#Abuse #Tween
By Flikk
A man awakens trapped in the body of his perfect AI-created child, forced to live the life he designed, only to discover the dark reality of his choic
Sci-fi: All kids aged 11.
Dean sat slumped in his office chair, fingers tapping absently on the desktop while staring blankly ahead. Another monotonous Monday, punctuated by repetitive tasks stretching out forever like never-ending rows of traffic lights signaling stop after stop. As boredom crept in, he began scrolling aimlessly through random websites hoping to find something mildly entertaining – anything to break the mundane routine consuming him. That was when fate took a curious turn.
A blinking popup grabbed his attention, its flashy colors drawing Dean away from whatever banality held sway over his brain earlier. “Customise Your Perfect Child,” it proclaimed boldly. Curiosity piqued, Dean clicked curiously. The site loaded swiftly, revealing numerous options catering to various aspects of creating the ‘perfect’ offspring: hair type, eye color, body shape, height…even gender, although Dean had no idea why anyone would choose otherwise given to whom nature provided those inherently attractive features. But there seemed to be no limit to choice here, every preference imaginable covered. With a smirk, he continued exploring until coming across some decidedly darker sections dealing explicitly with physiological maturity – pubic hair styles, cleavage sizes, voice pitch alterations—each meticulously labelled. This clearly went beyond mere fantasyland shenanigans.
Dismissive initially, curiosity soon gave way to excitement. How many times had Dean imagined scenarios revolving around his secret desires? His imagination always stopped short though, unable or unwilling due to societal conditioning instilled upon him since childhood. Here lay an opportunity he couldn’t resist, even just for fun. He selected various elements. The slider for age went from 7-15, he settled on 11. He thought of little girls, their bodies developed just enough for mature sensuality yet maintaining the youthfulness of early pubation.
With each passing selection, Dean found himself growing bolder. Personality types ranged from sweet innocent to seductress vixens. After much deliberation, he chose a balance between both – a coy combination of innocence and obedience. Next, sexual experiences were presented as categories spanning from none at all to expert level or free text with one’s own description. He typed: zero experience but not a virgin. Clothing preferences varied wildly ranging from provocative lingerie sets suitable for adult women down to school uniforms fit for elementary girls. Finally deciding on modest attire befitting young teenagers, he proceeded further into customization options available.
Mischievousness appeared alongside playfulness as options under temperament choices. Combining them equally added a level of complexity, leaving him wondering, who would create such a fun game.
He noticed additional sections dedicated solely to physical characteristics such as breast growth timelines along with nipple sensitivity levels which intrigued him immensely. Fascinated, he toyed further with facial details – freckles sprouting spontaneously, big innocent eyes and a wide smile that would melt anyone looking at her face; it felt like bringing this character alive before his very own imagination. He marveled over the endless possibilities of creating someone unique, catering to his perversion. His heart beat faster with every change until he stumbled upon hair color variations. Blondes became redheads, became brunettes and so forth until he settled on golden locks that glinted in the moonlight. Pigtails and bangs were quickly added. Choosing pale skin tones complementary to her light hair made his creation resemble a sexy fairytale princess.
After many hours of playing this game, Dean became tired of the never ending customization.
Hesitantly, he hovered the mouse over the “Create Now” button. What a fun game for a night, he thought to himself and clicked it. Another pop-up opened, asking if he was sure to proceed or if he wanted any blank attribute of his perfect creation to be auto-completed by AI based on his input. He sighed, rolling his eyes. What a weird game, but a game nonetheless. He checked the box and clicked proceed again.
The next page loaded, revealing a neatly itemized breakdown of pricing. Dean blinked at the number displayed in bold letters: $50,000. For a moment, he chuckled to himself. What. A. Stupid. Game. He moved his mouse to close the window when another pop-up appeared, its tone more persuasive:
“Don’t leave your dream behind just yet – we offer a 7-day trial. If you’re unhappy after the trial period ends, we’ll collect her and take her back—guaranteed.”
Dean stared at the screen, a strange mix of curiosity and unease settling over him. The absurdity of it all tugged at the edges of his logic, but something deeper—something he didn’t entirely understand—urged him to press on. “Well, fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, clicking the button to proceed.
The screen went black for a moment before the browser abruptly closed itself. Confused, Dean reopened it, searching through his history for the site. But there was nothing—no trace of the website or the hours he’d spent immersed in it. The last entry dated back to six hours ago, a video on TikTok about kittens. Had it all been some elaborate hallucination? Must’ve been the weed, he thought, shaking his head. What a trip. He tossed the whole experience aside and went to bed at 2 a.m., albeit uneasily.
What Dean didn’t notice—what his curiosity had blinded him to—was the small print nestled at the bottom of the page he’d dismissed: By proceeding, you agree to all terms, including relinquishing ownership of your existing identity.
Dean woke to the soft sound of birdsong filtering through an open window. The sunlight danced across the room, warming his skin. Everything felt strange—too soft, too delicate. His head turned slowly against a pillow that smelled faintly of lavender. As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a room unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The walls were painted a pale pink, lined with shelves displaying stuffed animals and picture-perfect trinkets. Posters of castles and cartoon characters adorned the walls, and an ornate vanity sat in the corner, covered in sparkly nail polish bottles and brushes.
