---------------------------------------------------------------
Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/~roller666/index.html
---------------------------------------------------------------
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BORDELLO GIRLS
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
We are hustled through the living room. It is like it formerly was,
before the party. There is no sign of the events which so lately transpired
here. The chandelier is hanging even once more, undisturbed. There are
soft candles glowing in the corners, to ward off the settling in of dusk. A
soft fire crackles in one corner, crackles to itself, no one listening. The
guests are gone. The walls have no stray icing on them, no thrown
pineapple-cream pies. The carpeting is immaculate, sedate. There is no
sign of the burst cake which contained me inside it.
Outside. Fresh air. The sounds of early evening, nightfall. And the
sound of an engine. There is a van waiting. We are pushed toward it. A
metal door along its side slides back. I glance over at the rising of my
home beyond the trees. They sway in the breeze, pine trees, my home
stands mute. My borrowed home for my unforgettable summer in Italy.
Except someone else wants me now, is offering their home to me. To me,
not my parents. But the price seems very steep.
The step up to the van is too high for me. I lift my leg, my bottom is
cupped, pushed, calloused hands burnishing my bare soft skin. Melissa
squeaks as she is thrust in behind me, her arms flailing. I go quietly. I
know I cannot escape. The men are too huge, too determined. Steve next,
his cock bobbing, stiff beyond belief, despite his obvious fright.
ÒWhat are you--fags?!Ó Steve protests. The men give his ass a hard
slap. His balls bounce from the blow.
Sylvia stands outside. Nakedly she presses herself to one of the
men. With brazen lust she grinds her pelvis into his. He in his work
clothes, she fresh from a Playboy centerfold, nude and ready for action.
Together they stand as one, their hips doing most of the work as they
share kisses. Finally they part. Sylvia turns to me, blows me a kiss,
smiles.
ÒWhere?Ó I want to ask. And ÒWhyÓ too. But I am upset, angry,
gulpingly fearful. The van door slams shut. The noise of it hurts my ears.
I put my hand to them, momentarily, then realize how naked I am, how
utterly bare and exposed. We are sitting on seats. They are plastic, yet
seem clean, newly scrubbed, as if just for us. I wiggle my tushy on it. I
speculate about climbing through the window but the van moves, stops,
one man aboard already, the other two joining him. They slam shut the
front passenger door, one man sits down, the other kneels behind his seat,
glances at us.
ÒHey, man--what the fuck?!Ó Our naked Tarzan rises to defend us.
His cock risen, he means to lift himself up, to take on the kneeling man, to
slay him.
ÒShut up, kid!Ó the man replies. He brandishes a Bowie knife. It is
big. Our Tarzan draws back, warily. He does not know how to get past a
knife. We are trapped. His dick is showing in all its glory and he has no
loin cloth to protect it. He does not want to meet the fate of John Wayne.
He doesnÕt want his cock bobbed. To be cut short at such a young age, it
would be tragic. I press against him, urge him to wait. Courageously
Melissa grasps his penis, holds it protectively in her small hands, though
it sticks well out, beyond her grasp.
ÒGo down,Ó I say, touching my Tarzan. I tickle the underside of his
cock helpfully, hoping to make him spurt and shrink.
ÒNo,Ó he says, absently, pushing my fingers away. He does not
understand.
ÒIÕll help you,Ó I reply. Despite my overwhelming fright, my greatest
fear is that he will challenge them. I cannot let him get cut. He must be
small, withdrawn, at rest. Urgently I frig him. He plucks at my fingers,
tries to snap them up with his own. Helpfully, Melissa yanks on his shaft.
Back and forth she yanks. Two females with a mission: make Steve spurt.
ÒDonÕt jack off in the back of my van!Ó the driver yells at us. We
shrink back. We desist. Gradually we draw apart. We sit quietly. We are
curious in our nudity. My eyes trace the points of MelissaÕs nipples. Hers
run up and down SteveÕs cock, fascinated. We are skinnydippers. We want
a pool to splash in. We dream of a bed for the three of us. King size, with
Steve our king between us. Even now he sits between us, though we are
too scared to touch one another.
Time passes. We feel more relaxed. The van travels along a road,
past intersections. After a bit Melissa and I begin looking about, craning
our necks as we go down the highway. We gaze out at the bright lights of
an unknown city. We sense that we are coveted, that the men in the van
are delivery boys only. They have not raped us, have not touched us, save
to show us where to walk, where to go. If we obey we will be safe.
