have not slowed her down, but she is still growing, a year from now they may become too large.

The men in the audience love taking pictures of the girls during meets, and it is not uncommon for them to focus and zero in snapping away with their zoom-lensed cameras while the girls are in their most vulnerable and revealing positions.

Crotch-shots, as you can imagine, are very popular in gymnastics, especially the shots where the legs are spread wide and pointing upwards. Sometimes crotches are flashing so much I feel like I'm watching porn. The Internet is full of these pictures, the girls opening their thighs and fully offering their cunts to the audience. A crotch so taut and full and pure against the white flesh, it is a wonderful experience for the viewer to feast on, and sometimes for the father as well.

As a father, it is a powerful experience which I do not enjoy, but, strangely enough, it will often give me an erection. It is only when Reagan is performing that I get hard, not because I am aroused by her performance, but because her performance is arousing the other men in the audience. I have not a shred of doubt they later masturbate to the pictures of her crotch, and that thought gives me an erection.

This happens more often than you think. I knew a guy who was a professional photographer and took pictures of girls in their underwear for advertisements. He told me it was quite common for the accompanying fathers to get erections during the photoshoots, especially when their daughter's crotch was being photographed. The shooting would start off slowly, but soon he would be spreading their legs wide enough to see down the sides of their panties and into their pussies. He confided in me that he would often move the girls around more forcefully than was necessary and place his hands on their inner thighs more than he needed to just to get the dad turned on. Sometimes he would spread their legs so wide the dad would become so turned on he had to go to the bathroom and jack off.

Some naive people may sneer at this biological reaction, but if you are a woman, or are not a father with a beautiful daughter, it is difficult to understand. Walking into a room with a beautiful teen girl at your arm is a feeling like none other. All eyes are on her, women as much as men, gazing at her with envy, and with lust, and they look at me like a God, a Supreme Being with testicles mighty enough to create the perfect princess of fertility, virility, and sexual gratification, a sexual she-wolf; the mightiest and most valuable of all creatures on earth. Under these circumstances the erection comes quite easily.

So now that you have a basic understanding of my situation, here is my story;

Chapter One

It all started one night after a meet. Reagan's floor routine had gone absolutely flawless. She had really turned her music on the audience and dazzled them with a top notch performance as good as anything you would see in the Olympics.

At the end of the meet all the family and friends who had watched from the stands wandered down onto the court and were congratulating the girls on their victory over a rival school.

It was the same gymnasium the basketball team used for their games and practices. Three large flags hung on one wall above the scoreboard advertising the school's state championships in Basketball; 1988, 2002 and 2024.

I did not go to these meets very often, usually it was my wife, Karen, who went. But two days ago her work had sent her to Las Vegas on a business trip, it would last twelve days or so. So I was performing the duties of both mom and dad until she came back.

I had attended the same school twenty years earlier, many of the parents were my age and had attended the school contemporaneously with me. None of them were really my 'friends', but we shared a friendly relationship.

When Reagan saw me she squealed and ran to me, her slim arms outstretched. She wore her standard royal blue leotard. Her hair was up in that typical gymnastics style--a twisted knot at the top of her head, and her face was covered in that psychotic makeup they always wear during meets. But even with her face and hair looking quite insane, the child-woman running towards me was absolutely gorgeous.

As a little girl, Reagan loved to climb trees, jump on the trampoline, and even jump from the roof into the swimming pool. She was one of those kids who always had scabs on her knees. She was the only little girl I ever knew who would catch any critter I asked her to. I would say, 'Hey, go catch that cricket', and without a second's hesitation she would run and pounce on it. She loved feeding bugs to the frogs she kept in a fishtank. Frogs are still her favorite animal today.

She's also really good at skateboarding. I was pretty good in Jr. High and rode my skateboard to school everyday. But she is even better. She can perform all of the standard tricks, and a few that only the professionals can pull off. She even does one where she rides off the roof with the board flipping in mid-air, then she gets both feet planted on it just as she hits the water.

Basically, it made perfect sense that she fell in love with Gymnastics. She did it without any pressure from Karen or I. We knew nothing about the sport, but around age eight she asked for money to buy a leotard, and ever since then she has been plowing forward full-speed-ahead talking about performing in both college and the Olympics.