He sat up abruptly, the covers slipping off his body. The movement felt wrong, as though his limbs didn’t belong to him. His heart pounded as he glanced down and saw small, pale hands clutching the blanket—hands that were not his. His breath caught as his gaze traveled lower. A petite body was draped in a frilly pink nightgown, the fabric brushing his legs in a way that made his stomach twist. Blonde hair fell into his face, and he swiped at it in disbelief, only to feel the soft, silky locks brush against his cheek.
He stumbled out of bed, his movements clumsy and foreign. His legs wobbled, shorter and slimmer than they should have been. The cold floor against his feet sent a shiver through him as he caught sight of a large mirror across the room. Tentatively, he stepped closer, every inch confirming what he feared. The reflection that stared back at him was a young girl, no more than eleven years old, with wide, innocent blue eyes framed by long lashes and soft, rosy cheeks. Her golden pigtails were tied with pink ribbons, and her small lips trembled as she moved closer to the mirror, raising a trembling hand to her face.
“What the…” His voice caught in his throat, high-pitched and delicate. He clutched at the edges of the nightgown, pulling it away from his body as though it might break the spell. But nothing changed. The reflection remained. He stared into the mirror, breathing hard, trying to make sense of what had happened.
A soft knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. “Lina, sweetheart? Breakfast is ready,” a warm, feminine voice called. Dean froze, his heart racing. Who was Lina? His mind raced as he tried to piece together the night before—the website, the customization, the “Live Your Dream” poster that had flashed across the screen before he’d clicked proceed.
“Lina?” the voice called again, more insistent this time. Panic surged through him. “Coming!” he squeaked instinctively, the sound of his own voice startling him. He stumbled toward the door, his small hands fumbling with the handle. When he opened it, a woman stood there, smiling warmly. She was tall and graceful, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. “Good morning, darling,” she said, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “You must have been so tired; I had to call you twice.” Dean nodded mutely, too overwhelmed to speak. The woman placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, guiding him down the hall. The house was a perfect picture of suburban bliss, with sunlight streaming through large windows and the scent of pancakes wafting through the air. Every detail felt real—the warmth of the wood beneath his feet, the soft hum of distant music. “Go wash up, Lina,” the woman said, giving him a light nudge toward the bathroom. “Your father’s waiting at the table.” Dean obeyed automatically, his legs carrying him toward the bathroom. Inside, he locked the door behind him and leaned against it, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His reflection stared back at him from a small mirror above the sink, a stark reminder of the impossible reality he found himself in. “Lina,” he whispered to himself, testing the name. His voice sounded so foreign, so small. He stared into the mirror, his mind racing. Was this a dream? A cruel joke? His gaze drifted to a bright pink poster taped to the wall, its bold letters proclaiming: *“Live Your Dream! Carpe Diem!”* The words sent a chill down his spine. He splashed cold water on his face, hoping the sensation would jolt him awake, but nothing changed. The water dripped down his delicate features, pooling at the edges of the sink. When he finally emerged, the woman—his supposed mother—smiled and took his girly hand, leading him to the kitchen. The table was set with pancakes and syrup, a perfect breakfast scene that only deepened his unease.
Dean sat at the table, his small hands fidgeting with the edge of his plate. The pancakes in front of him looked delicious, the syrup pooling perfectly around the fluffy stack. But his stomach churned, his mind racing. His “mother”—sat across from him, sipping coffee while humming softly, her eyes occasionally drifting toward him with a warmth that made his skin crawl. Beside her, a man he assumed was his “father” read the newspaper, his presence calm and steady.
“Eat up, Lina,” the woman said, smiling warmly. “You’ll need your energy for school today.”
School? The word sent a jolt of panic through him. He wasn’t going to school. He wasn’t going to play along with whatever twisted game this was. Dean gripped his fork tightly, his small fingers trembling. “I’m not hungry,” he blurted out, his voice shaky but defiant. It wasn’t much, but it was the first step, a small rebellion against this surreal situation. The woman’s expression softened, her smile unfaltering. “Lina, sweetie, you know how important it is to have a good breakfast. Growing girls need their strength.” Dean felt his frustration bubble over. He dropped the fork onto the plate with a clatter and pushed his chair back, the sound grating against the wooden floor. “I said I’m not hungry!” he snapped, his voice rising higher than he intended. For a moment, silence fell over the table. And then, as if by some invisible force, his body shifted. His lips parted, and words spilled out in a soft, apologetic tone. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’ll eat now,” he heard himself say, his hands already reaching for the fork again. His mind screamed in protest, but his body moved on its own, obedient and calm. He stabbed a piece of pancake, his small hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. His eyes darted toward the woman, who was watching him with a serene smile, as though nothing had happened. “That’s my good little girl,” she said warmly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. The man beside her didn’t even glance up from his paper. Dean’s mind raced. What the hell was that? He hadn’t meant to say those words, let alone apologize. It was as if something had overridden his thoughts, forcing him to comply. He chewed the pancake slowly, the sweet syrup tasting like heaven in his mouth. The rebellion he’d felt moments ago had been snuffed out in an instant, replaced by an unsettling calm he couldn’t control. His hands moved automatically, cutting another piece of pancake and bringing it to his mouth. “Delicious, Mommy,” he heard himself say, his voice filled with a sweetness that made his stomach turn. He wanted to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but every attempt to speak his mind was overridden by this…something.
