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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
BORDELLO GIRLS
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Chapter Seven
Rose stood before a mirror, hastily fixing her hair. She was naked.
Her skin was fresh and white and clean. There was a small frilly collar
around her neck. It looked like a garter. I had showered before her. I was
already dressed, in a slinky tube dress. It barely covered my muff, but
Rose said that was okay. This was, after all, a whorehouse. It was our
opening night. The first customers were already waiting downstairs.
Melissa had checked them in. At least we hoped she had. A freshman in
high school wasnÕt exactly the best choice for a madam. But she was all
we had, so she would have to do.
I stood admiring RoseÕs sleek, narrow back. She piled her gorgeous
hair atop her head so it could be seen in its entirety. The men had asked if
she had a whipping post on site.
I still remembered the call. WeÕd placed an ad in the paper, and the
next day a call had come in. Melissa, whoÕd refused to be a hooker but
wanted to live in the whorehouse, was put in charge of the phone. The men
had been polite, circumspect. They hadnÕt blanched when we told them our
price. It was very high. Rose had Melissa take half the money up front,
over the phone, by credit card. WeÕd used it since to buy toys. Things the
men had requested. Things, presumably, that all men wanted.
RoseÕs aunt hadnÕt left her as much money as weÕd hoped. But she
had left the bordello. It had been closed in the last few years, but the
tales told about it were legendary. The house was large, with several
bedrooms. WeÕd since converted each into a special ÒthemeÓ room: a
master bedroom, suitable for a new bride and her groom, a dungeon, for
punishing the bride when she proved wilful, a childrenÕs playroom, for
when the baby came. A mattress room, for partiers who wanted to get
down to business. There was a curious ÒplaygroundÓ out back, for big girls
who wanted to take a recess from it all, complete with dildo-equipped
infant swings. The swings had been specially made by a local craftsman
to accommodate ÒinfantÓ girls with big bottoms.
ÒWhat should I do?Ó I asked Rose, twirling my a strand of my hair
aimlessly with my finger.
ÒJust go down, say hello, keep them happy. IÕll call you when
everythingÕs ready,Ó Rose replied. She took a brush and lightly passed it
over her pubis. I remembered her antics in the Jaguar, ÒblowingÓ the
driver all the way to Switzerland, where her auntÕs bordello awaited us.
Melissa and I had sat in back, huddled together on his hand-tooled leather
seats. HeÕd let us out in a snowstorm, naked as weÕd been when we got
into his car. He drooled after our waggling bottoms as we hurried up the
steps into the house. Melissa had turned and blown him a kiss. It was only
fair; heÕd find out later that sheÕd peed on his back seat. She hadnÕt gotten
to use the bathroom at Club Dare, so she made a Jaguar her potty instead.
I stepped to the window. I gazed outside. I bent close and frosted
the windowpane with my breath. ÒItÕs storming outside,Ó I said.
ÒI know,Ó Rose replied. The drifts in the yard were as high as the
swings on the swing set. They were old swings, though, wooden ones. The
new ÒinfantÓ playground, our special on-site preschool, was inside a
special hothouse. There were no plants grown there, just a few flowers,
some grass. A baby might grow there if a girl forgot her Pill, as she
swung on the swing with the two holes for her legs and a third hole in the
middle. A hole for her groom to shaft through, as she sat as best she could
on the stiff prong standing up from the seat, a prong that kept her well
open in behind. I touched my bottom, wondering what it would feel like to
swing on such a swing. IÕd never tried them. They were brand-new,
waiting for us, if we dared. To be plugged in behind, with my feet, my
ankles spread wide, my pussy open, vulnerable, unprotected, a helpful hole
cut through the infant swing to let my groom sperm me.
ÒGo downstairs,Ó Rose said. She turned, holding her hair up, a pin
between her lips. I could dally no longer. Customers were waiting. My
first.
I opened the door to the parlor. I stepped inside, sweet in my
booties. I half expected to see Melissa there, her skirt up, her bottom
bare, upon a table with a belt taken to her, to make her cry. But she had
simply ushered the men in and left. I was about to remark to myself how
well behaved they were when I saw they all had their cocks out.
ÒPut those things away, Boys!Ó I cried, surprised. My hand to my
throat I surveyed them all, still dressed impeccably in their tuxedoes,
casually munching on canapes.
ÒWe were waiting to get blow jobs,Ó one of the men replied. He
strummed his thing, all big and veiny, with a huge purplish knob at the end.
ÒMelissa!Ó I breathed. She had promised them blow jobs, then left,
as a prank to surprise me. I did not know what to do. They obviously
couldnÕt put themselves away, they were too engorged and excited for
that. I would have to do as best I could to keep them happy until the time
for their pleasure upstairs arrived.
With as stately a tread as I could manage I walked past them,
arrayed like soldiers on either side of me, lounging in chairs. I couldnÕt
help but admire their tools with my eyes as I passed. I knew it would
come back to haunt me, somehow, admiring them that way. It would let
them know I sympathized. They would be less obedient if they knew I
liked them. But my eyes wandered over their members all the same, stiff
penises. I felt like I was in some boyÕs urinal. Except there wasnÕt any
toilet. Just the cocks.