She takes sports very seriously. She is a combative perfectionist with an intense competitive streak which can turn every potential weakness into a strength.

Her movements are decisive and strong, like a leopard. To watch her move is to witness a blend of physical acuity and mental resilience rarely seem in human beings. Whether she is jumping, powering through a routine, riding her skateboard, or just walking home from school, she always knows exactly where her body is in relation to the ground.

But even more than that, there is something very special about Reagan that I can't really put into words. It's almost supernatural, like the 'Lady of the Lake' from King Arthur, or 'Galadriel' from Tolkien, she carries a certain majestic power with her, an untamed power of femininity and mystery, and everyone who encounters her senses it.

When I saw her running towards me, I could not stop the giant shit-eating grin from stretching across my face. I truly love the fuck out of her.

How can a girl her size have tits that big?

Her boobs were so fucking big, they were bouncing up and down obscenely as she ran to me. Her boobs looked good, they always looked good. They looked good in the morning, jiggling under her bra-less t-shirt as she brushed her teeth. They looked good in a sports bra with deep cleavage, so good that when she ran on the treadmill she got the attention of every guy at the gym.

Large breasts in sports are often associated with back and neck pain, skin rashes, even anxiety and low self-esteem. But luckily Reagan suffered from none of those.

She caught me in a bear hug and squeezed me with extra fervor. My heart moved with an odd joy it sometimes emitted when I hugged her, a joy I did not quite understand.

When we broke she asked, "Did you like it?"

"Of course I did, you did so good!"

Immediately she began rattling on about how well she had performed. As I listened, I probed her face and contemplated her beauty; her high cheekbones and strong chin, and her mouth upturned and cute like a rainbow. I also contemplated how fast she was maturing, not just physically, but mentally, there was already something in her expression seemingly beyond a teenager's capacity.

Besides her breasts, her craziest physical characteristics are her huge eyes; mysterious and captivating and beautiful, they are large and deep-blue and can appear almost purple under certain light. Intense emotions can be conveyed from them, from surprise to defiance to anger, and they can shift quickly in dramatic expression.

Suddenly her coach walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. I received the same feeling I get when Darth Vader enters a scene. Long black fingers wrapped over her like snakes, so long were his fingers that the tips seemed to reach all the way to her upper-chest.

My ancestry is mostly German, my wife is predominantly Scandinavian, so Reagan's skin is quite pale. The dark African fingers of the coach compared to the white skin of her chest was a contrast the likes of which I had never seen and a brief vision popped into my mind of him sliding his hand down her chest and into her leotard.

He was at least six feet two inches tall, broad shouldered, muscular, short haired, very dark-skinned, and looked to be in very good shape. Wearing dark glasses, he leaned in towards Reagan so close I wondered if he were attempting to look down the top of her leotard.

I had never met the guy, but my sixth sense was certainly on alert, that same sense found throughout the animal world warning grazing animals that a predator is a foot. I had heard the parents discussing him many times. He was well-known within the international Gymnastics community. But most importantly, he was good, very good, and could apparently turn the most introverted uncoordinated girl into a gymnast.

"Why don't you head into the locker room, Sweetie." He spoke softly.

He completely ignored me before turning and casually walking away.

What a dick.

"Yes, coach." She spoke to his back submissively, then she turned back to me.

"I've got to go, but I will meet with you out front after we dress back into our regular clothes."

"Sure, take your time." I answered.

She beamed at me once more then turned and bounded off. Even when running towards the locker room doors, she moved with an athletic grace that delighted everyone who observed her.

I watched her tight little ass for a moment. She made it to the locker room just as one of her teammates did and it was funny watching their little asses struggling to enter through the doorway at the same time.

But just as I was turning to walk to the main exit with the other parents, I saw the coach walk into the locker room behind her, the girl's locker room.

Visit my channel to continue the story.

This story is a remake of a story called, 'Daughter gets the goat', by Bob Hawkins. It has been on the Internet for twenty years. I have taken it and modernized it and spiced it up a bit. I hope you like it.

All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age.

Dawn was reading to herself, resting her back against the trunk of a thick tree. In the woods, by herself, she'd pulled her skirt up high on her thighs to let the sunlight warm them.

It took her a moment to realize something was casting a shadow on her. When she looked up, a boy was standing there.

