Rosco Murtson - Adoption Agency Girl

Standing on the scales to be weighed and measured, little Jane White was still trembling with cold and fear. The smock the little girl wore, her only garment, didn't offer any protection. Sleeveless, tied at the neck but wide open down the back, its rough cotton came only to her hips.

She was cold, and everything about the day had been cold, cold, cold. She'd been abandoned by her parents, taken in by the police, and delivered to this concrete mausoleum known as the Youth Advantage Agency in one day. The people at the agency received her in a cold, sneering way, as if she was to blame for needing the charity that a foster home could provide. Then Jane had been made to take an icy shower in a cold concrete shower stall.

When she emerged, her clothes were gone and the nurse had left for the night. The Director of the Agency was waiting to give her the physical she had to have before she could join the other unfortunate girls at the agency. It was the worst day of Jane White's fourteen-year life, and all she could do about it was shake from fear and cold and try to keep from crying.

"Five feet one inch, one hundred and three pounds," Harold Scantland intoned. "Step off the scales and get up on the examination table."

Scantland held her elbow. He was itching to get his hands on more of Jane, most especially on that impertinently rounded little ass that she was unsuccessfully trying to cover with the inadequate smock he'd picked out for her. Sooner or later Scantland got his hands on all the choice girls that passed through his doors. And Jane White was so choice that he was determined to fuck her just as soon as possible. If she was as good as she looked, it would be a long time before he let her slip into the hands of some foster parents.

He ran his fingers lightly up the girl's arm, savoring the way she cringed away from him. "You wouldn't be cold, would you?" he said, leaning close, looking into her widened blue eyes, breathing her young, clean scent.

"F-Freezing. Isn't there any heat in this building?"

He patted her arm reassuringly. "I'll take care of you," he said, and moved to turn up the thermostat in the room. His prick was growing hard already. It felt good to rub it against the countertop as he made hot tea from the kettle on the hot plate. Scantland blocked her view as he added honey, cinnamon, and liberal dollops of rum to the two steaming mugs. To Harold Scantland, Jane was the picture of innocence going to waste.

She had wide blue eyes that looked up to him as her only friend in the world as he handed her the spiked tea. She had a round, pretty face, a slightly uptilted nose, and sweet cupid's bow lips. Those lips would be just fine wrapped around a sliding cock, Scantland thought, and her plump little cheeks would look great all sunken in with suction.

Jane's hair was glossy black, healthy looking, falling in slightly bedraggled waves down to her shivering white shoulders. She had fine shapely legs, clasped tightly together as she sat on the edge of the black leather-covered table. And under that rough cotton smock were ripening young breasts just waiting to be plucked by experienced.hands. Harold Scant-land knew. He'd peeped through the crack in the door to get a good look at her as she'd been showering.

The agency director's smile reminded Jane of a lizard. He was of medium height and thin, with a thin black mustache on his hawk-like face and with hair that was beginning to recede up his forehead. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie. His hands on the tea mug touched Jane's as she accepted it with thanks.

His fingers were hot and she experienced a wicked thrill. "This tea tastes funny," she complained.

"Of course. Just some spices to make it taste better," Scantland said.

He fiddled around with the girl's papers, letting her soak up more and more of the camouflaged liquor. Her sighs, as the heated liquor made her drowsy, told him it was doing its job. The little white room was warming up and the drink was warming him up, making him feel both mellow and eager. By the time he'd finished the rum and tea he'd also finished processing her papers so that she'd be ready to be placed in a foster home whenever he was done with her. From the way his prick felt just then, that might be months. Scantland turned to face her. There were roses in Jane's cheeks and her eyelids drooped attractively. Even the hint of a silly smile was on her face as he approached her with the nurse's stethoscope.

The gleaming instrument that dangled around Mr. Scantland's neck was as assuring to Jane as the newfound warmth that flowed inside and out of her. The cold head of the stethoscope made her giggle when he placed it against her bare back. She inhaled and exhaled as he told her to, each breath feeling good, relaxing. She'd just knew she'd get used to her new life. Everything would work out fine. She was in good hands.

He moved the stethoscope all around her back. "Your lungs sound fine," he said. "Now let's listen to your heart."

Scantland placed the head of the stethoscope just under her left breast No one had ever touched Jane's titties before and the girl was relieved that this wasn't necessary now. But his knuckles brushed the taut undersides of her breasts. Each time it happened, an eerie tingle crawled over her titties and her nipples hardened against the cotton smock. She sighed regretfully when he took off the stethoscope and made a note on a clipboard.

"You have a healthy heart," he said, and smiled. "Now I'm going to palpate your breasts, Jane."

"P-Palpate?"

"Yes. See if you have breast cancer. Lumps, you know, those are the first sign, and we've got to look for them very carefully to be sure you're free of that terrible affliction. Just sit perfectly still and it won't hurt a bit."

"You're going to?"

Both his hands were already on her breasts, long fingers probing her soft flesh. Her face turned scarlet as she realized both her nipples were standing rigid. She knew how embarrassed she'd be if Mr. Scantland touched them and noticed how hard they were.

"Just sit still, dear," he soothed, feeling her stimulatingly firm young titties, perfect pointed hemispheres, not yet half grown.

Jane bit her lower lip, too ashamed to look up at Scantland and far too ashamed to look down at the hands that pulled and pushed at her breasts, even on her nipples. Despite herself, her tits warmed to his touch. Her only solace was that soon it would be over and he'd be tapping her knee with a hammer or something and

"Hmm," he said, and he paused.

"What? What is it? Is it is there something wrong?"

"Probably nothing," Scantland said, but his smile was gone now and Jane found she was even helping him to get his hands under her smock to where the dreadful disease might lie.

Scantland's prick was up all the way and burning wet on its end. Jane's breasts weren't the biggest, but Scantland thought they might be the nicest tits he'd played with in a long time. They stuck right out, bold as could be, beautifully conical with warm undersides just beginning to bulge with her growth. They were as white as could be, particularly against his leathery brown hands, and yet the whiteness blended into the pinkness of her fine, stiff nipples so perfectly that there was no visible line of demarcation between white and pink at all. Gorgeous little tits, and all his. What with the way Jane was holding her gown up, she couldn't see and appreciate the beauty of his hands on her tits, but he certainly could and did.

"Probably nothing," Scantland said again, continuing to feel the two fine rising beauties, for they fit into his palms with perfection. "Probably nothing at all to be concerned about, but you'd best lie back so I can make a really thorough examination. Just keep your smock held up about your neck like that."