Asstr Club

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Asstr Club
This
fictional story contains sexually explicit material involving minors. If you do
not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE LEAVE
NOW!
If you wish to
read material of this type, then read on and enjoy.
Keywords:
Man/girls 7-11, voy, 1st, ped, pett, solo, spank, anal, oral, ws, rom, bd, rape,
nc,
Summary : Sam, a war wounded veteran, returns to his home
town, and has a job as janitor in the local school. He forms a club for young
girls, providing friendship and companionship, but much more, of course for
himself. During a school camping trip, he gets to know many of the girls very
intimately. After busting a local drug ring, he acquires huge funds, to enable
him to develop the club. He takes them to Europe , and has several adventures on the way, including
their plane being hijacked by Muslim extremists. 
Word count:
298,000 This is long take it as a holiday read!!
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Many authors
will tell you that when they start writing a new book, they have no idea how it
will evolve. That the characters in this story somehow developed their own
personalities and almost made demands on the author as to how their story
should be told. This story was originally called ‘The Janitor’, but as the
theme of choices emerged, so did the concept of how choices affect us and those
around us. The following are three quotes I picked out, which I hope you will
enjoy, as I also hope you also enjoy the story.
Please do let
me have some feedback on this, my fourth (and favourite) book to have written
so far. I write in the Queen’s English, not US, and I appreciate that as this
story is set in the US , some words or phrases may grate on the
reader. I apologise for that and hope you will overlook these minor issues.
“Life is about
choices. Some we regret, some we’re proud of. Some will haunt us forever.
The message: we are what we chose to be.” —Graham Brown
“Choices are
the hinges of destiny.” —Edwin Mark ham
“I believe
that we are solely responsible for our choices, and we have to accept the
consequences of every deed, word, and thought throughout our lifetime.” —E lisa beth Kubler-Ross
There is a
list of the main characters in this story, at the end.
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Monday
Afternoon – To catch a thief.
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The young girl
slowly entered the shower cubicle. Sam noticed that she was on her own, her
friends had already headed home for the day, following their after school
activities and team games. It was late, and he had been about to start his
evening locking up duties. He thought she looked distracted, clearly thinking
something through, not concentrating on what she was doing. She carried her
fluffy blue towel over one arm, which she unconsciously hung on one of the
hooks fixed to the dividing wall between her cubicle and the next. In her other
hand there was a small, school issue, mauve holdall bag of the type which all
the pupils used to keep their day clothes in when doing field sports, swimming
or gym and taking their sports kit home in for washing.
She dropped
the bag onto the wooden bench fixed to the wall, and sat down. Leaning over the
bag, she unzipped it. She pulled out her red and black regulation pleated
tartan skirt, her white blouse and clean underwear and dumped them in a heap on
the bench. Sam was a little surprised she didn’t hang these up with the towel.
But clearly her concentration was held by what else was in the bag. She had a
distant smile on her face. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was a “cat has got the
cream” sly smile. She reached into the bag, pulled her house shoes out and
dropping them onto the floor, reached in and fondled something inside the bag.
After a few moments, she suddenly seemed to come awake, and gathered her wits,
looking around her. The young girl stood, and started to undress. As she did
so, she looked into the bag a couple more times, and then smiled at her own
reflection in the large mirror mounted on the wall of the cubicle. She was
obviously very pleased with herself for some reason. But pleased or not, she
was undressing, and he waited in impatient anticipation for what she was going
to show him.
When Sam had
left school, in fact this school, he had joined the army. There, having been
selected for the special forces, he had learnt most of his technical skills,
which would stand him in good stead for the rest of his life. During his last
posting to Afghanistan however, he had been severely injured,
and was lucky to survive the I.E.D. bomb buried by the roadside, that had killed
his friend, “The Professor” and injured several others. He had been awarded the
Purple Heart, honourably discharged, given a paltry pension, and forgotten
about. Forgotten, that is except for the people of his home town, who took him
under their wing, accepted his P.T.S.D. which made him shake occasionally and
react nervously to loud bangs, robbed him of most of his sleep and found him a
job. What surprised everyone was that he was really good at it, loved it and
settled down. It was win – win all round.