Immediately she gripped the hem of her skirt, and when she did she realized the crotch of her panties was partially exposed to the boy's view.

Quickly she pulled the skirt back down towards her knees.

"Hi," she spoke as casually as she could while smiling a nervous smile at the boy.

He was dressed in what appeared to be a brand-new cowboy outfit. On his belt he was packing a pair of ivory-handled pistols and a knife, a long coiled rope was in his hands. His red cowboy hat rested at a cocked angle on his head like John Wayne.

He looked at the girl suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice stronger and much more masculine than Dawn would have expected.

"My name's Dawn. I live over there, beyond that thick grove of trees. Who are you?"

"Jim," he answered with a nod. "We just moved in back there." He pointed with his coiled rope toward the house at the bottom of the hill, barely visible through the dense woods.

"Well, Jim, that's quite an outfit you've got there, you look like a real gunfighter." She said. She was just trying to make conversation. She really wasn't up on the latest in talk with cowboys, or with western terminology.

"You seen my dog?"

"Your dog?"

"Yeah. Tonto. He's my dog. He came over here."

Dawn shrugged as she looked around, "Sorry," she said. "I haven't seen a dog. What's he look like?"

"He's big. He's black. And he's got a kind of white band around his head."

"Oh, like an Indian headband?"

"Yeah. That's why he's called Tonto," Jim said.

Then he squatted down beside Dawn and peered at the screen of the phone she was holding; Romancing the Jungle

"You like that mushy stuff?" He asked.

"Well, yes, but it's not mushy, it's romantic."

The boy snorted and made a face.

Then, quite casually, the boy reached out and took Dawn's left hand. He looped the circle of the rope around her wrist and drew it tight.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Dawn asked, cocking her head and watching him secure that knot so it wouldn't slip, amazed at his boldness.

"Tying you up," he said.

"Oh," Dawn said, nodding her head slightly. "Uh, but suppose I don't want to be tied up?"

"Don't you want to play with me, lady?" Jim asked, looking at Dawn as though she'd slapped him for something he had not done.

Dawn almost laughed at the look on the young boy's face.

"Well, only for a few minutes, OK?" she agreed.

Jim didn't say anything back. He walked around behind the tree, pulling on the rope so that the girl had to twist her arm down behind her back and around the tree trunk. He came around to Dawn's other side, then he squatted down again.

"Well?" he said.

"Well what?"

Jim gave her a disgusted look, then he grabbed her right wrist.

"Wait a minute. My phone." She shook her wrist free of the boy's grip and set the phone down beside her on the grass.

"Only for a few minutes, OK?" she said. The young boy simply held out his hand, and Dawn sighed as she laid her wrist on his palm Jim took her hand with a grunt. He tugged on the rope, tightening it behind the tree. Then he wrapped the loose end of the rope around her slender wrist.

He walked behind the tree and suddenly she felt her shoulders drawn back firmly against the trunk.

This little boy sure knows how to tie a girl to a tree, she thought, trying to ease the strain that was already growing in her shoulders.

"Not so tight, huh?"

"It has to be tight. You can get loose if it ain't tight."

"Am I supposed to be an Indian?"

The boy did not answer.

Dawn tossed her head slightly and a soft mass of her loose blonde hair slipped down over her face. She pursed her lips and blew hard, trying to flip the locks off her high cheeks and cute little nose, but it didn't work.

"Would you brush the hair out of my face, Jim?"

"No."

She felt him back there giving a test pull on the knotted cord around her wrists.

"It's tight, it's tight," she complained. "You don't have to hurt me."

Jim muttered something to himself that Dawn couldn't quite hear. Then he came back around in front of her.

"Now that you've got me all tied up, what do we do next?" Dawn asked, shifting her shoulders against the rough bark of the tree. She could feel a couple of ridges of bark digging into her back. "Am I supposed to be an indian or something?"

"You ain't all tied up, lady," Jim told her.

"No? I feel all tied up. What else is there?"

"Lots of things," Jim said. He reached behind him and hauled a big red scarf out of his back pocket.

"Now, wait a minute, Jimmy." Dawn twisted her wrists in the tight cord, testing how quickly she could get free if she had to. She was surprised at how expertly she'd been bound. She might not be able to free herself at all. She stopped struggling and looked at the red scarf.