Somehow I know this. I feel like a songbird, caught in a cage. Cosseted,
pampered, property, indeed, but very special property. Glancing about like
schoolgirls on a school bus we go down the highway, naked, feeling the
glow of the streetlights as they wash over us. Our bodies tanned, healthy.
Topless bathing is allowed in Italy, eyes glance but do not pry. Our
breasts are admired, there are a few titters, nothing more. I want to cry
ÔhelpÕ to them but the vanÕs windows are shut, locked. The man with the
knife watches us constantly. I gaze out at the people. They do not know
our pussies are bare. They do not know that our bottoms press to the
plastic seats of the van, nothing between us, not even Calvins. Aimlessly
my hand passes now and then over SteveÕs organ, possessively, but lightly,
even while I look outside I feel the urge to touch him. It is not passionate,
just light, a light touch, caring. Melissa does the same. His penis is our
property even as we are property of the men in the van.
At last we come to our destination. It is a large house. It looms
before us. The moon rises over its gables. It is ancient, forbidding.
Shadows enshroud its entrance. The van pulls close, halts. Suddenly
figures dart out from the shadows, four-legged. Snarling beasts,
dobermans, black at the night, attack our van. They leap up. I shrink back,
amazed. For once I am glad the windows cannot be opened.
The men get out of the van, all but the man with the knife. They exit
through the passenger-side door only, leaving the driverÕs side door
closed. The side of the van is opened, baring us to whatever lay outside.
The man with the knife motions for us to get up. I comply, drawing
Melissa with me. Steve follows. Holding hands, Melissa and I step out.
Our pumps touch down on a walk. It is futura-stone, cobbled, uneven. I
step most carefully so as not to fall in my high, teetering heels. I hold
Melissa to keep her from falling. Strong, athletic, naked but for his black
formal shoes, Steve steps out, his feet clattering on the walk behind us. I
breathe a sigh of relief that he made it past the knife-wielding man
without losing his balls.
The walkway is fenced on both sides. I had fancied running, but
there is no escape. Nor would one want to run, for the dobermans lurch at
the fence, outside it on both sides, frustrated, barking and snarling. One
of the men yells at them to shut-up. They poke their snouts at us,
seething, desperate. Slowly we walk up the walkway, our bottoms
jiggling fearfully, our tits mounds of quivering jello, butterflies in our
tummies. Melissa and I, sisters almost, holding each other. Before us
waits a dark entryway. There is no one there. We approach, it engulfs us.
A huge anteroom opens before us. It is panelled in expensive
hardwood. The mood is dark, sedate. As if the room is waiting for
something, someone. Steve enters behind us. His cock is as rigid as ever,
a twin of our nipples. In our fear we are excited. None of us has ever been
teased like this before. I pray we are only being teased. By Marla,
perhaps, a grand joke. I tremble. Men had not even noticed me until this
year. Before I was ignored, just a girl, a slim slip of a female with little
to show for up front, a bottom too narrow in back. Suddenly I was
blossoming, full-grown almost, and Melissa beside me was curve for curve
my competitor in almost every way. Steve too, I sensed, had not been
lusted after like this before. I felt some elaborate grand design was being
played out in honor of our bodies; their youth, their beauty.
Naked like gods and goddesses we advanced into the center of the
room. Our beauty was our protection. Nobody would harm such lovely
young bodies, I assured myself. Was it me? How could I have such
thoughts? I was but 16, buxom for my age, suddenly quite a body when in
a bikini, and now I was without! Melissa, I guessed, a year younger, her
tits high and firm, newly sprouted. And Steve behind us, always Steve, our
protector, with his big thing for fucking, for prodding us forward.
The men entered behind us. They stayed in a half-circle around us,
following by a step or two, the knife always present, other weapons
perhaps hidden in their clothes. They said nothing. Only if we disobeyed
did they speak, otherwise they were mute.
A figure. On the stairs, swiftly descending. I had not noticed it
until it was almost down, a tossing of head, golden locks, a woman. She
approached us softly, quietly. From the gloom of the anteroom she took
shape before us. She was a bit taller than me, slim, willowy, with a
pronounced bust. Her breasts were high, like MelanieÕs, as if just newly
grown from her chest; or like mine, thrusting forth with all the vigor of
female youth. She had hair down to her waist and wore a plain, simple
white blouse. The way her breasts shook I knew she wore no bra
underneath. Around her waist was a skirt, dark, flowing down to her
knees. She was thin, with softly curving hips sloping out from a wasp-
thin waistline.
