Recently, my little 10-year-old moppet has been developing what she proudly calls her titty-bumps. They're not real tits, after all she's only 10, but they will be when she grows older and they get bigger. Right now they are very small and, I must admit, quite cute. Picture a lime cut in half, that's their size as they protrude slightly from her skinny chest. They consist almost entirely of pink, puffy nipples with a plump layer of subcutaneous fat beneath them.
She loves having her titty-bumps, thinking they make her more of a 'big girl'; plus they are sensitive and she likes having them tweaked. She does not, however, like having them pinched and twisted and tugged, but I don't care.
Currently I am teaching her about pain, and the sweetness of tears. She has already learned about other bodily fluids, how none are off limits and all are to be enjoyed. She loves it when I tongue the juices from her hairless cunny or drink her pee straight from the spout or suck the spit from her open mouth or lick the sweat from the crease of her butt after soccer practice. Now she is putting the same effort and work into giving up her tears to me.
I lay on my back with her straddling my chest, one skinny leg either side of me, her head above mine. My thumbs and forefingers manipulate her puffy, sensitive nipples, twisting and pulling, squeezing hard and yanking with increasing force. Her face is scrunched in pain and she whimpers like a puppy while squirming her pouting cunny against my chest. She shudders and whines, begs me to please stop and, when I don't, then come the tears. Her eyes flood from the pain and she moves her head to make sure they drip into my open mouth. I drink them down, feeling my cock hard-as-rock between my spread thighs. The tears are delicious, the squirming pleasurable, the whimpering and whining music to my ears. She shudders as she strives to blink the tears right into my mouth as I've instructed. I temporarily release one nipple long enough to cup the back of her head and force her face close to mine so I can lick her wet cheeks. She automatically closes her eyes so I can lick them, too, getting fresh tears as they form. I grunt my pleasure and whisper what a good little sex pup she is. "Daddy's moppet," I praise. "Daddy's li'l kiddycunt," I croon. "Daddy's sweet sexpot," I murmur. With each compliment she whimpers louder, squirms more, and rubs her hairless, prepubescent twat harder against my chest.
Finished for the moment, her tiny nipples bruised and almost too sore to touch, I pat her head and kiss her lips and lap up the last of her tears. Smiling into her eyes I tell her she can have her treat now.
With a devoted look of pure gratitude she slides down my body, snuggles between my hairy thighs, curls into a kittenish ball, and caps my cock with an eager mouth. Locking her lips at the back of the plump, mushroom-shaped head, she nurses lustily. She sucks with purpose--an infant at the teat--a steady, greedy series of pulsing sucks that signify both her hunger and her need. She wants her Daddy cum before we nap, wants it warming her tummy as she drifts off to sleep. Cupping my balls with tiny hands, she squeezes them gently as she feasts.
Moments later I roll my hips and grunt deep in my chest. Knowing what that means, she increases her tempo, mewling like a kitten and tugging at my turgid balls. I grunt again, and again, then place my hands on the back of her head to hold her in place, and feed her craving with several long jets of warm, thick cum which she gulps with gusto, breath whistling thru her pert nose as she swallows repeatedly so as not to lose a single drop. I feel the tip of her tongue swirling around the head of my cock and tenderly probing my piss slit to ensure she hasn't missed any of her treat.
With my softened cock still in her mouth, she snuggles deeper between my thighs and sighs contentedly. In no time at all her breathing is measured and rhythmic as my cute little ten-year-old tyke falls asleep.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Changes last made on: Sunday, February 10, 2013