"Just what do you think you're going to do with that?"

"Gag you."

"Oh, no, you're not, little boy. I think this has gone far enough, Jimmy. Now, you untie me."

"I'm not a little boy," He told the girl sternly, sticking his face out toward her and glaring at her. Dawn was shocked at the age and anger she saw in those dark glittering eyes.

"I know you're not, Jim. I'm sorry. But my hands are beginning to hurt, so could you untie me now?"

"No."

"Please? We can play this game some other time. I can be an indian, I'll dress up and everything. You can do whatever you want, I promise."

"No."

"Well, it's going to be getting dark pretty soon, you know. Untie me, and I'll help you find your doggie. What's his name?"

"No."

"Jim, I want you to let me go, now. Right now. Do you hear me?"

"No. And it's not getting dark, either. It's not nice to lie."

Dawn sighed heavily. How do you reason with a child's mind? She had no idea. What could she do? She fought the cords around her wrists again, but gave up quickly. It was useless. He had really tied her tight. She could not get away until he decided to free her. But maybe if she went along with him, he'd get bored.

"OK," she said. "You win, Mister Jim, you're the boss, I'm all tied up, so what do we do?"

She watched his dark eyes roving over her face. She had seen that look on boy's faces many many times.

Jim stared at her without saying a word, appreciating her beauty. He had never seen such a beautiful girl up close like this. She looked like something you would see in a movie. And she didn't have a single zit on her face. His sister's face was covered with zits.

He started to reach out to brush the hair from her face, but then stopped.

"No," she said. "Go ahead, please. Brush it behind my ear." Dawn turned her head to make it easy for the boy, but he did not move.

She turned and looked at him and realized he was staring at her chest, and with her shoulders pulled back against the trunk, her big tits were forced up high and pushed outward, making them look even larger than they were.

Dawn had beautiful tits for a girl her age, D-cups, still developing, of course, but they were already large and round and firm, riding high on her chest, and needing little support. Bound as she was, they looked gigantic. They were straining so tightly and obscenely against the material of her blouse that even she understood how sexually enticing they must appear to him.

"Don't be naughty," she said, growing embarrassed by the little boy's blatant staring at her tits.

Squirming uncomfortably, her back felt like it was being gouged by the rough ridges of bark, and her shoulders hurt like hell from the strain of being pulled back so far.

"Uh, could we get this over with, please?" She saw the little boy's dark eyes widen as he dropped his gaze lower.

He licked his lips, his eyes were burning with lust as he bent down trying to look up her skirt.

"Now you're getting nasty," the blushing girl scolded.

He eyed the young girl strangely, and Dawn felt a twinge of apprehension sweep up from her guts and clutch at her heart. Much too late, she realized just how far out of hand things had become. For the first time since meeting him, she realized this interaction could become sexual. Would he touch her against her will?

"I'm not nasty," Jim said at last. "You are." He looked deep into her bright-blue eyes. "I'm sorry. Look, I've really got to be going home, now, Jim," speaking the words very slowly, like an adult, as though they were a threat.

Without saying a word, the boy started searching the ground for something. When he found a stone, Dawn pressed her head back against the trunk of the tree.

"What are you going to do with that?" Jim moved closer to the girl's head, his eyes squinting as he looked carefully at Dawn's pretty mouth.

"Open up."

"Oh, God. Please don't do this," Dawn pleaded, suddenly understanding exactly what the little boy had in his sadistic little mind.

He lifted the stone to her lips and rubbed it lightly against the sensitive soft flesh. The stone was dirty.

"No!" Dawn sputtered, twisting her face aside. "No! You're not putting that filthy thing in my mouth, damn you! Let me go!"

She had to call out, if she did, someone would hear her and help her. Taking a deep lungful of air, she twisted her face sharply to the other side and started to scream as loudly as she could.

But Jim was too fast. He grabbed a fistful of her silky hair and yanked her head hard. At the same time, he ground the dirt-crusted stone against her lips. She'd gotten her mouth closed just in time, but it did her no good. If he kept grinding it against her lips, he would break her teeth.

She had no choice. Whimpering, she opened her mouth, wide.

Jim shoved the stone roughly between her lips, avoiding the perfect teeth her dad had paid thousands of dollars for.

