Helen Burton Attorney at Law, Chapter 2

by Single Mom

My name is Helen Burton, and I'm a PA (Practicing Attorney). I'm also the Attorney of Record for The Mississippi School for Southern Young Ladies. I recently had to defend the school director, Mary Priminiski, against a charge of child molestation. It was during the pre-trial work on that case that I discovered the joy of having sex with young girls.

Southern Young Ladies is a misnomer. The girls at the school are anything but young ladies, southern or otherwise. MSSYL or MISSY as the school is fondly called is populated mostly by girls placed there by the state, county or some foster home who can no longer handle the child. As was the case of Janet Stevenson.

It was 3:00pm on Monday when I received a call from Mary Priminiski the director of MSSYL. "Helen? It's Mary Prim," she said into the phone. "I have a favor to ask."

"Now how did I know that when I saw your name in my caller ID."

"Okay, let me change that. I have a favor to do for you. I need you to represent the school in a custody hearing in Jackson. The child's mother is in prison on a laundry list of charges from drugs to prostitution to felony theft. The kid's a discipline problem, and the state wants to farm her out. It's a big money deal, and there are 3 foster homes trying to dip into the cookie jar."

"Including MSSYL?"

"I'm counting on you to convince the court that we're the best qualified to handle young girls with discipline problems."

"And how is that a favor for me?"

"Oh I would say about 30 or 40 billable hours at your normal hourly rate is a favor, wouldn't you?"

"Plus all expenses?"

"Of course."

"You must want this kid bad?"

"This is a state case. She's a potential goldmine."

I left Bayles Lake early the next morning and arrived in Jackson at about 4:00 pm of the night before the hearing. I went directly to the county children's center to verify the location and time of the hearing the next day, and that's when I first met Janet Stevenson. She was a green eyed, auburn-haired cutie, about 12 years old who stood about 5 feet tall. She was arguing with a staff member of the center, and she had the vocabulary of a French dock worker. If I had to guess, I would say her favorite word was either "Cunt, Fuck, or Bitch."

Being on an all-expense-paid job, I checked into the best 5 star hotel in the area. I had dinner in the lounge and charged everything to my room, including drinks and cigarettes. When I finished dinner, I moved to the nearly empty bar, sitting on the far end, which was empty.

The bar tender was a bottle blonde about 25 ish, with a great body, covered by a red spandex jump suit that fit her like a second layer of skin. There was something about the way her ass moved under that spandex that caused me to wonder if I was really ready to give up women for young girls.

I think she may have noticed me noticing her because she hung out at my end of the bar. She introduced herself to me as Barbara, and asked if I was with the teacher's convention.

"Teacher's convention?" I asked, indicating the near empty bar. "I didn't know that teachers were tee-totalers."

She flashed me a most enticing smile. "It's early yet. Give them a chance."

"Poor you," I said. "I hope they give you some help."

She leaned close and whispered, "Who cares, I'm off in an hour," her hot breath landing on my ear. She was so close, I thought she was going to kiss me, but no such luck. Being 39 sucks.

For the next half hour or so I made it obvious that I was checking out her ass, wishing that I could bury my face in it.

At 7:50 pm she slid my bill across the bar with a ball point pen. "I'm closing out now," she smiled seductively.

Being fast and loose with Mary Priminiski's money, I added a 20 percent tip and signed the check.

She glanced at the bill, thanked me for the tip and said, "Thank you, Helen, but I need your room number," and she pushed the tab back at me.

"Oh, sorry," I said and wrote the number 314 in large numbers and circled it.

She picked up my tab, glanced at the number and repeated it, "314. Well maybe we'll run into each other again," she said.

"I hope so," I said, finishing my drink. I picked up my cigarette case and lighter and left the lounge.

As soon as I entered my room, I stripped naked and slipped into my favorite man-style shirt that reached to mid thigh. I sat in one of the two easy chairs, put my feet up on the arm of the other and began to masturbate, fantasizing about having my face buried in Barbar's spandex-clad ass.

My reverly was interrupted by an early but hoped-for knock on my door. I opened the door in my shirt, and saw Barbara standing there, holding her hand out with a Bic lighter in her palm. "I think you left this on the bar," she said with a grin that said, 'will you buy that?'"

"Uh—no, sorry. Mine is over there on my night stand."

"Oh shit, I could have sworn that this was yours."