Pictures of regal ancestors gazed down upon us. Silent, watching.
There was a china cabinet, kept by RoseÕs aunt. Rich paneling lined the
walls, centuries old. I walked to the sideboard. A punch bowl sat atop it,
a tray of canapes, half eaten now. My mouth felt dry. I felt sensuous. I
bent forward, ignoring the punch bowlÕs ladle. The men would not mind if I
helped myself with my mouth. I dipped my tongue into the punch bowl,
feeling my dress rise up in back, showing my bottom to the cocky men.
I lapped at the punch. Like a kitten I lapped, my soft silky hair
spilling down over my shoulders. I had to lift my hand to keep it from
falling into the punch.
ÒGod, what an ass!Ó the men behind me exclaimed. My panties, sheer
and delicate, did little to hide my cheeky white bottom.
ÒJust because a girlÕs panties are showing doesnÕt mean you should
look at them,Ó I scolded, turning my head, holding my hair up to keep it out
of my eyes. I was elegant, and wicked too, tempting men who could barely
hold themselves in. The carpet would be stained if they lost control.
I stood. I did not bother to fix my dress in back. It rode across the
highest part of my cheeks, leaving all below bare, right down to my booted
ankles, save for my teensy white panties.
Turning, I re-crossed the room. The candles were not lit. I wanted
to light them, to kill time if nothing else. I found matches on a small
round table just inside the door. I walked over to the first man. I would
have to stand close to him to light the ceiling-high candle projecting from
the wall above his head. We did not need such an ancient form of lighting
anymore, but it would be more romantic with the candles lit. I could turn
the electric lights down then, to keep them from staring so openly at me.
I rose up on tiptoe. I struck a match and reached for the tall candle.
My dress lifted, showing my pussy. It was covered in fine-spun panties
that did nothing to hide it. There were cobwebs upon the candleÕs tip,
hanging down from the ceiling. Just a strand or two, missed by the maid.
I brushed them away. Below I felt hot breath upon my cunny.
ÒSir, please, have some respect for a lady in her parlor,Ó I said,
glancing down at him, my hair falling about my face, my eyes bright, my
lashes fluttering. Perhaps because there were so many of them, and just
one of me, he drew back. They were gentlemen, after all, at least for the
moment. I opened my lips and let a drop of spittle fall from them. It hit
his cock square on its tip, mingled with pre-cum there. He shafted his
cock. He squeezed it. Cum welled up, liquid only, not the sperm. Not yet.
He squished his eyes shut as he fought with himself to maintain control.
I moved to the next man. I treated him to a candle-lighting
ceremony, letting him stare at my most private place, barely concealed.
In back the men on the other side gawked at my round bottom.
The third man begged me to let him pull down my panties.
ÒIÕd let you,Ó I replied. ÒBut you could never do it with just your
teeth, could you?Ó
ÒMy teeth?Ó he asked.
ÒHere, put these on,Ó I replied. IÕd spotted handcuffs lying on a shelf
above his head, forgotten, used years ago and never since. There was a
little key beside the cuffs. I left the key where it was. I had no bra
underneath my dress to hide it in.
I handed the man the handcuffs. ÒPut your hands behind you and lock
yourself into them,Ó I said. He was very cute. He stared at me a moment,
as if weighing my beauty. I could see he would only do something stupid
like locking himself in handcuffs for a girl he considered extraordinarily
beautiful. For a moment I waited, my breath caught expectantly in my
throat. He leaned forward at last. He placed his arms behind himself. He
had big, bulging arms, weight lifterÕs arms. They seemed like they would
tear the sleeves of his tux open. He locked a cuff around one of his wrists.
I leaned forward over his strong back and helped him lock his second wrist
into the cuff.
ÒThere you are, sir,Ó I said to him sweetly. ÒNow youÕre safe.Ó No
sooner had I stood straight again than he was at my cunny, tearing at my
undies with his teeth. I teetered on the high heels of my booties, unsure,
surprised. He gnawed right at my crotch, an animal in heat. ÒCareful!Ó I
cried. ÒDonÕt tear my panties! TheyÕre from France!Ó He did not care.
They came down with a sudden yank, leaving me bare, bereft. I felt cool
air pass over my cunt as I stood with splayed thighs before him, my ankles
wobbly.
ÒEnough,Ó I said. I patted his head, hoping to tame him. I still had to
light the candle above him. I reached up, lit a match. Below I was aware
of his face, unshaven, just inches from my bare, creamy thighs, with my
muff between. He had a ponytail. I liked it. I lit the candle, my hands
unsteady. Behind me I heard a man taking off his belt.
SWAK! The belt lashed the air. I jerked. Visibly I jerked, obviously
afraid. Yet I was supposed to be the mistress, the domme. The men were
to be my sex slaves, not I theirs. They were paying customers, but I was
the shopkeeper. I lowered my hands from the candle, blew out my match.
My bottom felt deliciously vulnerable, my cheeks squeezing reflexively,
my back trembling. My dress rode high on my ass, leaving all beneath
perfectly available to errant belt tips that might demand better service.