Sam was now
officially the school janitor. However, his duties were many and varied. He
cleaned the place, made repairs, drove the small school bus for trips. He
helped with organising school events, worked back stage in the school theatre
when they held concerts and plays, maintained the swimming pool and gymnasium,
as well as the 1001 jobs that needed doing daily. He was the Mr. Fixit.
Everyone in the school and indeed the small town where it was located, knew and
liked Sam. The ladies of the town especially admired his fit physique, his
rugged good looks with his cobalt blue eyes, unruly sandy coloured hair giving
him a friendly shaggy dog appearance.
Having been a
physical training and unarmed combat instructor in the army, he had been
encouraged to take a short teaching diploma, so now with the status of a member
of the teaching staff, he could teach the children self defence and outdoor
pursuits, such as this weekend’s camping trip. He occasionally helped out with
the swimming and gym classes if they were short handed. He had another side
line though, when he came out of the army, he had been recruited by his old
platoon commander, a huge man of Irish extraction, Ste ve Bandon, to become an undercover agent
for the DEA. They needed people like Sam in schools to ensure drug distribution
was kept to a minimum.
Sam only had a
couple of vices. At the age of 25, he enjoyed going to watch the matches played
by the local girls junior netball team, and always celebrated their winning
afterwards with - too much to drink, and drowned his sorrows when they lost,
with - too much to drink. Having said that, he never lost control, and never
disgraced himself. His other vice was that he was a closet pædophile and
voyeur. No one would ever have guessed his secret from his behaviour, because
he had never yet touched a child or even looked lasciviously at one in public.
He had been very, very careful about that. He had also been waiting for the
right opportunity to put that right. Over the years he had sown seeds and made
plans. He now intended to germinate those seeds and put his plans into action.
His
opportunity to practice his voyeurism had come by accident. It had been about a
year after he had started working at the school. The chief maintenance man had
retired, leaving just Sam on his own. In truth the man had all but retired
several years ago, and Sam had been drafted in to stop the school falling
apart. Slowly Sam had pulled all the loose ends together, and after the guy
retired, and not been replaced, it resulted in Sam’s minor, but, to him
important promotion. He still insisted on being called the Janitor, not ‘Head
of maintenance’, or even assistant gym teacher, which his new position entitled
him. With it had come the use of a small grace and favour apartment above his
workshop, which was attached to one end of the changing rooms. As he now lived
on site, he was always around. Sam, since his P.T.S.D. needed little sleep, so
at night he tended to work, cleaning and maintaining the school, and was
unofficially the security guard to boot. He was now simply indispensable to the
school, loved by all and trusted implicitly. 
During the day he had some free time to follow his ‘interests’.
Some years
back, he had been called in to the administration office, and asked if he could
renovate the junior school changing and shower facilities during the long
summer vacations. The problem was it was on a budget, so he could have a free
hand, providing he kept it simple, or in his translation, cheap. As long as he
was within budget, he could use his own design and keep the excess money for
himself. Sam was happy with that arrangement.
As required,
Sam’s design was simple. The boys on one side, the girls on the other. In
between was a service corridor containing all the water feed and drainage pipe
work, electrical supply cabling and air extraction ducting. This corridor was
about four feet wide. Along the ceiling the colour coded hot and cold water
feed pipes were mounted from hanging brackets, as were the cable trays carrying
the wiring.
T- junctions
supplied small pipes dropping down where needed, passing through the wall of
the changing rooms, to supply the wash hand basins, showers and lavatories.
Along the floor, which sloped slightly towards one end, the soil pipes ran. The
corridor floor was about a foot below the floor level of the changing rooms, to
provide a drop for the waste water down into the soil pipes. Every pipe, wire,
drain and valve was accessible, making maintenance simplicity itself. At the
far end of the corridor was a stairwell leading down to the swimming pool pump
room.
