A light breeze ruffled the grasses beside the young girl as she dangled one foot in the stream. She sat on the bank, one leg hanging over the edge and the other bent so that her head rested on her knee. She was no more than a child but at twelve was a beautiful promise of the woman to come.

Her uncle, Rober Walter Finch, stood a little way down stream on the opposite side, and watched her. He noticed with deep, sensual pleasure how well developed his young ward was becoming. The position in which she sat spread her legs wide and pulled the light summer frock up around her thighs. He wondered what it would be like to fondle those soft, white columns and the cloth of his riding breeches tightened as his organ filled with blood and pushed against his pant leg.

Belinda lay back so that the thick black hair that had obscured his vision no longer hid from view the soft, deep recess of her virginal cunt. Dark, feathery down was just beginning to grow there but the lips still showed fat and rosy.

As he watched his hard tool pushing against him painfully, he became aware that he was not the only one snared by the young girls sexuality. Lying back on the bank, one leg still dangling and the other spread wide, her little hand moved down and stroked the soft flesh of her thigh. She tucked her dress up higher and smiled with pleasure as her hand explored the plumpness of her round stomach and ran down the other leg as far as she could reach. How good it would feel to have someone else fondle her. She paused for a moment, feeling the breeze and the warm sun on her pouting slit. It was almost as though someone were caressing her gently; almost, but not quite.

She moved her fingers, exploring the lips and sides of her little cunt. She felt herself become moist, and dipped her fingers into the heavy liquid. Her hips twitched against the grass, and her excitement grew. She put one finger deeply inside herself, wishing that it was something else.