SWAK! Again. He was quite handy with that belt, I had to admit. I
could feel it uncoiling directly behind me, falling short by just a few
inches. Perhaps he thought we girls paid the Italian mafia for protection.
But we didnÕt. It was just us three girls, secluded in the mountains of
Switzerland, with a snowstorm raging outside. In here, the fireplace
softly crackling in a corner of the room, all could be naked and free. Our
own sexual parts were evidence of that. But just beyond the wall even
legs would freeze and fall off, even if well wrapped.
The belt slashed the air again. I turned. I made to pull up my
panties.
ÒDonÕt,Ó the man with the belt commanded me. ÒI like them that
way, because they restrict your ability to walk. Come here, my candle is
not yet lit.Ó
How could I refuse? It was I who had chosen to light the candles.
Would I leave him without, show disfavor to him? With trembling steps I
walked toward him, my panties banded around my knees, my feet shuffling.
I glanced at his cock. I could not help myself. It was larger than the rest,
a bullÕs cock. He was the bull, I the bullfighter. I guessed I would lose
this battle, somehow. He would slash by my red handkerchief and stab me
with his horn.
I arrived before him. Some impulse made me want to bend down.
Perhaps his horn needed polishing. All bulls needed their horns polished
now and then, didnÕt they? Saliva was best, I knew, lightly applied with
flicks of the tongue. Instead I stood on tiptoe in my booties and reached
for the candle above his head. I could feel his hot breath just inches from
my bared pussy. The hem of my dress, not quite low enough in front
because it was pulled up in back, left my muff bare. He reached out and
boldly caught hold of a curling hair of my pussy.
ÒSir, please,Ó I begged, trying to keep my voice stern. I looked down
at him. He looked up at me. Both his hands reached for my breasts as I
reached up, lighting the candle.
RRRRIP! He tore open my dress. He yanked it down off my cleavage.
My boobies fell out. They quavered nakedly, my nipples unbearably stiff.
He left my like that, my tits exposed, my bush utterly available, my ass
wriggling with fright. He did not completely undress me, just enough to
get all my important parts into view.
ÒLight the other candles,Ó he told me. Hastily I obeyed, eager to get
away from him. My steps were awkward as I tottered over to the next man
on my high-perched boots, my panties ringing my knees and making it
impossible for me to walk gracefully. I was like a child just taking her
first steps.
The next man seemed softer, kinder. He was young, handsome. He
merely watched me as I straightened my back, lifted my arms, rose up on
tiptoe, and lit the candle above his head. I wanted to name him my Sir
Lancelot. I would service his lance for him if he would keep me away from
the awful man with the belt. I knew none of their names. Only the name
on the credit card, Johannes Jones. That was all I knew. It could have
been a stolen credit card for all I knew. Yet, as a result of that card, they
were here with me, all six of them, their organs hard, throbbing, out and
ready for action, me the only female in the room. And I was hardly able to
turn them away, shaking visibly as I lit the candle, my pussy and ass as
poke-able as any Christmas turkey about to be speared on a spit.
ÒHowÕs it coming?Ó Melissa asked, appearing at the door.
I turned my head, swiftly, like a teen discovered with her boyfriend,
her panties down and his cock out. ÔMelissa!Õ I wanted to say. ÔCome and
light the other candle.Õ It would serve her right for telling all the men to
get their penises out. Instead I asked, ÒMay we go upstairs yet?Ó I
wanted Rose to command the men. I could not do it. She was the domme,
not me. They would have me up on the sideboard soon, my ass burning,
waggling, as they flailed away with their belts.
Melissa seemed to sense the situation, my helplessness. Perhaps it
was my tingling white ass that gave me away, shivering in the
candlelight, the electric light. She turned a knob on the wall and the
electric light diminished. It was more romantic now.
ÒUndress,Ó she said to the men. ÒLeave your belts too. Then we will
go upstairs for some fun.Ó
Swiftly, perhaps excited by her beauty, the men disrobed. There was
nothing but the practical about it. They stood, stripped off their shoes,
socks, pants. I felt like I was in a menÕs locker room as I watched. There
was no romance, despite the candlelight. It reminded me of men preparing
for a game of basketball. Strip off the clothes, put on little shorts, play.
Simple and direct. Except at the end they did not put on little shorts, they
left themselves naked. Their cocks boldly uprearing, the heads pointing
directly at me, they stood now, stood around me, looking at me and
Melissa. I was the tart, naked in all the strategic places. She still wore
clothing, a little bra top with a long flowing skirt that began at her waist
and dropped to her toes. Her belly was sexily bare, as was all of her back
except for the bra. The bra matched her dress. There was a matching
collar around her neck. The material was white, spangled. Perfect for
nightclub dancing. She turned, her gorgeous hair swirling about her as she
turned.
ÒCome along, men,Ó she called over her shoulder, crooking her finger
at them. Six bare, hairy men approached, crowded about me. Like a little
creature in a Disney film, left behind by its fellows, I bolted ahead,
desperate to catch up with Melissa. The men, the wolves followed.
