Sundown in Africa

She was, as she well knew, a lovely, even stunning young woman. Her development had started early. Even when she was eleven years old, her physical maturity was such that she was taken for a girl several years older. She'd learned quickly that the men who looked at her so closely could be manipulated in a variety of ways to her benefit. At eleven, that merely meant cooing and blinking her eyes. By twelve she was wearing tight or revealing clothes and positioning her body in such a way that older boys and even grown men would groan and flash lustful carnal visual images in their minds.

By the time she'd turned thirteen, she was an expert at manipulation, at controlling and maneuvering men, using their lust and weakness for her nubile teenage body to make soft jelly of their hearts and lustful minds, and hard-steel of their prongs. She'd lost her cherry before entering high school, to a handsome teacher who'd responded by changing her F to an A. Usually she didn't have to actually sleep with them of course.

A little cooing and sultry whispers, combined with a kiss or two sometimes did it. For more difficult cases, she'd casually rub herself lustfully against them, or let them cup a feel of her boobs, or crotch, and sometimes even jerked them off. Her lustful ass would have won awards if such were given, and if she had ever deigned to enter any contest. It was the perfection other women longed for, had operations for. Not an ounce of fat, not a hint of imperfection marred her sweet and sumptuous buttocks.