The filthy stone rested directly on her tongue. She moaned and grunted as Jim wrapped the big red scarf around her head, fitting it carefully over her mouth and lips so she couldn't spit out the stone.

She held still, not fighting him as he tied the scarf in a tight knot behind her head. When he finished, he stood back away from her and looked at her like she was a newly trapped animal, his newly trapped animal.

Dawn sighed through her nose. She was truly at the boy's mercy now. But at least he hadn't broken any of her lovely teeth.

Eyeing his handiwork. Slowly, a huge grin spread across his young face, an evil grin. Dawn watched him for a moment, then she sighed and allowed her shoulders to sag as much as they could. She was here for the duration. She would not respond to him. The less she responded, the sooner the boy would get bored with her. Then he would let her go.

Watching him through the cascade of blonde hair over her eyes. He seemed to be enjoying her utter helplessness. He moved around behind the tree, and she winced as he tested the knots near her wrists.

He had tied that cord very tight. Her hands must be blue by now. They were numb and cold. She worked her fingers to try to restore circulation, but all she got for her trouble was a pair of painfully tingling hands.

Jim came around the front again. He stood for a moment looking her over from head to toe, pausing for a long moment at her bare thighs, then back up to her face again. She was beautiful, as beautiful as his mom.

As he gazed at her body, he felt a pleasant stiffening in his prick, and a knot of harder pleasure twisted his guts. He remembered how pretty the girl's panties had looked when he first saw her, so taut and full and pure white against the pale flesh of her bare thighs. He wanted to see her panties again.

Dawn knew exactly what the boy was thinking, exactly what he wanted. It was the same thing all the boys at school wanted from her, and they wanted it all the time, but she never gave it to them.

However, she was a little confused by how sexual this had become. She thought a boy Jim's age wouldn't be interested in that. Gulping around the big stone in her mouth, she felt herself drooling. She kept her eyes on the young man in front of her, worried about what he might do next.

He was going to do it, of that there was very little doubt. So maybe it would be better if she just did it for him. If she opened her legs and let him look, maybe that would satisfy him and it would be over and then he would untie her.

She felt the warm saliva spill over her lower lip beneath the scarf. It dropped down onto the front of her blouse. Her arms and shoulders ached, and her jaw was beginning to hurt too. She decided she would do it.

Grunting to get his attention. When he looked at her face, she nodded her head slowly, then lowered her eyes and looked straight downwards.

Slowly, she stretched her legs out straight, then she lifted her knees and drew her heels up toward her ass as far as they would go. Then she spread her knees as wide as possible.

Holding still, she was fully exposing the stark-white crotch of her unstained cotton panties, just for him.

They were beautiful panties, and they looked brand-new as if she had just removed them from the box she had bought them in. Jim gulped so hard that Dawn heard it. She watched him as he took in the view of her beautiful crotch and actually felt a rush of pleasure at the young boy's reaction to her body.

He was actually quite a good-looking young man. He was going to grow into a real hottie, that was for sure. Already she noted with appreciation that he had a powerful little body. His face didn't have the puffy fullness of most boys his age. Or the innocence, either. He looked strong, willful, even manly.

Dawn took pleasure in letting the boy look at her panties. She relaxed as much as she could. She had never done anything like this before and was astonished by how sexy it was making her feel.

Jim stared and stared, fascinated by the taut crotch of the young girl before him.

He had to touch her. He had to feel her. His heart pounded violently in his chest and he shivered with a strange sensation.

Sinking to his knees, he began scooting towards her. He had to see under her panties. Many pussies had flashed across the screen of his computer, but now here was one was right in front of him, and it was quite helpless. It was time, it was time to obtain a real pussy in real life, to touch, feel, poke, pinch, assault a pussy in real life.

But when the boy reached his hand out towards Dawn's virgin-cunt, she slammed her knees together and shifted her legs to the side. He could still see the underside of her thighs and her panty-clad ass cheeks, but at least her cunt was protected.

But not for long. . . .

End of chapter one. Please go to my channel to read the other two chapters.

This story is a remake of a story called, 'Daughter gets the goat', by Bob Hawkins. It has been on the Internet for twenty years. I have taken it and modernized it and spiced it up a bit. I hope you like it.

All characters in this story are at least 18 years of age.