His mother reached across the table, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m so glad you like it, Lina,” she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. “Now, finish up quickly. We don’t want to be late for school.”
He wanted to argue, to refuse, but his lips parted again, and the words spilled out without his consent. “Okay, Mommy,” he said softly, his tone cheerful and compliant. Inside, his mind was screaming, but outwardly, he was nothing more than a perfect, obedient child.
The school day dragged on, a monotonous blend of classes and overly cheery interactions that Dean struggled to endure. Each forced smile, every bubbly remark, grated against his will. But the worst was yet to come. As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Dean felt a strange pull—an automatic compliance with the schedule his “perfect child” was designed to follow.
“Cheerleading practice after school,” one of the girls in his class reminded him as they packed up their things. “You’re not going to skip again, are you, Lina?” she teased with a grin.
Dean blinked, his mind reeling. Cheerleading? He didn’t remember setting anything like that in his customization, but maybe it had been auto-completed by the AI. His lips moved on their own. “Of course not! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” The words sounded sweet and excited, the perfect response for an eager participant. Inside, he screamed at himself again. As the girls made their way to the locker room, Dean followed, his small, delicate frame moving in sync with the others. He tried to resist, to steer his body away, but it was no use. The invisible force of his design compelled him forward, guiding him into the bright, bustling room filled with laughter and chatter. Rows of lockers lined the walls, and girls of various sizes and shapes bustled about, pulling out their uniforms and chatting about routines. Dean hesitated, lingering near the door, his thoughts racing. He didn’t belong here—he couldn’t possibly participate in this. But his feet carried him to a locker with his name on it, his hands reaching for the combination lock with practiced ease. “Lina, hurry up!” one of the girls called playfully. “Coach’ll yell at us if we’re late!”
Dean turned toward the voice, his heart pounding. The girl was smiling warmly, already dressed in her cheerleading uniform—a short mini skirt and a fitted top with the school’s mascot emblazoned across the chest. He opened his mouth to protest, to say anything that might excuse him from this nightmare, but the words came out soft and obedient. “I’ll be quick!” he heard himself chirp.
His hands moved almost mechanically, pulling the locker open to reveal a neatly folded uniform identical to the others. The sight of it made his stomach churn. Around him, the girls were changing without a second thought, slipping out of their school clothes and into their cheer uniforms. Dean’s gaze darted around, his cheeks flushing as he tried to avoid looking too closely. He felt like an intruder, trapped in a scene he had no control over yet stared at their flat chests and pink nipples and cotton covered pussies.
His hands trembled as he unbuttoned his blouse, the fabric slipping off his small shoulders to reveal the pale skin beneath. The cold air against his arms made him shiver, and he hesitated, clutching the blouse in his hands as his kiddie nipples hardened. I’m not doing this. I can’t do this. But his body moved again, folding the blouse neatly and placing it in the locker. He reached for the cheerleading top, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric. As he pulled it over his head, he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the far wall. The image was jarring—a petite, golden-haired girl in a half-dressed cheerleading uniform, her wide eyes filled with disbelief. He clenched his fists, trying to force himself to stop, to resist, but his body continued as though on autopilot. The skirt came next, sliding up his slender legs and settling at his slim waist. The outfit fit perfectly, his small cotton panties hugging his juvenile slit in a way that made him feel exposed and overly feminized. The other girls were tying their sneakers, chatting about routines and gossiping about boys, completely oblivious to their exposed butts, bare for him to see. If he could he would’ve gotten a hard-on, but instead he felt a soft trilling queasy feeling in his stomach, tingling between his legs.
“Lina, you look so cute!” one of them said with a grin, nudging him playfully. “Come on, let’s warm up before Coach gets here.”
Dean’s lips parted, and the words spilled out without hesitation. “Thanks! I’m so excited!” The bubbly tone made his stomach turn, but his legs moved, following the group toward the mats at the center of the locker room. They began stretching, their movements fluid, carefree.
The design of his new self kept him in check. He could talk, could even express opinions, but only within the bounds of the personality he’d crafted. “I can’t believe I almost skipped this,” he heard himself say, his voice filled with genuine-sounding enthusiasm. “Cheerleading is so much fun!”
He twisted slightly, inspecting the way the skirt flared out around him, how it revealed the soft lines of his legs. Gosh, children are just so hot, he thought.
“Lina, what are you staring at?” one of the girls teased, snapping him out of his trance. He glanced up, his cheeks flushing. “Just…checking if it looks okay,” he mumbled, his voice soft and shy. The girls giggled, one of them giving him a playful nudge. “You’re adorable! Stop worrying so much, cutie.”
He couldn’t escape this body or the life he’d created for it, no matter how much he wanted to. And a part of him, however small, wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore.
