Peggy greased her long thighs. She turned to face the mirror again. Her eyes were heavy with lust. The child's lips were redder, and she panted through her open mouth. She bent her knees, pushing with one hand on each side of her pussylips. Peggy pulled the tender, virginal crease apart. The canoe-shaped trough opened, sopping wet. The cuntal pinkness flamed in her crotch.
I want it! I want something in my cunt! I need to feel it-I'm sweating and hot and all greasy, and I need to have something up inside my pussy! Peggy knew the screams were only inside her head-she panted too rapidly to speak. Her eyes wandered desperately about the room and finally came to rest on the bottle of baby oil. She capped the oil bottle and tried to put the top into her steaming hole. It was too slippery for her shaking hands to grip. She couldn't get enough purchase to ram the cap past the rubbery membrane inside her cuntal channel.
"Damn! Damn! I need it," Peggy sobbed. She fell to her knees in her parents' stateroom.. Peggy rubbed and twisted at her clit left handed. She put the oil bottle upright beneath her cunt, and sat down on it.
"Aaaah-hhh! Please, God, please!" Peggy bounced and wiggled, trying to force her vagina to inhale the bottle top. She slowed, pushing rhythmically down, pulling at the flesh that barred the way.
A little bit of the rounded end of the cap slipped past her vaginal sphincter. "Yes, goddammit:" the little brunette said. Tears leaked from her tight-shut eyes.
Peggy was oblivious to the thumping and groanings of her passion. The only thing that mattered was the pre-orgasmic feeling that spread from her cunt to every nerve in her twelve-year-old body.
Peggy felt the sensation growing like a storm in her belly. Her pelvis tried to widen to take in the plastic bottle top that stretched at the girl's hymen.
She couldn't hear the bumping and scraping of the boat's hull, or anything at all. Only the hot rush of blood in her ears and her gasps were close enough to register.
Yes, dammit, it's just about to happen! I'm gonna cum any second! I want a real cock, a real hot, meaty cock to split my pussy wide open! I've got to have it all. Please now, Please! Her brain screamed.
Peggy started cumming. The bottle clung to the mouth of the womanchild's cuntal opening for the first few cataclysmic pulses, then it fell to the floor. Peggy bent farther and farther forward, both hands ravaging at her clit until her forehead rested on the deck.
The awesome power of her orgasm racked Peggy's body. Her muscles slowly unwound in the little jerks that her cum allowed. She slid from her tight-huddled knot into washed-out limpness on the scratchy rug of her parents' cabin. She rolled onto her side.
Peggy lay sweating, trying to get her breath back, until she began to shiver from the chill. Her satiated drowsiness barely clouded her mind, when a metallic clank snapped her eyes open.
"What's that? Are they home already?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Peggy sat bolt upright. She grabbed the oil bottle. It was slippery with her female juices, as well as the grease from her hands. In one bound, she was in the passageway, then in her room.
The willowy young girl had her short robe around herself before she realized the boat didn't move like someone had come aboard. Peggy turned off the light in her cabin. She peered out at the dock.
"Nobody's there. What's going on?" she asked herself. Peggy tied the belt of the thin, silky robe around her waist. She snapped the salon light off and went out into the cockpit.
An evening fog had come in over the harbor. Peggy could see only a few yards in the moist air. One boat across the way showed a light through portholes. The nearest dock lamps glowed faintly in the swirling mist. She felt wrapped in gray cotton. Even the constant slapping of the wavelets on the hulls was muffled.
The hair on Peggy's nape stirred. She couldn't see the main dock or the end of the row of slips where the borrowed yacht lay. Cold chills gave Peggy goose bumps on her long, slender legs. Her nipples erected, poling through the shimmery robe.
Maybe it was just a fish hitting the keel, Peggy mused. The leggy young girl looked around, then scurried below, back to the yellow-lit warmth of the yacht's innards. Even in her cabin, the foreboding chill continued.
Peggy laid out her warmest pajamas, the flannel set with vertical gold stripes on a white ground. She listened again to all the night sounds of a sailboat at anchor. The wooden hull creaked restively and small sea animals ticked and snapped endlessly as she prepared to wash the slippery oil from her olive skin.
Peggy tried to chive away her internal chill with scalding blasts of water. Though the head was cramped, the twelve-year-old looked over her shoulder constantly. From the center of the ship's bathroom, Peggy could touch all the walls without moving her feet.
Peggy dried and dressed herself for bed. Nobody's here but me, and I locked everything up real tight I'm just being silly. Just calm down, that's all, Peggy -cool it. Besides, who'd be out on a night like this?
The slight rise and fall of the ketch soothed Peggy. She pulled the rovers over her head, and gradually felt her tension dissolving. There, now, you see? Everything's all right, she remembered thinking, dropping off to sleep.
Her dreams were uneasy, nonetheless. Peggy was swimming after the little Bluejay, but no one appeared to help her catch it. She struggled with seaweed that turned out to be her sheets. Dozing again, Peggy felt the ketch splashing through waves, with her father grumbling at the helm. She slipped into a deeper sleep, uncoiling from her worried fetal ball into luxurious stretching.
"Peggy! Peggy!" Her mother was pounding on the girl's locked door. "Wake up, please!"
The girl shook her head. Her father's baritone roared in the companionway. "Peggy! Open the door! What the hell's going on?"
She rolled out of the short, narrow bunk. "Huh? Daddy? What is it, Daddy?" she asked in sleep-laden tones. Peggy snapped the flimsy door bolt and opened the door.
"Oh, God! You're all right, you're still here! Thank you, God," Ruth babbled, wrapping the flannel-clad girl in her arms. I was so scared when you didn't answer! I thought whoever'd done this had… had kidnapped you!"
"Done what, Mom? What kidnap me? What's happening?" Peggy's deep brown eyes were still bleary with sleep.
"Ripped off half the goddam boat, that's what!" Ed snarled. "All my tools and half of John's gear is gone. The sons-of-bitches even busted the dock box!"
Peggy's eyes were wide open now, round as saucers. She had never seen her father so angry. "Did you call the cops, Daddy?"
"He's going to do that right now, aren't you, Ed?" Ruth said. "We were so worried about you when we saw the boat had been broken into that we haven't had time, honey."
Ed pulled open the little cupboard where the phone was kept. "Gawd-DAMN them!" He pointed into the recess. "See that? They even stole the-the telephone!" He slammed the door.
"Stay right here. I'm going up to the clubhouse to call. The dockmaster is going to hear about this!"
Peggy dozed while the police talked with her parents. Ruth took her to bed, and the twelve year-old heard one of the officers say something about a list of the goods.
"I can't get it all listed until morning," Ed said, but the rest of his words were cut off by Peggy's cabin door.
The family was glum at breakfast. Ed looked grim and disheveled. Ruth seemed to have aged ten years during the night. Peggy picked at her food until her mother suggested that she take off while they catalogued the stolen items.
Peggy scuffed her white deck shoes on the grey-enameled wooden planks of the dock. She wandered in a short white dress, brooding about the burglary until she realized she'd come automatically to Tom's boat.
"Hi, Peggy. You look really depressed this morning. What's the trouble?" Tom askedm He put down his brush and the can of spar varnish and waited for an answer.