The changing
rooms were divided into three sections. A locker room where the children could
enter the building and keep their belongings, change their clothes and prepare
for whatever activities they were playing. This ran parallel to the corridor
along the length of the building. Between the locker room and the corridor,
were the lavatories, each with it’s own cubicle and door; the wash hand basins;
and the half dozen showers, each with it’s own cubicle which included a “dry”
area where the pupils could get dressed. The shower cubicles did not have doors
to them, as these were the junior school facilities. Each was spacious and had
two shower heads, so more than one child tended to use each cubicle at a time.
In the
lavatories and shower rooms, the wall panelling was a white plastic cladding
material, with 4 inch wide broad black horizontal stripes. Sam had installed
them so the lowest cladding panels came about three foot up the wall from the
floor. There was a gap of about four inches, then the upper panel. This gap was
where all the service pipes were passed
through the wall from the corridor. Finally, Sam had skilfully masked off the
gap using thick black acrylic, screwed to the wall, but easily removable if any
maintenance was needed. Because the acrylic was the same width as the
decorative black stripes of the panels, the walls gave a smart continuous,
waterproof, modern look, and the joins were invisible. However, what was not apparent,
was that the black acrylic was transparent when viewed from the dark corridor,
giving Sam an uninterrupted view into the childrens’ changing facilities.
Sam had
carefully made some screening sheets on the inside of the acrylic panels, to
ensure they weren’t visible if someone entered the corridor without his
knowledge and made a casual inspection. Sam had used the excess funds from the
budget to buy several small digital cameras which he could mount on some
brackets facing into the showers and lavatories.
So here he was
this late Monday afternoon enjoying his favourite pastime, sitting on a low
wooden stool, watching an uninterrupted view of a young girl getting undressed
for her shower. He guessed she would be about 10 years old. She was quite a pretty
little thing. She had a rounded face, with a ski jump nose, a big dimple in
each of her cheeks, which he noticed deepened when she had smiled. She had
strawberry blond hair, which came to just below her shoulders. It was crinkled,
from, he presumed, where she had plaited it, and now let it loose. Her eyes
were a very dark brown. He could have been forgiven for thinking they were
black. He knew her name, but was just trying to recall it. Suddenly it came to
him. She was Elizabeth Browning. He remembered, because the staff had joked
about the fact her mother was a keen
poetry reader and having the same surname as the famous poet, had named the
unfortunate child after her.
She was
wearing her PE kit, a blue pair of track suit leggings and a white sports top.
On her feet were a pair of running sneakers over white socks. Elizabeth, or
Lizzie as he had heard the other girls call her, looked fairly fit, although
she could probably, like most kids these days, do with losing a couple of
pounds around the waist.
She removed
her wrist watch and placed it carefully on the wooden bench, followed by her
spectacles. She kicked off her shoes, shoving them under the bench, and pulled
the socks off, tossing them to one side. Next, she slipped her thumbs into the
elastic waist band of the leggings, and turning away from Sam, bent and slid
them down in one smooth movement. He had a direct view of a pair of cream/white
sport panties, drawn tightly over her bottom. They were perhaps a size too
small for the growing girl, and they were pulled deeply into the crack of her
firm rounded bottom. She stood upright and quickly slipped her top over her
head, and dropped it onto the bench alongside her other clothing. She was
wearing a training bra. Quite why ten year olds did this, Sam couldn’t fathom,
as she, like most of his favourites, was as flat as a pool table.
Sam watched as
she reached behind her struggling to catch the clasp of the bra. Shrugging it
off, and turning towards him, he was rewarded with a view of her areolæ, which
were little more than bee sting pinkie red circles with tiny nipples in their
centres, He also noticed as he cast his eyes down over her, that her panties,
being small for her, were tight into her cleft showing him a very clearly
defined camel toe. She turned to the mirror, and using her index fingers,
rubbed her nipples a little, as if to get the circulation back into them.
Finally, again turning away from him, using her thumbs, she swept her panties
down her thin thighs. As she bent, Sam could see the brown hole of her
wrinkled, asterix shaped rosebud pucker into view, the skin around it winking
at him. As she lowered her panties, her cleft came into view, and just as she
was about to stand again, he could see her labia, which seemed to have grown, reluctantly
peel apart, providing him with a view of heaven for just a moment, the darker
shadow of her vagina disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.