"No, but it was nice of you to bring it all the way up here," I said, like she would really come up to the third floor for a ninety-eight cent Bic lighter.

She flashed me that enticing smile of hers and said, "Well I'm off duty, and it's not like I have anything better to do."

I backed away from the door and said, "Well since you're here, would you like to come in? Maybe I could serve you a drink this time?"

She glanced across the room and said, Oh, you have a wet bar in here, how nice."

"Yes, and it has a million of those little airline bottles of booze. What would you like?"

"Do you have Vodka?" she asked, remembering what I was drinking at the bar.

"I would think so, but if not, we could always have a bottle sent up."

She stepped close to me and put her hand on the top button of my shirt. "Why don't we skip the drink and get right to what we both want?"

I took her face in my hands and kissed her passionately. "I like to get kissed when I get fucked," I said, then moved my hands to the back of her jump suit and tugged the zipper down.

She worked the top down to her waist, exposing an overflowing 36-C bra with nipples so hard, they were trying to poke their way through it. She tugged the jump suit down over her ass and hips, and dropped down on the bed while I grabbed the leg holes and pulled them off over her feet. She removed her bra while I tugged her black hip-hugger bikini panties off. They were damp, and I held them to my face and smelled them.

My gaze was focused on her shaved pussy with large clitoris and swollen labia. When I looked up at her, she was twisting and pulling on her nipples as if she was trying to pull them off of her breast. I pushed her hand away from her right tit and began to suck on the swollen nipple. I sucked the entire nipple into my mouth and bit down, leaving teeth marks around the large areola.

She entwined her fingers in my hair and pulled me firmly against her breast, while she begged me to bite harder. I got her message, she was into pain.

I went up on my knees and began slapping her with my open hand, her breast, her belly, her clit, her pussy, and her thighs as she twisted and writhed on the bed, begging for more.

I threw my right leg over head, wanting to get mine. I lowered my pussy onto her face and felt her begin to lick and suck. I lowered my head between her legs, and the instant my lips wrapped around her clit, I heard her warn me that she was a squirter and was about to come. I covered her entire pussy with my mouth just in time to catch an odd mixture of cum and urine, which brought about my own orgasm.

We were lying under the overhead fan trying to cool off when suddenly Barbara sat up. "Oh shit, my fucking husband is going to kill me if I'm late again," she cried, and sprang out of bed. She quickly got dressed and left in a panic, leaving behind her black hip hugger panties.

I left for the court house at eight the following morning, feeling an odd sense discontentment. As much as I enjoyed fucking Barbara, it was not the same as having little Rose Breen snuggled up against me upon waking on the morning after.

The hearing in front of Judge Olivia Jacobs went a lot smoother than I had expected. The three foster homes present all had the same arguement, the benifits of raising a child in the loving enviroment of a family-type setting rather than in a crowded institution. My argument was simply that The Mississippi School for Southern Young Ladies was staffed by a psychologist and psychotherapist as well as faculty and staff members trained in the handling of severe discipline problems such as was the case of Janet Stevenson.

Judge Jacobs called for a lunch break, and announced that she would have a decision after the break, but based on the questions that she asked during the hearing, I had no doubt that she would award temporary custody of the child to the school. I felt almost guilty for taking Mary Prim's money.

The only question in my mind now was, could I get this snotty little bitch back to Bayles Lake without killing her?

Judge Olivia Jacobs didn't reach her decision until after three PM. It seemed that she was fond of long, wet lunches and the evidence of that was on her breath. The long lunch also gave the appearance that she was not making a snap decision, but giving due consideration to all parties. In the long run, she made the right decision.

By the time court let out, it was teaming down rain, and I still had to get back to the children's center to sign a pile of papers and pick up the brat. It promised to be a long trip home. I was surprised to arrive back at the center to find Janet sitting quietly outside of the office. She was clutching a brown paper bag known as a rural Mississippi suit case, and it contained all of her earthly belongings. It contained not a game or a toy, or a doll, or a frilly dress. My heart suddenly went out to this young, scruffy waif.

We left the children's center at 8:00 pm in the midst of a torrential rain storm. I headed north on I-55 making only about 25 MPH due to the heavy rain and dense fog. I exited the interstate at state road 14, a crowned black top, looking for a motel to spend the night. We passed several small motels with full parking lots, and NO VACANCY signs lit. Just as I was about to pull off on the shoulder of the road and spend the night in the car, I saw it. The Cozy Doze Motel with the VACANCY sigh lit.