Dawn was reading to herself, resting her back against the trunk of a thick tree. In the woods, by herself, she'd pulled her skirt up high on her thighs to let the sunlight warm them.

It took her a moment to realize something was casting a shadow on her. When she looked up, a boy was standing there.

Immediately she gripped the hem of her skirt, and when she did she realized the crotch of her panties was partially exposed to the boy's view.

Quickly she pulled the skirt back down towards her knees.

"Hi," she spoke as casually as she could while smiling a nervous smile at the boy.

He was dressed in what appeared to be a brand-new cowboy outfit. On his belt he was packing a pair of ivory-handled pistols and a knife, a long coiled rope was in his hands. His red cowboy hat rested at a cocked angle on his head like John Wayne.

He looked at the girl suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice stronger and much more masculine than Dawn would have expected.

"My name's Dawn. I live over there, beyond that thick grove of trees. Who are you?"

"Jim," he answered with a nod. "We just moved in back there." He pointed with his coiled rope toward the house at the bottom of the hill, barely visible through the dense woods.

"Well, Jim, that's quite an outfit you've got there, you look like a real gunfighter." She said. She was just trying to make conversation. She really wasn't up on the latest in talk with cowboys, or with western terminology.

"You seen my dog?"

"Your dog?"

"Yeah. Tonto. He's my dog. He came over here."

Dawn shrugged as she looked around, "Sorry," she said. "I haven't seen a dog. What's he look like?"

"He's big. He's black. And he's got a kind of white band around his head."

"Oh, like an Indian headband?"

"Yeah. That's why he's called Tonto," Jim said.

Then he squatted down beside Dawn and peered at the screen of the phone she was holding; Romancing the Jungle

"You like that mushy stuff?" He asked.

"Well, yes, but it's not mushy, it's romantic."

The boy snorted and made a face.

Then, quite casually, the boy reached out and took Dawn's left hand. He looped the circle of the rope around her wrist and drew it tight.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Dawn asked, cocking her head and watching him secure that knot so it wouldn't slip, amazed at his boldness.

"Tying you up," he said.

"Oh," Dawn said, nodding her head slightly. "Uh, but suppose I don't want to be tied up?"

"Don't you want to play with me, lady?" Jim asked, looking at Dawn as though she'd slapped him for something he had not done.

Dawn almost laughed at the look on the young boy's face.

"Well, only for a few minutes, OK?" she agreed.

Jim didn't say anything back. He walked around behind the tree, pulling on the rope so that the girl had to twist her arm down behind her back and around the tree trunk. He came around to Dawn's other side, then he squatted down again.

"Well?" he said.

"Well what?"

Jim gave her a disgusted look, then he grabbed her right wrist.

"Wait a minute. My phone." She shook her wrist free of the boy's grip and set the phone down beside her on the grass.

"Only for a few minutes, OK?" she said. The young boy simply held out his hand, and Dawn sighed as she laid her wrist on his palm Jim took her hand with a grunt. He tugged on the rope, tightening it behind the tree. Then he wrapped the loose end of the rope around her slender wrist.

He walked behind the tree and suddenly she felt her shoulders drawn back firmly against the trunk.

This little boy sure knows how to tie a girl to a tree, she thought, trying to ease the strain that was already growing in her shoulders.

"Not so tight, huh?"

"It has to be tight. You can get loose if it ain't tight."

"Am I supposed to be an Indian?"

The boy did not answer.

Dawn tossed her head slightly and a soft mass of her loose blonde hair slipped down over her face. She pursed her lips and blew hard, trying to flip the locks off her high cheeks and cute little nose, but it didn't work.

"Would you brush the hair out of my face, Jim?"

"No."

She felt him back there giving a test pull on the knotted cord around her wrists.

"It's tight, it's tight," she complained. "You don't have to hurt me."

Jim muttered something to himself that Dawn couldn't quite hear. Then he came back around in front of her.

"Now that you've got me all tied up, what do we do next?" Dawn asked, shifting her shoulders against the rough bark of the tree. She could feel a couple of ridges of bark digging into her back. "Am I supposed to be an indian or something?"

"You ain't all tied up, lady," Jim told her.

"No? I feel all tied up. What else is there?"

"Lots of things," Jim said. He reached behind him and hauled a big red scarf out of his back pocket.