Ste pping into the ceramic shower enclosure,
Lizzie switched on both shower heads, jumping back to avoid the cold burst of
water as they came to life. Soon Sam noticed the steam forming and Lizzie
stepped under the hot deluge cascading down. With no one else using the
showers, the water pressure was high. Sam noticed her pinkish ivory skin
glisten, as the water ran in rivulets down her body. She grabbed her bottle of
gel and started to lather up the suds and caressed her body as if anointing
herself. Looking down, Sam could see she had a prominent mound, which stood
quite proud of her belly. There was not a trace of hair to be seen on her. As
she turned towards him, he watched the water pouring down her front where it
made a confluence at her groin. She had quite a long cleft, ending almost half
way to her “innie” belly button, with a large dimple at the top. He absolutely
adored looking at little girls with dimples at the top of their cracks.
Actually, he also loved looking at naked little girls without a dimple at the
top of their cracks.
As she washed,
he noticed she kept returning to rub her fingers through her slit. As she did
so, he could see that her clitoral hood slowly became engorged, and enlarged,
and started to protrude from her cleft. After a few minutes it was clear she
had finished her wash, and was simply enjoying her body, as Sam was too. She moved
her feet further apart, tilted her head back. One hand held onto a pipe for
support, while the other moved over her mons. Her fingers deftly pressed into
her cleft, causing her prominent mound to bulge out further. Her middle finger
now was flicking across her clitty in a fast, seemingly well practiced, rhythm.

Suddenly, she
stopped. She straightened up, and the sly smile returned to her face. Turning,
she moved towards her bag and looked at her watch, nodding in satisfaction. She
wiped her hands on her towel, and reached inside. What she pulled out stunned
Sam. He immediately recognised what it was. Although he hadn’t seen it before,
he recognised it, because the police had been searching the school most of the
day for it, after it, or they, as it was one of a pair, had gone missing. It
was a Japanese Tanto dagger. It was impossible to know it’s value, but it was
known to be worth a fortune, perhaps millions. The pair of knives and their
accompanying Samurai sword had been kindly loaned to the school as part of a
cultural exchange. The sword, being too large to hide easily had been left, but
the two daggers had vanished.
The blades,
about six inches in length, were known to be lethally sharp. The handles also
were about six inches. The scabbard was, or looked like it was, made from
Ebony. It was a mirror image of the handle, in that it was oval in profile,
very slightly curved, with a rounded end. The scabbard and handle were inlaid
with ivory and some beautiful mother of pearl scrolling. It was exquisite work.
When assembled, the handle and scabbard appeared as one piece with no join, so
beautifully was it crafted. To remove the blade from the scabbard, the handle
had to be twisted a few degrees, whence it slipped out easily. Sam watched
fascinated.
The naked
preteen girl stepped back towards and faced him, under the falling shower
cascade, and quickly resumed her masturbation. Only now, after a few moments,
she started to rub herself with the handle and scabbard of the dagger. She
again grabbed the pipe for support, and still facing Sam, leaned back, so that
her belly arched out towards him. Her pussy was now only a matter of inches
away from Sam’s hungry eyes, as she again spread her legs further apart. Sam
could now clearly see her pink inner labia lips, as the black oval shaft moved
through her cleft, making her whole mound bulge out as she did so. The girl’s
breathing was beginning to get ragged.
There was a
slight pause in her movements, and Sam could see that instead of just rubbing
the shaft along the inside of her pussy lips, she had now turned it so that the
rounded end was being pressed into her. She adjusted her stance, moving her
feet even further apart, leaning back more, still holding the pipe for balance,
and arching her belly further forward, so that her hand holding the dagger’s
handle was almost touching Sam’s acrylic viewing window, and slid the shaft
slowly into her wet, pink, engorged vagina. He heard her gasp as little by
little it disappeared into her. She had pushed perhaps four inches in, when she
reversed her movement, and slid it most of the way out before pressing it in
again a little fu
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