It was so foggy and raining so hard that I had a problem finding the office in the long row of attached, cabin-like rooms. When I found it, I told Janet to stay in the car until I knew which room we would be staying in.

When I asked for a room with two beds, the clerk had to stifle a laugh. She informed me that none of the rooms had two beds. "Most people who check in here ain't lookin' to sleep in seperate beds," she smiled.

"OH!" I said, suddenly realizing that the Cozy Doze Motel would have been more appropriately named the No Tell Motel. Further evidence of what I was about to check into, were the various other signs posted around the office like, "Ask the clerk about Condoms," or "Hourley rates available," or the old time favorite, "In room XXX video's available."

The kid and I were both soaked and looking like drowned rats when we were finally able to get to our room, which was suprisingly nice considering the type of motel this was.

It's amazing what fatigue and a little discomfort will do to calm a savage beast like my young friend, Janet Stevenson. She stood soaked and shivering in the center of the room, her T-shirt and shorts sticking to her skin. She had stepped in a puddle getting out of the car, and her dirty and worn sneakers actually squished when she walked.

I told her to get undressed while I went into the bathroom and filled the tub with warm water. I poured in about half a bottle of my hair shampoo and swished it around to make a poor man's bubble bath. I called her into the bathroom and lost my heart when I saw her standing there, bare chested, and wearing badly tattered cotton panties. BAM! up popped that old mothering instinct again as only a childless old bag of 39 can experience it. I turned to hug her, but she repelled against it, obviously not trusting my sincerity.

While Janet bathed, played, and frolicked gleefully in the warm, sudsy water, I found Barbara's hip-hugger panties and washed them in the sink, placing them over the hot radiator to dry, figuring that they were just skimpy enough to fit Janet. While the young girl continued to bathe, I went into the bedrooom and dumped her brown-bag suitcase on the bed and sorted through it to find something for her to sleep in.

The bag contained a few more worn T-shirts, more tattered cotton panties, a few old pairs of shorts, and several pairs of old socks. This is what 12 years of life had brought this child. I wanted to cry and shoot someone all at the same time.

I could hear her running more hot water as her tub cooled, and swishing more hair shampoo to make more suds. I wondered how many months ago it was since her last hot bath, or perhaps how many years.

I took this opportunity to make a mad dash to the diner next door to the motel, using a phone book for head cover against the rain. I ordered two hamburgers with french fries, a coke, and a large container of coffee to go. They put the order in a small box to keep it dry, and gave me a large plastic menu to replace the wet phone book I used to cover my head.

When I returned to our room, I entered the bathroom and found her still in the tub, except that now she had both hands under the water. The color and expression on her face told me that I had just missed catching her masturbating. "Honey, come into the bedroom and have something to eat. You can get back in the tub later if you want, and I'll help you wash your hair."

When she stood up to get out of the tub, I noticed her pussy for the first time. It was one of those with puffy outer lips that caused the large pubic buldge that you saw in the front of the bathing suits of some women. It was also bare except for a few dark strands of hair in the crease. I handed her a towel and told her that I'd meet her in the bedroom.

I removed my wet skirt and panties, and wrapped a second towel around my own waist. When Janet arrived in the bedroom, there was still a slight blush on her cheeks. "Did you enjoy your bath?" I asked her.

"Uh-huh."

"Well if you would like, you can get back in later and I'll wash your hair."

"`kay," she said, then wasted no time getting to her hamburger. She ate her burger, then her fries, and half of my fries. She then wanted to know if she could have a sip of my coffee, turning her nose up at the Coke. I filled about half of one of the styrofoam cups they use in motels.

Helen drank her coffee and had her normal cigarette when doing so. Jenet held out her hand and asked if she could have a cigarette.

"No, you're too young to smoke," I told her.

"Shit, I been smokin' since I was eight," The young girl answered.

I held out my cigarette and said, "One drag is all you get."

Janet took the cigarette and took several deep drags before handing it back. "You gonna wash my hair now, or what?"

"You can't wash your own hair?"

"Yeah, but I want you to."

"Why?"

"`cause you said you would."

"Well you don't need another bath for that," I told her. "Go get in the shower and I'll be right in."

I removed my towel, top, and bra, and slipped into a pair of cotton panties and a V-neck tank top in preperation for getting soaked when I washed her hair. Since she used all of my hair shampoo for her bubble bath, I found one of those little plastic envelopes full of hair shampoo that I took from the hotel this morning.