Melissa led us out into a living room and up a flight of carved,
curving hardwood stairs. They were the kind of stairs a girl of sixteen
would wish to come down to engage in her first debutante ball. Except I
was but 15, and going up them, naked, with a load of men behind me. I
wanted to pull my dress back down but didnÕt dare. The man with the belt
still had hands, big hands, even if heÕd left his belt behind. I glanced
behind me. With heavy tread the men followed, Vikings on patrol, scouring
the shoreline for young females. I had to reach down, pull up my panties.
It was too difficult for me to mount the stairs. A hand grabbed, caught at
the crotch of my panties as I tried to yank them up.
ÒTake them off,Ó a male voice growled. It was the Black Knight, the
man with the belt except he had no belt now, just his awful lance. It
poked at me, just inches away, the big nubbing head sweetly anointed with
his pre-cum. ÒYou will not be wanting them on upstairs anyway, will
you?Ó he smirked at me. ÒI did not come here to be a priest, nor you a nun.
Get them off.Ó I obeyed. There was only Melissa, she could not help. She
stood, waiting, a finger in her mouth, watching wide-eyed. I was on my
own, at least until we got upstairs. I stripped off my panties. I turned
and pulled back on one leghole, holding the other level at the Black Knight.
SPRANG! I shot my panties at the Black Knight. I hit him square in
the nose. He did not flinch, did not mind. ÒGet up,Ó he said, giving my
bottom a push with his hands. I did not move for a second, savoring the
awful feeling of his calloused palms against my soft white bottom. Then,
like an errant schoolgirl late for class, I darted ahead. Upstairs I went,
my feet mounting each step as quick as I could make them, the men
following.
ÒIn here,Ó Melissa said, pointing. She stood by the door to a
bedroom, chastely, as if she herself would not be going inside. I slipped
past her. The men filed in. The last, the Black Knight, grabbed Melissa and
pulled her into the room with him. She squealed, protested, he ignored her
and pulled down her skirt.
ÒCome in, men.Ó A sultry voice, womanly, mature. It was Rose. We
stood in a room with six big chairs, one for each of the men. There was a
sideboard here, loaded with expensive liquors. There was no food, just the
liquor. A large daybed waited, railed on three sides with silver railings.
It was bare except for a smooth crisp sheet. No pillow, no cover. Beside
it stood a table upon which a variety of dildoes were brazenly displayed.
Several towels were stacked on a dresser, as if there were no doubt that
things would have to be wiped off. And then there was Rose herself,
elegant, her hair coiled atop her head, pinned up like an Elizabethan Lady,
except she was completely, absolutely, ravishingly naked. Except for one
small item. A tiny bikini panty, made of simple yarn, preserved her
modesty. It strategically covered her pussy with a little v-shaped pouch.
Along her hips it was delicately tied off with twin drawstrings of fine-
woven yarn. But when she turned around I saw that there was no back to
the panties, save for a simple thread that ran up through her
bottomcheeks. Her cheeks wobbled as she walked over to the table with
the dildoes. Arrayed amongst them was a bottle of baby oil. It was brand
new. It would have to be. There were a lot of shafts in the room that
needed oiling. Melissa reached down to pick up the bottle of baby oil. She
picked it up with a mittened hand, for she wore large mittens on her hands
of fuzzy pink fur. I wondered at the mittens. They hardly counted as
clothing, but they did at least conceal her hands, which perhaps counted
for something on a girl who wore nothing else.
Melissa slipped off one of her mittens and turned to face the men.
With her newly freed hand she opened the pouch of her panties. I glimpsed
her muff inside. She aimed the bottle of baby oil at it.
ÒIÕm ready, are you?Ó Melissa asked the men. She squirted her pussy,
squirting freely, filling the little pouch that did its best to cover her
pussy, a difficult task indeed if she was going to yank the thing open.
The men eyed her greedily. She was deliciously wanton. Melissa, her
ass bared, her skirt round her knees, stood in the grasp of the Black
Knight. I guessed IÕd never know his real name. But IÕd know his dick, too
well I imagined, before the night was through.
Rose did not squirt any other area of her body. Just her softly
waiting pussy, sleeping within the little pouch of her panties. She let the
pouch snap shut. There was a stain on the front of her panties where the
oil had seeped through. ÒPlease sit down, men. We have some big comfy
chairs for you,Ó Rose invited. They were chairs from ancient times,
perhaps from the reign of Louis 14th, newly upholstered, fit for kings.
Several of the men obeyed, sitting down on the chairs with their bare,
hairy asses. Rose walked up to the others and gave each a friendly swat
on his bare behind with her mittened hand. ÒSit!Ó she smiled.
ÒWhy do you wear mittens,Ó the Black Knight asked, still standing,
holding Melissa.
ÒBecause I know I will have to spank each of you many times before
the night is through, and I donÕt want to hurt you too much,Ó Rose smiled
at him. She gave him another swat on his bare ass.
ÒYou could swat me with your bare hand and it wouldnÕt hurt,Ó the
Black Knight answered.