Dean—or Lina, as everyone now called him—stepped onto the cheerleading mats, his petite frame blending seamlessly among the group of girls. They stood in a loose circle, their vibrant uniforms catching the bright overhead lights during warm up. Lina couldn’t help but notice how the skirts barely covered the other children, and he loved what he saw.
Eventually the cheerleading practice was in full swing, the polished gym floor gleaming under the bright fluorescent lights. Lina stood amidst her teammates, her golden pigtails swaying lightly as she danced around. The other girls moved with ease and confidence, their plaid skirts fluttering with every step, their snug tops wrapping tightly around their torsos, and their pink socks contrasting against their smooth legs. Lina’s bright blue eyes roamed freely, taking in every detail of the scene with quiet curiosity.
To her left, the auburn-haired girl bent forward deeply, her fingers brushing the floor as her skirt shifted slightly, revealing a peek of the cotton panties beneath. Lina didn’t avert her gaze this time; there was no reason to. It all felt strangely normal, even fascinating, as though observing every detail was part of her routine. To her right, the jet-black-haired girl adjusted her braid as she slid into a split, her skirt pooling around her waist while her back arched gracefully.
“Alright, ladies, keep it moving!” Coach Reynolds called out as he entered the gym, his voice firm but steady as he walked along the edge of the mats. Lina noticed his gaze, lingering on her longer than it did on the others. Her stomach fluttered slightly under his attention, but outwardly, she remained perfectly composed, her small hands adjusting the hem of her skirt as they transitioned into bridges.
Coach Reynolds was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early forties, with dark brown hair graying partially and a neatly kept stubble tracing his square jaw. His deep hazel eyes were sharp and calculating, often lingering too long, giving those under his gaze a feeling of exposure. Always clad in athletic attire with a silver whistle around his neck, his calm voice carried quiet authority, though there was an unsettling restraint to his faint smiles. Beneath his composed exterior, there was a stillness and watchfulness that hinted at something predatory, a quiet tension that made the air heavy.
She pushed herself into position, her palms pressing against the mat as her back arched high. Her golden hair brushed the floor as she tilted her head back, her chest rising with each controlled breath. From her upside-down view, she saw one of the girls struggling slightly with her form, her legs trembling as her skirt shifted awkwardly. Another girl, with blonde twin buns, was in a perfect bridge, her skirt falling toward her waist as she balanced effortlessly. Lina couldn’t help but notice every detail—the way their uniforms hugged their bodies, the contrast of their socks against their bare skin. It was all so vivid, so precise, and strangely captivating, almost as if it was happening in slowmotion.
“Beautiful form, Lina,” Coach Reynolds said, his voice breaking her concentration. She felt his gaze sweep over her, lingering as she arched a little higher in response. “Hold that a little longer. You’re doing great.”
“Yes, Coach,” she replied, her voice light and steady, her golden pigtails brushing against the mat as she complied. Inside, her thoughts stirred, a mix of unease and an odd sense of pride in her obedience.
The girls moved to handstands next, taking turns balancing on their hands while the others watched. Lina’s turn came, and she stepped forward, her heart fluttering slightly as she positioned herself at the edge of the mat. She bent forward, placing her hands firmly on the floor, and kicked her legs upward. For a moment, she was balanced, her skirt flipping over her waist to reveal the snug cotton beneath. But her legs wobbled slightly, her balance faltering as she struggled to maintain the position.
“Hold still, Lina,” Reynolds called out, stepping forward quickly. She felt his hands on her ankles, firm and steady as he guided her legs back into place. “There you go. You’ve got this.”
Lina’s body stiffened slightly at his touch, her cheeks flushing as his hands lingered longer than necessary. But she said nothing, focusing instead on her balance as his grip steadied her. “Thank you, Coach,” she said softly, her voice carrying the same calm and obedient tone as always.
“Good girl,” Reynolds said, his voice quieter now, almost encouraging. His hands remained firm on her ankles, holding her steady as she balanced on her hands. Lina’s golden hair hung down toward the mat, her arms trembling slightly as she held the pose. She could feel his gaze on her, tracing the line of her legs, her soft cotton panties.
“You’re doing great, Lina,” Reynolds said, his voice smooth as he moved closer, his grip never wavering.“Let’s take it up a notch. Start walking.”
Her arms burned with effort as she began shifting her weight from one hand to the other. Each motion was careful, deliberate, her fingers pressing into the mat as she moved forward. Reynolds held her ankles firmly, walking behind her and keeping her legs aloft. Her hips swayed slightly with each step.
Keep going,” Reynolds said, his voice calm but insistent. His hands adjusted her legs slightly, the subtle motion keeping her aligned as she walked further. Her slim legs were straight, the muscles taut, the pale skin catching the light as she moved. Her hips tilted gently with each shift of her weight, the small movements emphasizing the sexy shape of her childish body.
As they began walking backward, Lina’s arms strained under the effort, her small palms pressing firmly into the mat with each deliberate step. Coach Reynolds guided her legs while staring down her crotch. Her golden pigtails swung gently, brushing the mat with each movement, while her breath quickened, focused entirely on the task. Step by step, they moved in unison. Then, with what appeared to be a simple misstep, Reynolds’ foot caught the edge of the mat. His grip on her legs tightened instinctively as he stumbled backward. The motion pulled Lina closer, her body tipping forward as her balance faltered. She let out a small gasp, her hands slipping just before they both tumbled down.