ÒGood evening, girls,Ó the woman introduced herself. She seemed
not to mind that we were naked. Almost as if she expected it, would have
been upset if weÕd arrived with clothing on. I saw that a thin rawhide
rope was knotted around her throat. It held her swan-like neck as if she
were but a pet, the rope slim, inexpensive. A trinket rope you might buy at
an Indian store. It had twin laces from the knot at her throat that
descended down into her blouse. They were braided, though the part
encircling her neck was plain. I stared at it, fascinated. She returned my
unspoken admiration by glancing at the dogÕs collar which bound my throat.
I sensed she was a prisoner like us, though of a higher rank. She had a
slim collar, easily cut off. She was trusted, her collar more a mark of
subservience, though she might still be pulled about by its dangling laces.
We were padlocked into our collars. We were new, untried. We had much
to learn and do before we could wear a collar like hers. These thoughts
rushed through my mind, unbidden, unwanted, but I was naked and
surrounded by men.
ÒHi!Ó our blonde hostess said. Their was a blush in her face,
suddenly, unexpectedly. Her shoulders drooped a moment and then she
straightened up, as if remembering some past transgression. She fidgeted
with her skirt, pulled at it. ÒIÕm Alison.Ó There was a significant lisp in
her voice. As she opened her lips to pronounce the ÒAÓ in her name a small
silver chain tumbled out of her mouth. It dangled there a moment, hanging
down below her chin, and I stared at it. We all stared at it. Finally,
admitting to herself the obvious, Alison opened her mouth once more,
silently. She stuck out her tongue. There was a large, slim ring through
her tongue, stuck right through about halfway back. The chain dangled
from it, waiting to be pulled. With slim fingers Alison replaced the chain,
tried to hold it in her mouth as she spoke again: ÒIÕve been pierced,Ó she
explained. ÒI talk less that way.Ó Her voice had a soft, Swedish accent. I
shuddered that someone would want to shut up someone with such a
lovely, feminine voice. ÒCome upstairs,Ó she said simply. She turned. The
men herded us after her. She mounted the stairs, flouncing, her
movements conscious, affected. We walked behind, unsteady in our
teetering heels, our bottoms teasing our male captors, provoking them
with shivering displays of frightened female flesh. I felt like jello all
over, and I knew Melissa did too. We walked with our hands crossed over
our tummies, our palms flat against the smooth skin. We were guarding
our wombs from interlopers. We would not bear children of anyone here.
We would resist, fight. Yet in our nudity we knew we had little chance of
anything save what our hidden master wished for us.
There was a room. It was just down the hall, and Alison led us to it.
I sensed from the moment I reached the top step that there was something
sinister about the room. Perhaps it was the marks I spied, along the door
frame. I saw them from the top steps. The hallway here was more
brightly lit and I spotted them at once. There were scratch marks across
the door frame, as if some girl had been dragged inside, her fingernails
cutting into the wood as they struggled to get her past the open door.
Perhaps she had some prior acquaintance with them. She knew what
doom awaited her. But the house was old. The scratch marks were old.
Briefly I placed a finger in them as I passed. Perhaps an animal had made
them, a doberman going to be neutered. We entered the room. The door
was open. We entered freely, but once inside I saw there were cages
waiting there. They were of slim iron, too small to do anything but sit in.
There were three cages, three separate ones, each with a clean blue towel
on the floor. We were brought forward to them before we could think,
before we could protest. I saw that the towels had been fastened by rings
onto the floor of the cage, locked in place, so that they could not be lifted
by one trapped inside. They were for sitting on only, nothing more.
Melanie squeaked as the first cage was opened and she was pushed
inside. Alison opened the door, the men bent her down roughly and forced
her into her cage. They clanged the barred door shut on her. She
scampered about to face them.
ÒEat,Ó Alison said, pointing. Her chain fell from her mouth again and
she delicately replaced it. She jabbed a finger at a bowl of strawberries
set in a corner of the cell. There was a dipping bowl of fresh cream
beside it, liquid cream. A plate of brown bread was also there, with a
clump of butter atop it, newly scooped from a vat of the stuff, farmyard
butter, the very best. And next to the bread was a bottle of wine. I did
not know vintages but it looked very expensive. ÒEat. You must keep up
your strength,Ó Alison murmured. She let her chain fall out and then
caught and held it as she spoke.