ÒI know, you big, horrible hunk,Ó Rose gushed at him, amused,
delighted. ÒBut sit down anyway. There are six of you and only three of
us. I obviously canÕt just take you straight to bed as I would like to.Ó
ÒIÕd make sure the others wouldnÕt mind,Ó the Black Knight
answered, still standing. Melissa fidgeted in his grip.
ÒOh, enjoy yourself,Ó Rose urged. ÒSit down, let me do this my way,
okay?Ó
ÒAlright,Ó the Black Knight relented. HeÕd speared thousands of
girls, I guessed. He could enjoy a little decadence now and then, a little
delay, a little teasing. He did not have to immediately adjourn to the
bedroom this one time. He plopped his tight buns down into the nearest
chair, taking Melissa with him.
ÒAnd I need her,Ó Rose said, grasping MelissaÕs wrists, pulling her
from the Black KnightÕs grasp. He let the girl go. He was pliant. For once
in his life he was pliant. But his shaft remained totally hard. I wanted to
bow before it, to kneel and suck it. To worship it. But I knew he would
insist that I take it all, and IÕd never done that. I could not, I was sure. I
would gag, choke, cock-stuffed I would die that way, unable to breathe
with his big thing stuffed down my throat.
ÒTake off your dress, dear,Ó Rose told Melissa.
ÒBut--Ó Melissa began. She wanted to go downstairs and ÔtendÕ the
phones, I saw.
ÒNo, dear, you must help out,Ó Rose admonished. ÒWe have six very
big men here who need our services. You cannot just leave Jennifer and I
to do all the work. The men will be drinking. They will be peeing. You are
going to be the pee girl. Whenever one of them wants to pee, there is no
need, at least here, for him to get up and repair to the bathroom. ThatÕs
your job. You scurry right over and give him a cup to pee into, then empty
the cup when heÕs done, and wash it out, so you can be ready when another
man calls you.Ó She handed Melissa a cup. It was a big German beer lager,
big enough for any manÕs bladder, even the Vikings amongst us. It was
made of glass, wickedly, so you could watch it as it filled with urine.
Rose was slinky, sensuous. She called me over and whispered in my ear.
ÒI have handcuffs in the drawer there,Ó Rose whispered to me. ÒTake
them out and cuff the men.Ó I obeyed. I went to the drawer, opened it.
Sure enough, six steel handcuffs glinted up at me. I saw no keys. I picked
them up, shut the drawer.
ÒMen, Jennifer is going to handcuff your hands behind your back, so
you wonÕt play with yourselves,Ó Rose said in a voice dripping with honey
and guile.
ÒNot me,Ó the Black Knight replied.
ÒWhy? Are you afraid of three little girls?Ó Rose asked him. She
strode over to him. She ran her mittened hands over the shaft of his penis.
ÒI want your cock,Ó she said to him. ÒI want it all to myself. I donÕt even
want you playing with it or touching it.Ó Mesmerized by her words, her
touch, the Black Knight let me gently touch his shoulder, push him
forward. I took his big muscled arms in my hands, moved them behind his
back. It took some effort, I moved them with my tongue stuck through my
lips. It was like moving heavy, bulky furniture, moving those arms. At
last I got them behind his back and buckled his wrists securely with the
cuffs.
Rose and I moved to the next man. The Black Knight called out to
Melissa. She ran to him, received his pee in the big German lager. He
filled it right to the brim.
Bypassing the man who was already cuffed, we secured all the men.
ÒNow boys,Ó Rose let the word hang on her tongue, savoring it. ÒYes,
you are boys now, because youÕre cuffed. Men you were, but boys you are
now, peeing freely into MelissaÕs cup I hope. DonÕt hold anything back for
me.Ó She smiled, enjoying her hold on them, her sensuous maliciousness.
ÒAnd since you requested a drinking party, we have many liquors here for
you. It took a lot of trouble for me to buy them all. You should have seen
me trudging home through the snow, carrying them all.Ó She conjured up
an image of the Little Match Stick Girl. She laughed. ÒI expect you to
drink them all. Just ask one of the girls, and she will pour it in your
mouth.Ó
Rose picked up the bottle of baby oil. She walked over to the Black
Knight. She squirted him, just the cock. He sat easily, watching, his bare
haunches resting on the chairÕs fine upholstery. Rose went to the man
beside him next, sitting on his own throne-like chair, then the third, and
on down the line of glorious cocks until they all were properly greased.
I gazed at the glinting shafts. Six of them, the flower of manhood.
Rose drew me aside. ÒUndress,Ó she said in a voice loud enough for me to
hear. ÒTake everything off. I want you on the daybed with me. Melissa
can pour drinks for the men and receive their pee.Ó
Unknowing, confused, I took off all my clothes. At last I stood
before Rose bare as a newborn. Only my booties remained, keeping my feet
safe, secure. Rose squirted my nipples with the baby oil. I flinched but
did not try to block the stream. Then, to my astonishment, she dropped the
bottle to my crotch and squirted me right up my pussy. I wanted to turn
away, to stop her, but she held one of my hands as it darted out, steadied
me with her firm grasp on my moist palm.
ÒNow turn around,Ó Rose said to me. I turned. She shot the baby oil
right into the crack of my bottom. Up my crack she went, then down again.