Janet seemed dissapointed when she saw what I was wearing. "Ain't you gettin' in?" she asked.

"I think we can handle it from out here," I said, pushing her head under the shower to get her hair wet before applying the shampoo. By the time I got around to rinsing the shampoo from her hair, I was drenched, and could have easily won a wet T-shirt contest. What the hell, I climbed into the shower behind her and began to rinse her hair.

And then her neck and her back, and then down to her ass. Janet grabbed the towel bar, leaned foward and spread her legs, inviting me to continue "rinsing" her off. Thoughts of Rose Breen flodded my mind as I leaned foward and whispered into her ear, she could feel my hot breath on her neck. "What do you want, baby?"

"You know."

"No, you have to tell me, I need to hear the words."

"I want you to fuck my ass."

I stepped away from her and removed my panties and tank top, I then turned her around to face me as I guided my right breast and stiff nipple toward her mouth.

She began sucking hungrily, drawing my breast as far into her mouth as she could, making a large hickey around my areola as if trying desperately to get milk from my breast. I put my arms around her and down the crease that separated her buttocks. I found her tight sphincter and pushed past it with my finger as she began to buck and thrust wildly, drawing my finger in to the last knuckle, making soft purring sounds of content, like a cat with its motor running. She bent her knees as she continued to push back hard against my finger, then foward off of it.

Suddenly, she stopped. My breast slipped out of her mouth and my finger slid out of her rectum as her sphincter relaxed. She went weak in the knees, hanging onto me for dear life, spent, exhausted, and totaly satiated from an anal orgasm. This was not new to her, this child had been here before. Anal orgasms are achieved by applying pressure against the G-Spot through the thin wall separating the anus from the vagina, and a 12-year-old child would have to have been taught how to do this. I made a mental note to find out where Janet Stevenson had spent this past year.

I stepped out of the tub, carried her to our bed and climbed in next to her, holding her, kissing her, rubbing her, wanting to eat her alive.

After she had recovered from her reverie, she climbed on top of me and began to lick her way down my front. When she reached my pubic mound, I bent my legs at my knees and parted my thighs to give her access to what she was obviously after.

I sucked in my breath when I felt her tongue flick at my clitors. Her wide green eyes were staring up at me from over my pubic mound, and between my breast, checking my reaction, and seeking my permission to continue. Unable to speak, I nodded my head in agreement.

Janet took the hood of my clitoris between her fringers and began to masturbate it, expertly. Her eyes soon disappeared from view, leaving only the top of her auburn hair visible as she began to lick and suck my labia in a most professional manner, while continueing to masturbate my now enlarged clitoris.

I had to grip the bed covers with my hands to keep from falling out of bed. I began moaning and screaming, drowning out the sounds of sex coming through the thin walls from my neighbors.

Spured on by my sounds of passion, Janet burried her face in the wet folds of my labia, probing with her expert but short tongue. In what seemed like sheer desperation on her part, she placed her thumb in the palm of her hand and closed her fingers around it.

I felt her fingers enter me, twisting and turning while she pushed. I felt the palm of her hand slip past my inner labia and into my waiting and slick vagina. She continued to push, over her closed hand to her thin wrist, and then I could feel several inches of this child's arm inside of me. Her fingers touched my uterus, played with it, pressing against the cervix as if trying to enter it.

Her eyes were closed and saliva drooled from her slack lower jaw as she began to piston her hand and arm in and out of me, banging her hand against the tip of my uterus. I had to pull a pillow over my face to keep from shattering the walls with my screams.

We awoke often during the night when we hugged and kissed and held each other as I gained the child's trust, and she told me much about her past. As I suspected, her mother was a drug addict, supporting her addiction by prostitution, bringing home both male and female customers, some of whom she shared her daughter with, which explained Janet's expertise in the art of sex.

We got up at seven am. I had Janet put on Babrara's black hip-hugger panties, which stayed up, but just barely. I gave her my man-style night shirt to wear over the panties like a dress, and a pair of my one-size-fits-all slippers. We threw every thing else she owned in a dumpster.

I called Mary Priminski and told her that we would be arriving late that evening and would spend the night at my apatment in Grant, then drive to the school the following morning.

"Well hurry up, she said," I've got another job for you.

Continued in Part 3

Comments and suggestions welcome.