"Now, wait a minute, Jimmy." Dawn twisted her wrists in the tight cord, testing how quickly she could get free if she had to. She was surprised at how expertly she'd been bound. She might not be able to free herself at all. She stopped struggling and looked at the red scarf.

"Just what do you think you're going to do with that?"

"Gag you."

"Oh, no, you're not, little boy. I think this has gone far enough, Jimmy. Now, you untie me."

"I'm not a little boy," He told the girl sternly, sticking his face out toward her and glaring at her. Dawn was shocked at the age and anger she saw in those dark glittering eyes.

"I know you're not, Jim. I'm sorry. But my hands are beginning to hurt, so could you untie me now?"

"No."

"Please? We can play this game some other time. I can be an indian, I'll dress up and everything. You can do whatever you want, I promise."

"No."

"Well, it's going to be getting dark pretty soon, you know. Untie me, and I'll help you find your doggie. What's his name?"

"No."

"Jim, I want you to let me go, now. Right now. Do you hear me?"

"No. And it's not getting dark, either. It's not nice to lie."

Dawn sighed heavily. How do you reason with a child's mind? She had no idea. What could she do? She fought the cords around her wrists again, but gave up quickly. It was useless. He had really tied her tight. She could not get away until he decided to free her. But maybe if she went along with him, he'd get bored.

"OK," she said. "You win, Mister Jim, you're the boss, I'm all tied up, so what do we do?"

She watched his dark eyes roving over her face. She had seen that look on boy's faces many many times.

Jim stared at her without saying a word, appreciating her beauty. He had never seen such a beautiful girl up close like this. She looked like something you would see in a movie. And she didn't have a single zit on her face. His sister's face was covered with zits.

He started to reach out to brush the hair from her face, but then stopped.

"No," she said. "Go ahead, please. Brush it behind my ear." Dawn turned her head to make it easy for the boy, but he did not move.

She turned and looked at him and realized he was staring at her chest, and with her shoulders pulled back against the trunk, her big tits were forced up high and pushed outward, making them look even larger than they were.

Dawn had beautiful tits for a girl her age, D-cups, still developing, of course, but they were already large and round and firm, riding high on her chest, and needing little support. Bound as she was, they looked gigantic. They were straining so tightly and obscenely against the material of her blouse that even she understood how sexually enticing they must appear to him.

"Don't be naughty," she said, growing embarrassed by the little boy's blatant staring at her tits.

Squirming uncomfortably, her back felt like it was being gouged by the rough ridges of bark, and her shoulders hurt like hell from the strain of being pulled back so far.

"Uh, could we get this over with, please?" She saw the little boy's dark eyes widen as he dropped his gaze lower.

He licked his lips, his eyes were burning with lust as he bent down trying to look up her skirt.

"Now you're getting nasty," the blushing girl scolded.

He eyed the young girl strangely, and Dawn felt a twinge of apprehension sweep up from her guts and clutch at her heart. Much too late, she realized just how far out of hand things had become. For the first time since meeting him, she realized this interaction could become sexual. Would he touch her against her will?

"I'm not nasty," Jim said at last. "You are." He looked deep into her bright-blue eyes. "I'm sorry. Look, I've really got to be going home, now, Jim," speaking the words very slowly, like an adult, as though they were a threat.

Without saying a word, the boy started searching the ground for something. When he found a stone, Dawn pressed her head back against the trunk of the tree.

"What are you going to do with that?" Jim moved closer to the girl's head, his eyes squinting as he looked carefully at Dawn's pretty mouth.

"Open up."

"Oh, God. Please don't do this," Dawn pleaded, suddenly understanding exactly what the little boy had in his sadistic little mind.

He lifted the stone to her lips and rubbed it lightly against the sensitive soft flesh. The stone was dirty.

"No!" Dawn sputtered, twisting her face aside. "No! You're not putting that filthy thing in my mouth, damn you! Let me go!"

She had to call out, if she did, someone would hear her and help her. Taking a deep lungful of air, she twisted her face sharply to the other side and started to scream as loudly as she could.

But Jim was too fast. He grabbed a fistful of her silky hair and yanked her head hard. At the same time, he ground the dirt-crusted stone against her lips. She'd gotten her mouth closed just in time, but it did her no good. If he kept grinding it against her lips, he would break her teeth.