Finally she prised my bottom open with one of her thumbs and shot
straight into my anus. I shivered, jerked, my cheeks trying to squeeze
shut. ÒRelax,Ó Rose said. A simple word. I tried to obey. She nudged my
anal hole with the tip of the bottle, inserted it. I clenched my cheeks.
ÒYouÕre going to take things up here, so you may as well be lubed for it,Ó
Rose said matter-of-factly to me. Of course. I was a whore now, wasnÕt
I? IsnÕt that precisely what whores did, let men put their things up them,
into them, or other things, wielded by whom? By Rose? She gave me a
squirt up my butthole. I felt wet inside. Wet and slick and sticky. ÒVery
good. Come to bed, dear, it is time for your nap,Ó Rose said.
We went to the daybed together. Rose with her mittened hands, her
tiny panties. Me stark naked, shivering. My hair ran down my back, hiding
some of it. I wished I had let my hair grow longer. I could hide in it like
Polynesian girls did, dancing topless, with their breasts fetchingly
covered by their flicking locks, their long dark hair covering their ample
cleavage. Rose pushed me onto the bed. I kneed my way onto it, my bottom
mooning the men, my cheeks wiggly. She got onto the bed behind me. We
turned, we faced each other on our knees. Their was a warmth between us.
And then I saw sheÕd brought a riding crop to bed. She held it in her hands,
her mittens gone. The baby oil was gone too. Instead, in her free hand, she
held a pacifier. Its nipple was in the shape of a cock. She stuck it into my
mouth. I received it submissively.
ÒTurn around dear,Ó Rose said. A simple phrase. I glanced at the
riding crop. In the distance I heard pissing. Melissa was at her work,
obediently receiving the menÕs pee, washing out her cup after each
urination. On my knees, I slowly turned about.
ÒNot too hard,Ó I whispered to Rose. The pacifier muddled my speech
but it was clear enough to a person with a crop what a bare bottomed girl
might be asking for.
ÒJust enough to make you cry,Ó Rose said in a reassuring voice. I
flinched. To make me cry? I did not want to cry, couldnÕt cry. Sometimes
when you want to cry you canÕt, and I knew it would take many flicks of
the deep-cutting crop across my bottom to make me cry.
I turned. I bent down. Gritting my teeth, biting the pacifier twixt
them, I bent down and let my bottom loft high to Rose. Anyplace else we
would have been two normal girls, but here upon the daybed I knelt with
my bottom presented to her. She knelt behind, admiring my assflesh, my
girlish curves, a crop poised in her hand. Discreet in her panties, she
looked upon my heinie. The men watched with bated breath, their cocks
impossibly hard.
ÒI do hope the sight of a girl being corrected doesnÕt make you spurt
into the air,Ó Rose said to the men. She looked at them slyly. Tokyo Rose
with rapt American soldiers watching, listening. ÒMelissa?Ó Rose called
to the girl. She was receiving a manÕs pee. The man cut off his flow and
Melissa put down the half-filled beer lager. ÒThere is a penis whip in the
drawer there,Ó Rose said, pointing to a second drawer beneath the one that
had so conveniently hidden the cuffs. There were more drawers besides
that one. I wondered what the other drawers held. Nightstands can be
delicious things, with sweet treats waiting hidden in the drawers, dildoes
arrayed across the table-top. They looked like missiles waiting to be
fired up my bottom.
ÒYou were naughty, dear, to let your bottom show downstairs,Ó Rose
told me as I knelt with my ass in her face, showing off to Teacher in a
most unseemly manner. ÒSee how you have excited the men, wiggling your
bottom about, letting them get in such a hot lather downstairs that I had
to handcuff them the minute they came up.Ó She reached, found a mitten
by the bedÕs edge and slipped it on. She swept her fuzzy mittened hand
under my ass, feeling the soft undercurve.
ÒThis is going to hurt you more than it hurts me,Ó Rose assured me.
WHACK! Down came the crop, right on the underside of my bottom, the
most sensitive part of my seat. My eyes bulged, I screamed between my
teeth, my pacifier clenched between them.
WHACK! WHACK! Two more hits, carefully laid to avoid the first
bright red line that was already forming across my soft heinie.
WHIP! WHIP! I stared out into the room. Melissa was going from
man to man, whipping each cock with a tiny penis whip, its small thin tail
striking the men on their huge pulsing organs.
ÒDonÕt come! Bad boy! I can see youÕre hoping to spurt!Ó Melissa
cried. She flicked the menÕs cocks mercilessly. Handcuffed, they flinched
under the blows, loving any touch to their huge cocks but wishing it was
anything but the biting thong of the penis whip. In her bra she still had
the look of a chaste virgin, despite the utter nudity of her belly, her hips,
her legs and her pussy thatch. Her white bottom rolled atop her tall,
stately legs. She was young and short but she had mile-long legs. The
ankles were slim, her feet shod in beautiful glittering heels.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! My titties bounced upon the bed as Rose
assailed my ass with the riding crop. It was the perfect sadistÕs dream,
my bottom suffering as the men themselves suffered, each of us
sojourning on a journey into the deepest realms of sexual perversion.