ÒAnd as for you two...Ó her voice was bright, cheery. She spoke to us
as if we were guests at a party. ÒYou have been naughty and I need to
wash you both up before I can lock you up.Ó I had a little trouble
understanding her, though I got the gist of it. Her words were mauled by
the ring through her tongue. She smiled again, but Steve was fed up.
ÒWhat the fuck is going on here?Ó he asked. His voice was bold,
demanding. Alison simply reached forward and took hold of his big cock.
She held it as one might hold the neck of a dog, to still it.
ÒShhhhhh!Ó Alison lisped, quietly. Steve, like some trained animal,
let his anger abate. Alison let go of him, stood and regarded him a
moment. ÒIÕll catch hell for this,Ó she said finally, Òbut you deserve it.Ó
Watching him, she began to unbutton her blouse. We were both so startled
that we just stared at her until she was finished. With casual abandon she
removed her blouse and, turning, tossed it back past MelissaÕs cage.
Melissa crouched in her cage watching, a kitten trapped in a cage at the
dog pound.
Her blouse gone, Alison next reached behind herself and unzipped her
skirt with a sexy wiggle. Then she let it drop to her ankles and stepped
out of it. What remained was a leather corset, without cups, her boobs
wobbling freely above it. It cinched her waist tight and was tied in back.
Sheer black silk stockings rose up her legs and were caught fast by garter
straps hanging down from her corset. She bent a moment, adjusted the
straps, to make sure her stockings were perfect. I saw she wore panties
also, delicate silk ones, opaque. They were too small to entirely cover her
bush. Wisps of fine golden hair curled out the top of the vee of silk that
did its best, given its tiny size, to keep her modest.
Alison turned briefly, showed Steve her bottom. It was full, round,
looking like a big wobbly moon, her indrawn waist accentuating its beauty.
It stuck up pertly at us with the candor of a girl come for her first
strapping, unknowing, unblushing, not realizing what would be required of
her. I felt like that girl, gazing, a hand to my throat. A strip of fabric ran
up between the halves of AlisonÕs heinie, there was no other covering.
Thong panties, made for serious partying, especially when worn with a
corset, I thought. All the fantasies whispered to me in girlÕs gym came
pouring into my head. Alison stroked her lovely hinds briefly and asked
Steve what he thought.
ÒLuscious,Ó Steve breathed. Having gotten what she wished from
him, Alison promptly turned around. The sight in front was no less
breathtaking, her nipples stiff, each pierced by a small ring. She opened
her legs for us and, pulling back her delicate panties, showed us a ring
through her labia. She was a schoolgirl at show and tell, we were her
pupils. ÒIt hurt like the dickens, but master insisted,Ó she explained. We
watched with trembling loins. My pussy felt tight, excessively moist.
SteveÕs cock had a jewel of pre-cum poised on his pee slit. It dropped off
suddenly, leaving a sticky drool as it plummeted to the floor. We were
excited. We wanted to party with her. But the men were at our backs,
restless. And there was another, I knew, somewhere, perhaps secretly
watching us right now.
ÒDonÕt worry, you donÕt have to get pierced if you donÕt want to,Ó
Alison reassured me. She reached out at the same time and took hold of
the crown of SteveÕs cock. ÒAs for you, IÕd like to see a ring right through
here,Ó she said, indicating the bit of flesh hanging beneath his cockhead,
right behind the flange.
ÒNo way!Ó Steve shouted. Alison laughed. She led us over to a faucet
in the wall. There was a bucket there, with a sponge floating in it. She
picked up the sponge and bathed SteveÕs member with it. She was washing
off the semen left behind by his joust with me in the dungeon. He flinched.
The water was cold. It did not dampen the lust of his organ, though. He
remained stiff, painfully so, and had to bite his lip to avoid coming in her
hands.
ÒThatÕs a good boy,Ó she cooed. ÒMustnÕt come, master would be
upset. He admires a fine young cock as much as I do!Ó Steve trembled as
she spoke. She was only encouraging him, and she knew it. At last she
placed a kiss on his cockhead, right on the slit, leaving a smudge of red
lipstick behind.