Reynolds fell first, landing on his back with a dull thud against the padding. His hands pulled her with him, angling her body in a way that seemed protective, ensuring she wouldn’t take the brunt of the impact. Lina landed atop him, her hands pressing into his thighs for balance as her young pussy came to rest directly above his face. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Reynolds’ eyes flicked upward. The impact of the fall had caused her panties to shift entirely to one side, exposing her slit completely beneath the skirt. Reynolds’ view filled with the now fully exposed child cunt. Her soft pink flaps slightly wet from the exercise and Dean’s previous arousal. The bright gym lights illuminated every detail—the smooth, pale tone, framed by the snug waistband that had slipped unevenly across her waist. Her breathing was shallow and quick, her trembling legs still loosely held by his hands as she tried to stabilize herself. Reynolds didn’t move immediately, his hands firm on her legs, his gaze lingering on the vulnerable position she had fallen into. The soft curve of her thighs and the exposed skin above him were impossibly vivid, the delicate line of her waist accentuated by her slender form. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, his hands steady as he adjusted his grip slightly under the pretense of holding her steady.
“I—I’m so sorry, Coach!” Lina stammered, her voice high-pitched and flustered, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she remained suspended above him, completely unaware of how exposed she was.
“It’s alright,” Reynolds replied quickly, his tone calm and measured, betraying nothing. “ I’ve got you.” His hands adjusted her legs slightly, his grip steady as he continued to hold her in place. His eyes lingered, tracing the exposed cunny with an unsettling intensity. The view, so unguarded, so vivid, was one he hadn’t anticipated but didn’t shy away from.
Lina’s arms quivered, her small hands pressing harder into his thighs as she tried to balance herself, recusing herself from his growing bulge that pressed in her face. Her golden hair swayed slightly with her movement, her entire frame trembling with effort. “I—I can get up,” she offered weakly, her voice trembling.
Reynolds “Just stay still for a moment. You’re okay.”
Lina remained compliant, her body obeying the subtle authority in Reynolds’ voice without hesitation. The closeness of the position made her breathing quicken further, her small chest rising and falling with effort as she tried to hold stay calm.
After several long, agonizing seconds, Reynolds finally shifted his grip, his hands sliding to her waist. The motion was deliberate, slow.. He guided her back to the mat, his hands brushing against her hips as he helped her land lightly on her feet.
Reynolds sat up slowly, his movements smooth and unhurried. His hand lingered briefly, his grip reassuring but firm. “Accidents happen. You handled it well.”
“Thank you, Coach,” Lina murmured, brushing her golden hair back from her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her small hands smoothed the hem of her skirt with delicate care. Inside, Dean’s thoughts churned with unease, as he moved his hands, adjusting and covering his kiddie cunt. That wasn’t an accident. He held on too long.
Reynolds gave her a faint smile, his eyes lingering on her just a moment too long. “Good job, Lina,” he said, stepping back to let her compose herself. His gaze, though calm and professional on the surface, revealed an intensity that hinted at something deeper, something more calculated.
As she rejoined the group, the moment lingered in the air between them, a silent, unspoken tension that neither addressed but both understood. The routine carried on, but the shadow of that deliberate stumble lingered, a quiet marker of what had just transpired—and what might come next. The whistle blew sharply, signaling the end of practice as the girls relaxed and began chattering, their voices echoing in the open gym. Coach Reynolds gave a nod of approval, and soon the team filed into the locker room, their sneakers squeaking lightly against the polished floor. The room hummed with activity as the girls moved toward their lockers, pulling out their towels and quickly shedding their uniforms. The plaid skirts fell first, pooling around their ankles, revealing the snug cotton panties in various shades of white, pink, and soft patterns. The slim tops, damp with sweat, were peeled away next, exposing their delicate, adolescent bodys—flat stomachs, pale skin, and the beginnings of curves that carried the hint of maturity still mixed with youthful tits and nipples. Each girl stripped fully, leaving piles of clothing scattered along the benches.
One by one, they moved to the showers at the far end of the room, the sound of water cascading onto tile filling the space. Their laughter and chatter carried on as steam rose, softening the edges of their silhouettes. The light reflected off their damp skin, droplets trailing down their bodies—down slender backs, smooth shoulders, and legs that shone under the glow of the overhead lights. Wet hair clung to their faces and necks as they rinsed, their movements casual and practiced. Lina stood apart, slower than the others as she removed her uniform piece by piece. Her golden pigtails had loosened during practice now untied falling freely. She hesitated for a moment before stepping under the farthest shower, her small frame shivering slightly as the warm water washed over her. Her hands ran through her hair, releasing the golden locks that hung down her back like damp silk, clinging to her pale skin.