ÒOooh, does it hurt, honey?Ó Rose asked me, stopping a moment,
fondling my cunny. I nodded. She urged my knees farther apart. I kept my
heels close, my knees I shifted wider. I was beautiful in my pose and I
knew it, despite the awful stinging in my ass. The men, all six of them,
were gazing fixedly at me, ignoring even Melissa who flailed away at their
cocks.
My ass burned. A tear welled in my eye. It was not enough to make
Rose stop. I wished to cry and get it over with, but I couldnÕt cry yet. I
didnÕt hurt enough yet.
WHACK! Another stinging bite seared into my girlish ass flesh. I
sniffled. I would be crying soon now. I prayed for the tears to come.
WHACK! WHACK! ÒI wonÕt quit until you are properly remorseful,Ó Rose
reminded me. She didnÕt want to hurt me. But she wanted me crying. For
the delight of our wicked guests.
WAA! Suddenly, like a baby, the tears burst forth. Rose, betraying
me, laid on four more strokes.
ÒStop! Stop!Ó I cried. I let the pacifier drop from my lips onto the
bed.
ÒWhat? You must keep your pacifier in your mouth!Ó Rose said.
Swiftly she applied the crop again. I was bawling now. I did not know
what to do. My ass flamed like the tail end of a rocket launching into
space. And then I felt a cool squirting. I shifted my head, my gaze. Rose
had picked up the bottle of baby oil and was squirting me all over my hot
bottom.
ÒGood girl,Ó Rose said soothingly, sympathetically. I rose from my
crouch and let my hands fly to my ass. Briskly I rubbed it, the oil soothing
me, helping ease the awful stinging memory of the crop.
Rose laid the long, flexible riding crop at my knees, right alongside
them, temptingly. She knelt down. ÒNow do me,Ó she said. I gazed at her
in surprise. Her bottom offered. I got behind her. She still wore her
panties, the thin thread cutting up between her cheeks, keeping her modest
in front while she remained bare behind. There was no need to lower her
panties. I took the crop, weighed its lightness in my palms. So slim, yet
so deadly.
WHACK! I brought the crop down on her soft ass with a vengeance.
ÒOh!Ó Rose shouted, surprised at the severity of my cut.
WHACK! WHACK! I gave her two more, a bit less harsh, but still
businesslike, certain. She would have trouble sitting down in one of those
soft easy chairs that the men reclined in, that was for sure. Just as I
would. We were fellow travelers, sore bottoms both. WHACK! WHACK!
WHACK! I showed her as little mercy as I could bear. I did not want her to
get off lightly. Melissa, inspired by my cuts, hit the menÕs penises harder.
I learned later that her penis whip was soft and wide, not too wide to be
just a tease but not fierce either, not slim and cutting. Yet she flailed
away at their big organs as if she was certain to do damage, certain to
harm them. They shifted in their chairs, enjoying the stings, even she she
purposely slashed them right across their pee holes, flinging pre-cum
across the room as the whip lifted from its bejeweled, slitted target.
In my zealousness I was slow to hear RoseÕs soft sobbing. At last I
noticed. Her hair was in some disarray, her face pressed directly into the
bedsheet to muffle her crying. Perhaps she wanted to let me give her as
much as sheÕd given me. I reached, I arranged the coils of her hair where
theyÕd fallen loose from the shifting of her head. She hadnÕt begun the
session with her face pressed into the sheet. IÕd remembered her eyes
staring out at the men, remembered how her head rubbed its coiffed locks
against the bedsheet each time my crop made contact.
I stuck my finger in her mouth, leaning over her, my crop held high.
ÒWhy do you hide your crying?Ó I asked her. She sucked hard on my finger,
said nothing. ÒAlright, for not telling me, I will give you more,Ó I said to
her. But I put a hand between her open legs and rubbed her pussy within
its yarn pouch. I would keep her happy there at least, even if I did have to
punish her bottom.
With her face pressed into the sheet, Rose let me give her more
blows. I gave them hard this time, knowing she wanted them, needed them
somehow, though why I could not guess. Perhaps she felt guilty at being a
whore. I felt guilty for letting her talk me into whoring with her. The
sweet offered curves of her ass took the punishment for it, bright red
lines forming across it as I laid on the crop with brutal regularity.
ÒAh! I can do no more!Ó I said at last, tossing the crop off the bed so
neither of us could get at it. Melissa saw it fly and went running for it.
ÒNo! Melissa, No!Ó Rose was up, her face a foot off the bed,
supporting herself on her hands now, an animal on all fours, but alert,
active. ÒIt would be too cruel to the men,Ó Rose told Melissa, her voice
broken with unstoppable sobs. ÒUse the penis whip only.Ó Reluctantly
Melissa let the crop lie where it was. Rose shifted up, straightened her
back. Her hands flew to her ass and she rubbed it. I offered her baby oil.
She nodded. I squirted her heinie and she rubbed in the soothing wet fluid.
ÒDid you like that?Ó I asked. I stroked her hair. She nodded, said
nothing.