I was next. I let her bathe me between my legs. It felt good, though
fretfully cold. I felt nice and clean when she was done. We were led to
our cages. We walked easily, not knowing how to escape, proud in our
nudity. Steve, mesmerized by AlisonÕs intense femininity, offered no
complaint as the door to his cage was opened. She patted his bottom. It
was small, studly, twin muffins of white flesh served up without any
Speedos to hide them. Steve bent, inspected the interior of his cage with
his eyes, his hands on the doorway posts, uncertain.
And then he went in. I do not know why. With his cock bobbing and
his balls incredibly tight, he went in with his back bent, his ass showing
itself off to us all. He could not stand up. He circled once inside the cage
and sat down. ÒIÕm hungry,Ó he announced, and began at once to devour the
brown buttered bread that waited for him as it waited for all of us. His
cock trembled between his hairy thighs. I sensed he was on the brink of
coming. He had taken leave of his senses. He was in a luxury of pronging
maleness, only capable of thinking anymore of his dick, his testicles. He
was churning inside, desperate for relief, and unsure what to do. With the
men present he could do little. In the end he opted to play Tarzan in Italy,
captured and caged for some mistress, Alison perhaps, or someone else. I
wished a loin cloth on him but none appeared. Alison closed his cage door
and firmly locked it. She rattled the door once to make sure it was locked.
There was a smug smile on her lips.
And then it was my turn. I had little choice. They opened the door
for me; I bent, knowing that my bottom, silk smooth, protruding behind me,
offered its cheeks to them, enticingly, sinfully. My breasts dangled,
wobbled, I entered and plopped down on my heinie. The towel felt soft and
comforting beneath me. They shut my door. They left us.
We sat in silence. We said nothing to one another. After a bit
Melissa began eating her strawberries. She dripped cream on her bosoms.
I wanted to lick it. Steve, pretending to be casual, lay back in his cell. He
had to draw his knees up to lie down. He let his knees fall open after a bit.
His groin-end was toward me. I gazed at his cock, standing erect like a
corn stalk, full-formed and tall under the Indian summer sun. Lights in
our cells kept us from enjoying any privacy. They were set in the ceiling
of each cell and bathed each of us in bright neon. My privates were not my
own.
Alison reappeared. Her face was lightly bruised. She had just
finished crying. Her breasts jostled atop her corset. Wiping her eyes, she
passed a small pair of panties to me through the bars of my cell. ÒPut
them on, master is coming,Ó she urged.
ÒWho?Ó I asked. I was deathly afraid. I could not control the
trembling of my hands.
Alison went to Steve. She handed him little Speedo underpants.
ÒPut them on,Ó she instructed. He was similarly awestruck. She turned,
offering Melissa nothing, and left again. On her bottom I saw fresh marks,
birch marks, with telltale weals and spots of red where the buds had
bitten into her. All this I knew from my bad friends in girlÕs P.E., with
their wicked downloads from the internet.
AlisonÕs bruises scared me. They were not major, IÕd been bruised
playing softball, but that had been accidental. These were not. Someone
had slapped her, or worse. And the weals on her bottom, they were
intentional too. Not disastrous weals, not weals that had cut her flesh,
but they were marks all the same, and she had suffered for them, I saw.
All in the last half hour.
The panties Alison had given me could not simply be pulled on. They
had drawstrings, which needed to be tied. My fingers trembled so badly I
could barely get the panties slipped up around me, let alone the
drawstrings tied. At last, somehow, I managed to tie them off. My efforts
seemed almost useless. The panties were but a thong in back. In front
they barely covered my mount. I looked across at Steve. He seemed wary
now, afraid. His underpants barely fit him, his balls tightly encased
within them while his cock, unbearably stiff and fully erect, jutted out
the top of the pants. There was no chance it could be covered. He could
jerk himself off, but Alison, or master, would find his spilt semen in his
cage. I knew myself that option was unthinkable. If they treated Alison
as roughly as they did, we were finished completely if we disobeyed.
They had punished her for stripping for us, I guessed. I dreaded the
appearance of master. He had done it, I knew, not the men whoÕd brought
us. Suddenly I flinched. There was utter stillness in the room as a sound
of footsteps came to our ears. Two footsteps, plus a cane. A new man. It
could only be the one we hadnÕt met yet, deliberate, evil. Two steps, plus
a cane. Slowly, unhurriedly. In our nudity we waited like scared rabbits.
The door was open. He had no need to open it. He just walked right
in, the master of the house. I blanched. My whole body froze. He was
huge, immeasurable. I was instantly revolted by him. And I knew at once
there could be nothing, absolutely nothing but complete obedience to his
wishes.