The room grew quieter as the other girls finished, wrapping themselves in towels and chatting softly as they returned to their lockers. Lina remained alone, her movements slower, her small hands smoothing water over her shoulders, her breast, and along her slim waist. The droplets traced careful paths down her body, lingering on her slender thighs before pooling at her feet. Her blue eyes lingered on her own reflection in the tile, as if searching for something familiar in the face staring back at her. Finally, she turned off the water, the sudden silence deafening as she realized she had taken far too long. Stepping out, her pale skin glistened faintly under the harsh locker room lights, and as the last of the steam dissipated, she froze. Her towel was still in her locker across the room.
Her small feet damp against the cool tile as she glanced nervously across the locker room. The space felt eerily empty, the once-bustling hum of chatter replaced with silence, save for the distant drip of water from the showers. Her golden hair clung to her back and shoulders, damp strands brushing against her flushed skin as she hugged her arms across her bare chest, unsure of what to do. She swallowed, her eyes darting toward the row of lockers where her towel still sat neatly folded, far, far away.
The sudden creak of the locker room door breaking the silence made her flinch, her blue eyes snapping toward the entrance. Coach Reynolds stepped inside, his footsteps soft but deliberate as he entered the room, a clipboard still tucked under one arm. His gaze settled on her instantly, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his face before it softened into something calm and unreadable.
“Lina,” he said gently, his voice carrying in the quiet space. “You’re still here? Practice ended a while ago.”
“I… I took too long,” Lina whispered, her voice barely audible as she shifted uncomfortably, the dampness of her skin cooling under the bright lights. She tried to move subtly, her body turning slightly as if to shield herself, though it only made her naked vulnerability more obvious.
Reynolds’ eyes didn’t waver as he took a slow step forward, his expression steady, calm—almost concerned. “You’ll catch cold like that. Where’s your towel?”
Lina swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s… over there,” she murmured, gesturing faintly toward the lockers on the far side of the room.
“Let’s get it, then,” he replied, his tone soft but firm as he began moving toward her. The sound of his footsteps echoed, each step purposeful and measured as he closed the distance. Lina’s breathing quickened, her small frame trembling slightly as her arms tightened across her chest, her bare shoulders rising and falling with each shallow breath.
He stopped just a step away, his presence looming yet strangely gentle. “It’s alright,” Reynolds said softly, his voice soothing as his gaze swept over her. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.”
Lina’s blue eyes flickered up to meet his, wide and hesitant, searching for reassurance in his calm expression. He crouched slightly, his hand reaching toward her, steady and deliberate, as though offering comfort. “You’re a very good girl, Lina,” he murmured.
She froze, her body stiffening under his gaze, her thoughts a swirl of confusion and unease. His fingers lingered just shy of her shoulder, the silence stretching as the air between them thickened, heavy and unspoken. Lina’s heart pounded in her chest, her breathing shallow as she remained still, unable to move.
Reynolds’ calm voice cut through the quiet once more, softer this time. “Let me help you.”
The soft towel hung loosely in his hand as he turned back to her, his gaze steady, lingering on her naked body. “It’s alright,” he said again, his voice smooth, reassuring. “You’ve had a long day. Let’s get you warm before you catch cold.”
Lina didn’t move, her wide blue eyes fixed on him, her breathing still shallow. Her body felt frozen, her bare skin cool under the harsh locker room lights as the dampness of her hair sent faint chills along her back. Slowly, Reynolds approached, holding the towel open as though waiting for her to comply. “Arms up,” he murmured softly, the faintest edge of authority in his voice.
Her arms rose hesitantly, almost mechanically, releasing the grip she held across her chest. The towel fell gently over her shoulders, the warm fabric pressing softly against her cool skin as Reynolds’ hands began to move with slow, deliberate care. His touch was firm and exploring, the towel brushing against her shoulders first, soaking up the beads of water clinging to her pale skin. He guided her ass gently to turn, her golden hair spilling across the towel as he patted it dry, his motions lingering much longer than necessary.
Lina swallowed hard, her small body trembling as his hands moved downward, tracing along her back with the towel, wiping away the moisture. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her breathing shaky, though she didn’t resist. Dean’s thoughts echoed faintly somewhere in the recesses of her mind, screaming at her to move, to stop this abuse—but her body remained obedient, still.
“Good girl, now spread your legs,” Reynolds murmured, his voice low and even.
He stood behind her, letting the towel drop to the floor, “Oops. But we’re almost done now,” he purred.
His hands found their way to the preteen’s flat stomach, one sliding upwards, cupping her little bust and gently stroking her nipples while the other slid down between her legs. Dean kicked and protested at the intrusion he so much wished to perpetrate onto a girl himself, now forced to experience it himself. The coaches left hand wandered to Lina’s wet pink Haven and began rubbing back and forth. “You’re wet down there sweetheart. That means you like this, don’t you?,” he toyed. No, Dean wanted to scream, but the good girl he wished for answered instead:”If you say so Coach. It is a big ticklish and I’m not supposed to be touched down there I thought,” she winced. Reynolds savored feeling up the naked child that so effortlessly ventured into his domaine. “You flashed me back there during training Lina,” he purred, “and I think you did that on purpose. You want to be a star, don’t you? The frontrunner of the schools cheerleading, right?”
“Yes Coach,” the words poured sweetly out of her mouth.