She had no choice. Whimpering, she opened her mouth, wide.

Jim shoved the stone roughly between her lips, avoiding the perfect teeth her dad had paid thousands of dollars for.

The filthy stone rested directly on her tongue. She moaned and grunted as Jim wrapped the big red scarf around her head, fitting it carefully over her mouth and lips so she couldn't spit out the stone.

She held still, not fighting him as he tied the scarf in a tight knot behind her head. When he finished, he stood back away from her and looked at her like she was a newly trapped animal, his newly trapped animal.

Dawn sighed through her nose. She was truly at the boy's mercy now. But at least he hadn't broken any of her lovely teeth.

Eyeing his handiwork. Slowly, a huge grin spread across his young face, an evil grin. Dawn watched him for a moment, then she sighed and allowed her shoulders to sag as much as they could. She was here for the duration. She would not respond to him. The less she responded, the sooner the boy would get bored with her. Then he would let her go.

Watching him through the cascade of blonde hair over her eyes. He seemed to be enjoying her utter helplessness. He moved around behind the tree, and she winced as he tested the knots near her wrists.

He had tied that cord very tight. Her hands must be blue by now. They were numb and cold. She worked her fingers to try to restore circulation, but all she got for her trouble was a pair of painfully tingling hands.

Jim came around the front again. He stood for a moment looking her over from head to toe, pausing for a long moment at her bare thighs, then back up to her face again. She was beautiful, as beautiful as his mom.

As he gazed at her body, he felt a pleasant stiffening in his prick, and a knot of harder pleasure twisted his guts. He remembered how pretty the girl's panties had looked when he first saw her, so taut and full and pure white against the pale flesh of her bare thighs. He wanted to see her panties again.

Dawn knew exactly what the boy was thinking, exactly what he wanted. It was the same thing all the boys at school wanted from her, and they wanted it all the time, but she never gave it to them.

However, she was a little confused by how sexual this had become. She thought a boy Jim's age wouldn't be interested in that. Gulping around the big stone in her mouth, she felt herself drooling. She kept her eyes on the young man in front of her, worried about what he might do next.

He was going to do it, of that there was very little doubt. So maybe it would be better if she just did it for him. If she opened her legs and let him look, maybe that would satisfy him and it would be over and then he would untie her.

She felt the warm saliva spill over her lower lip beneath the scarf. It dropped down onto the front of her blouse. Her arms and shoulders ached, and her jaw was beginning to hurt too. She decided she would do it.

Grunting to get his attention. When he looked at her face, she nodded her head slowly, then lowered her eyes and looked straight downwards.

Slowly, she stretched her legs out straight, then she lifted her knees and drew her heels up toward her ass as far as they would go. Then she spread her knees as wide as possible.

Holding still, she was fully exposing the stark-white crotch of her unstained cotton panties, just for him.

They were beautiful panties, and they looked brand-new as if she had just removed them from the box she had bought them in. Jim gulped so hard that Dawn heard it. She watched him as he took in the view of her beautiful crotch and actually felt a rush of pleasure at the young boy's reaction to her body.

He was actually quite a good-looking young man. He was going to grow into a real hottie, that was for sure. Already she noted with appreciation that he had a powerful little body. His face didn't have the puffy fullness of most boys his age. Or the innocence, either. He looked strong, willful, even manly.

Dawn took pleasure in letting the boy look at her panties. She relaxed as much as she could. She had never done anything like this before and was astonished by how sexy it was making her feel.

Jim stared and stared, fascinated by the taut crotch of the young girl before him.

He had to touch her. He had to feel her. His heart pounded violently in his chest and he shivered with a strange sensation.

Sinking to his knees, he began scooting towards her. He had to see under her panties. Many pussies had flashed across the screen of his computer, but now here was one was right in front of him, and it was quite helpless. It was time, it was time to obtain a real pussy in real life, to touch, feel, poke, pinch, assault a pussy in real life.

But when the boy reached his hand out towards Dawn's virgin-cunt, she slammed her knees together and shifted her legs to the side. He could still see the underside of her thighs and her panty-clad ass cheeks, but at least her cunt was protected.

But not for long. . . .

End of chapter one. Please go to my channel to read the other two chapters.