He spotted me at once. He grinned, but it was a crooked, wicked
grin, an opening of the gash of a mouth that scarred the front of his face.
He was ruddy, with a slash, from a knife perhaps, running down past his
right eye and on to his chin. Somehow, miraculously, his eye had survived
the cut, unless it was glass. I could not tell from this distance. He had
long, unkempt hair, pirate hair, that straggled down over his thunderously
broad shoulders, a far cry from SteveÕs military-clean crew cut. His
clothes hung from him, elegant but depraved, as if NordstromÕs had
dressed Satan. He was too ogre-like, too vulgar looking and fireplug
shaped, for the look of a Dracula. Instead he looked like some troll, up
from the waters, tall but so broad in the shoulders that you could easily
miss his height, think him shorter than he was. He advanced on me,
leaning on his ivory tipped cane as he walked, a belt looped in his free
hand. I sat trembling, scared out of my wits. There was enormous,
rippling power in his every step. I saw that one blow alone could have
caused the harm IÕd seen on AlisonÕs face. One slap from him would have
sent her reeling. Yet sheÕd disobeyed, willfully. And heÕd stung her bottom
with a birch too, though I saw from his strength that sheÕd gotten off
easy. I wanted to run. I vowed to claw him the minute he opened my cell
door.
And then he was at the door, peering in at me. I thanked myself for
the bars which kept him from me. But did he have the key? I turned my
head to Melissa, anything to escape his evil stare! She was caught by him,
mesmerized, her fingers holding a strawberry in mid-air, a bite from it,
forgotten. There was cream round her mouth and sprinkled on her teats.
She looked like a child at school, suddenly frozen in time as she played,
caught by the flash of a flashbulb. Forever captured for daddyÕs scrapbook.
A sound of unlocking. I glanced back at my master. He had the key! I
shrunk within my cage. He reached in, groping. I wanted to bite his arm
but didnÕt dare. And then I was plucked from my cage, wriggling, naked, an
eel caught up from the pond by a lurking fisherman.
ÒI-I thought you wanted the youngest first,Ó Alison said. SheÕd slunk
into the room behind him, careful, afraid.
ÒI changed my mind,Ó master replied simply. He pushed me ahead of
him.
I was a chattel, nothing more. An object, property, valued only for
the waggling of my heinie which was most delectable in the eyes of my
host.
ÒAh, a perfect bottom,Ó he enthused. He watched with eager eyes as
I walked, gracefully as I could, toward a trestle that Alison was shoving
into the center of the room. SheÕd dragged it out from a closet as master
opened my cage. It was heavy. She had to exert herself as she pushed it
with both hands. Her hair fell easily about her shoulders, luxuriant as
ever, tumbled on down past her breasts, swinging as they swung, as she
pushed the trestle.
ÒHelp her,Ó master ordered me. I turned to him, my bottom bare,
save for the slender wisp of fabric that ran up between my cheeks. I was
made for work, wasnÕt I, all naked and stripped down, raw and bare and
ready for labor. Ready to go into labor, to swing my breasts and flex my
tummy, to stretch my thighs. I assented. Trembling, knowing how much it
would cost me, I hurried over to Alison. Together we pushed the big
trestle out to the center of the room. Master stripped off his clothes.
There was no courtship, no offer, no acceptance of love. He simply ripped
his clothes from his body, not tearing them, but careless all the same,
shedding them quickly, as if to wait would be to deny himself, and he did
not need to deny himself here in his own castle (or anywhere, I guessed).
Alison and I gulped as we watched him. We stood by the trestle, not
knowing where to go. He could catch us however quickly we ran, I knew.
His guards lurked by the door. Turning my head I saw them. Their flies
were open now, now that master himself was free of clothes. They rubbed
themselves with lewd abandon, their members presented for whatever
offerings master might let them sample.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-----Back issues (and stories): http://www.dejanews.com/
Click on ÒPower SearchÓ in the middle of the screen.
Change ÒstandardÓ archive to ÒcompleteÓ archive.
Type: roller666@earthlink.net into the ÒPower SearchÓ box.
Click on ÒFindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
-----Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
Or via the Web:
http://www.eroticstories.com
http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-----Great books by David Hamilton: The Age of Innocence, A Place
in the Sun, Twenty Five Years of an Artist. By Jock Sturges:
Radiant Identities Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
-----Great sites:
http://www.nambla.org
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF story EMISSION