“I can help you achieve that, but that means putting you ahead of others that would’ve earned it, that’s not fair now is it?”, he muttered
Lina felt the tingling sensation of forbidden lust creep up her legs as the coaches hard cock bulged in his pants and pressed between her ass cheeks. “No Coach, I will work hard and earn it!”, she said trembling and bubbling.
“I can help you earn it. You can help me out here, and if you keep me happy, I’ll make a star out of you Lina, would you like that?,” he tested.
“Yes Coach, I’ll do anything to make you and everyone else proud, to earn it,” she almost cried out from the buildup heat between her legs.
He pinched her kiddie nipples. “Then, let me show you what you must do. Kneel before me,” he pointed at the tower and turned her around. “Open my pants and I’ll show you how to make me feel as good as I made you feel, sweetheart.”
Lina dropped to her knees and mechanically moved her hands up. She and Dean, they knew this was wrong. She didn’t want to do it, and Dean? He was a passenger now, a first person witness of the predicament he put this girl into. Shame cursed through his, or her veins. Tears pricked at her eyes. She sighed heavily and unzipped his pants. Immediately his cock sprung free and slapped softly across her face. Large, uncut and wet and foamy with precum. He grabbed her hands, put them on his member. “Stroke softly,” he instructed and Lina obeyed. The sound of the wet cock squelching and sopping with each stroke oozing more precum had Reynolds go crazy. He put his hands on her head, locked gazes and said,”now open that sweet young mouth and savor what I offer. Lick me clean, suck me dry, and I’ll make a star out of you!”
Lina recoiled at the taste when he first shoved his dick in. “Open wider, girl. Yes, I want no teeth!”
He was so salty and Dean felt humiliated, abused, reduced as he was experiencing first person a cock about to pound away at his, at her, throat in the duality of gay rape, that was still purely heterosexual. The coach eased himself deeper into the tight child’s throat, shoving, probing and prodding. Lina struggled, tears flowing freely as she gagged under the relentless facial abuse. Reynolds was in bliss. He held this young child at his mercy, picking up the pace and started pushing in and out faster and faster. His balls slapped her chin as he felt the familiar pressure build up in his cock. His breath became uneven, as this juvenile cock whore sucked on his dick he couldn’t believe how lucky he was with little Lina. After a minute or two of ravishing her mouth he pulled out again. “You’re gonna be a star sweetie. Just one follow me,” he led her back to the locker room and sat down on the bench. He grabbed her waist and lifted her on top of his erect member, face to face. “Now this might hurt a bit, but it’s going to be a lot of fun I swear!,” he mumbled. Fear grew in Lina’s eyes and Dean froze in terror. He was about to be raped, his little kiddie cunt about to be deflowered and then Reynolds guided his massive dick in. Lina, slick with a mixture of wetness from the shower and Dean’s previous arousal had no issue accommodating the veiny girth. With a swift plopping sound she sat on top of his cock. Apparently she wasn’t a virgin. Reynolds looked confused at the child pierced upon his rod, as she squirmed. The sensation of being filled immediately flushed the child’s face.
As the coach continued thrusting inside Lina, he could feel her muscles clenching around him. Her petite frame bounced up and down on his lap, each movement causing the head of his dick to rub against her womb.
“So you have been touched before?” he asked, shocked by the revelation.
Lina’s expression showed her discomfort and pain mixed with confusion, unsure why she was receiving such treatment. She managed to shake her head, her body trembling slightly.
The coach sighed, feeling guilty about what he was doing but too far gone now to stop. “Oh well,” he muttered, continuing his rhythmic movements within her. “This will make you a good little fuck toy.”
Reynolds pressed on, enjoying the feeling of dominance and power that came with taking advantage of a vulnerable teenage girl like Lina. Each thrust was harder than the last as his orgasm neared. Dean, on the other hand, watched helplessly as he was violently raped right along. Feeling completely useless, he shuttered with fear and shame.
In sync, they both built up to climax, speed increasing further. Suddenly, with an explosive force, Reynold’s body stiffened and he let out a loud groan. Semen flowed hotly deep inside Lina, leaving her in great distress due to the sheer size difference between them. It all happened so quickly—within minutes he had used and ruined the not so innocent Lina.
Panting heavily, the coach stood up abruptly and helped Lina off his penis. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her lower lip quivered as if trying hard to stay composed despite everything she experienced. Wiping sweat from his brow, Reynolds handed her a towel. Then turning to leave, he commented without remorse, “Just don’t tell anybody else about today, alright?” He winked suggestively before walking away.
The wetness was still leaking from her ravaged entrance, Lina remained sitting on the wooden bench where she was molested. A cold breeze swept through the large metal door behind her, sending chills running up and down her spine. Her entire body shook uncontrollably – physically from the act itself, emotionally due to betrayal and pain inflicted by this monster masquerading as mentor. Numbed by shock, tears kept streaming down her cheeks. Facing the floor tiles beneath her feet, she stared blankly at nothingness while mentally replaying every gruesome detail that transpired only seconds ago. Blood pounded furiously inside her skull as panic set in; thoughts raced faster than ever before. What do I do? Where can I go?
But there was nothing. Dean’s thoughts couldn’t comingle with Lina’s and the little girl was in full charg. She went to her locker, the semen still dripping out of her and on the floor and dressed. Silently she went home.
Lina walked home slowly, the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty streets. Her small frame moved mechanically, her thoughts distant and hazy, as though her mind refused to fully process what had happened. The damp chill of her hair against her neck and the slight discomfort of her cum stained crusty panties made her hyperaware of every step, but her expression remained blank, calm, perfectly composed. By the time she reached the front door, the warm glow of the house lights was a welcome sight, though it carried an odd sense of detachment—like a stage she was stepping onto.
Her mother greeted her as soon as she stepped inside, her voice sweet and cheerful. “There you are, honey! You’re late today. Practice must’ve been tough.”
“Yes, Mom,” Lina replied softly, her voice light and steady, betraying nothing. She set down her bag by the door and took off her shoes carefully, the sound of her socks padding across the floor soft and deliberate.
“You look exhausted, sweetheart,” her mother continued, her kind smile never wavering as she brushed a hand over Lina’s damp hair. “Dinner’s ready—sit down, eat a little, and then you’re off to bed.”
Lina nodded, moving toward the dining table where a simple meal had been set. The familiar scent of food filled the air, warm and inviting, but as she sat and took a sip of her drink, her brows furrowed faintly. There was something off about it—a faintly sweet, almost syrupy taste that lingered on her tongue. She hesitated for only a moment before taking another sip. Her mother sat across from her, watching her with the quiet attentiveness of someone who cared deeply.
“You need to eat, darling,” her mother encouraged gently. “You look pale.”
Lina picked at her food, chewing slowly, her movements feeling strangely heavy. Each bite seemed to pull her further into a fog, her eyelids growing heavier with every sip of the odd-tasting drink. By the time she had finished, a wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she leaned back slightly in her chair.
“Mom, I’m… really tired,” she murmured, her voice small.
Her mother’s expression softened immediately as she stood and moved to her side. “Of course you are, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.”
Lina didn’t resist as her mother helped her to her feet, guiding her gently up the stairs. Each step felt slower than the last, her body weighed down by the overwhelming drowsiness that crept over her like a warm blanket. By the time they reached her room, her mother eased her onto the bed, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face.
“Sleep well, darling,” her mother whispered softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as she pulled the blankets up around her small frame. Lina’s blue eyes fluttered open briefly, catching the faint glow of the hallway light before they drifted closed again.
As she slipped further into the haze of sleep, her mother’s voice lingered faintly at the edge of her consciousness. “You’re such a good girl for us Lina.”
The room settled into silence as the last bit of light faded, and Lina’s breathing grew steady, her mind surrendering to the pull of sleep without resistance.
Lina stirred in the middle of the night, the heaviness in her limbs making it hard to move. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow from the hallway, its light spilling softly through the crack under the door. Something felt different—warmer, closer. As her drowsy mind slowly surfaced, she realized there were shapes on either side of her, the bed much fuller than it had been when she’d fallen asleep.
Her mother’s gentle, familiar scent wafted through the air, her presence unmistakable on one side, and on the other, her father lay silent, his arm draped protectively over her waist. Lina blinked groggily, trying to make sense of the strange closeness. The soft rhythm of her parents’ breathing filled the room, their presence unnervingly still.
“Mom?” Lina whispered, her voice weak and uncertain as she shifted slightly beneath the blanket.
Her father’s arm stiffened faintly for a moment before relaxing again, his hand settling a little more firmly at her waist. Her mother’s hand, resting lightly on Lina’s belly beneath the covers, stirred, the fingers beginning to move in slow, soothing circles.
“Shh, sweetheart,” her mother’s voice cooed softly in the darkness. “You must’ve had a bad dream. We’re here to comfort you.”
Lina’s breath caught as her mother’s hand traced her stomach gently, a steady and deliberate motion that lulled her into stillness. The warmth of her father’s arm was equally heavy, holding her in place like an anchor, leaving her unable to shift. “You’re safe, darling,” her mother continued, her tone sweet and tender. “Mommy and Daddy are here.”
Her mother leaned closer, the faint pressure of her lips brushing Lina’s forehead before trailing downward, lingering softly against her mouth in a deep french kiss that made Lina’s mind freeze. Dean’s voice screamed faintly somewhere inside her—No. This isn’t right. What’s happening?—but her body didn’t move, didn’t resist. The steady circles on her stomach continued, rhythmic and soothing, while her father’s hand remained firm, warm, unyielding.
“Go back to sleep,” her father’s voice whispered low near her ear, quiet and steady. “Everything’s okay.”
Lina’s small chest rose and fell more quickly, her breathing shaky as the warmth of their closeness became suffocating. Her mother’s hand never faltered, and the combination of their voices, their touches, surrounded her, pulling her back toward sleep.
“You’re such a good girl for Mommy and Daddy,” her father murmured softly, the words pressing into the darkness like a final lullaby.
Her eyes fluttered closed again, her body too heavy, too drowsy to resist as her mind faded into the quiet haze of sleep. The last thing she felt were her Daddy’s fingers sliding in her pants, their soft whispers lingering even as the room faded to black.
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#Abuse #Tween