After a bit Rose and I kneed our way to the edge of the bed. We sat
down upon it carefully, uncomfortably. We sat across from the men in
their chairs. Their cocks pointed at us. We sat with our knees wide apart,
my cunny showing but RoseÕs still concealed within her little pouch
panties. Our cheeks were streaked with drying tears. We smiled at the
men. They grinned back. All was lascivious, wanton. The men called for
drinks and Melissa served them.
ÒThis, dear, is a battery operated dildo,Ó Rose said to me. SheÕd
taken a dildo from the nightstand. It was within reach of where she sat
upon the bed. She examined it briefly, then handed it to me. ÒSee if you
can stuff it up your twat.Ó She pointed to a little switch. I flicked it on.
The dildo buzzed. I flinched, smiled, blushed. I had never held such an
item before, though IÕd heard much about them. Rose lifted the bottle of
baby oil and gently squirted the fake penis, oiling it up for me. ÒNow put
it in,Ó she commanded. Helpfully she leaned over me, still keeping her own
legs open, and spread my pussy lips with her fingers.
ÒOh, God!Ó I exclaimed, touching the buzzing tip of the cock to my
cunt.
ÒRight in,Ó Rose said. She took the end of the dildo in hand and
shoved upon it, sticking the other end right into me. I trembled as the
buzzing nose burrowed up me. I opened for it. I did not want it in my mind
but my body felt otherwise. Rose put both my hands on the dildoÕs shaft.
ÒThere, do yourself with it,Ó Rose told me. She left me with the dildo and
set to work untying the drawstrings of her tiny panties. When they loosed
she simply left them as they were, untied, the pouch flap dropped open in
front. She picked up a dildo from the nightstand and oiled it with squirts
of baby oil. Then she turned it on and inserted it into herself.
Rose eyed me with a sly, shivering look. ÒLetÕs do ourselves
together,Ó she said. Raptly I watched her shaft herself with the big dildo,
imitating her strokes with strokes of my own.
We trilled like songbirds. Rose tilted back her head, her lovely red
locks tumbling down around her face and over her slim shoulders. Her hair
had been pinned up only loosely, it was undone now. She was free, a
woman no more, just a girl in her bedroom. Her red lips parted, she
enjoyed every shuddering stroke of her self-imposed punishment. I hoped I
looked as lovely as she did as I drove the unyielding rubber cock deeper
and deeper within me. Each hand-guided stroke went buzzing up me like
some prudish vaginal inspector come to stick his nose into my business.
Into my womb. I was up that high now, screaming out my pleasure. The
men watched raptly, occasionally calling Melissa over for more liquor,
perhaps just to break the too-delicious pleasure that was thrumming in
their cocks, threatening to make them lose all they had gained so far. I
glanced at their big, heavy balls, squashed between their hairy legs on the
expensive cushioned seats that their raw naked hairy buttcracks spread
upon. I wondered if their butts were sweating as much as their brows.
Their cocks, long since beyond the point of no return but not quite spilt,
drooled endless gobs of pre-cum into the upholstery of their seats.
Melissa scrambled to keep up with the men as they peed, all of them quite
drunk now. I thanked God weÕd handcuffed them.
Up, up went my dildo, in and out, my lovely store-bought cock. I
twisted my head toward Rose, competing with her now, going over the
brink as she strove to catch me. We went together. Then we went a
second round, still jamming the store cocks up our twats. She passed me
to the second climax, then we strove for a third. My feet lost in my
booties, my body otherwise bare.
Rose replaced her dildo on the nightstand. It looked wet. SheÕd
turned it off, as easily as sheÕd turned it on. It waited for more fun,
perhaps another day, perhaps never. It would remain rock-hard regardless.
I turned off my dildo and placed it in RoseÕs offered hand. She glanced at
it a moment. You could smell my honeyed wetness on it. She smiled at
me, a little smirk, nothing more. Then she put my cock beside hers. Our
fake penises, for just us girls, when the men were away, to keep us happy.
Rose stood up. She took my hand and I stood with her. Our pussies
were wet, honeyed. She made no move to clean us up. Instead she walked
over to the men. Very simply, directly. A toss of her head perhaps,
nothing else. She put her hands on her hips, surveyed them.
ÒYou boys have earned a special treat,Ó Rose told them. Her voice
was high. She did not sound like your typical mistress. Instead she was
more like a little schoolgirl, come to give orders to DaddyÕs big men
friends. Cease your card playing! I could almost hear her say, in my
sudden fantasy of her schoolgirl days. I am sick of playing Jacks by
myself! You big men will play with me, and do just as I say too, for I will
be mistress.
Rose walked away from the men. She went to the nightstand. Not to
douche, or wipe off her baby oil, but to draw from it two hair ribbons.
Lightly, carefree as the schoolgirl IÕd just imagined her to be, she tied off
her hair into two pigtails. She tossed me an elastic ruffle. I gathered my
hair into a ponytail and secured it. I felt a sense of great pride in
adorning myself in this way. There was no hurry, no rush. The men
watched, their minds altogether different from ours. Their big cocks
throbbed in desperation. They shifted their hips, stabbing at their air.
Melissa studiously caught their pee in her cup when they had to go. It was
their only release. They seemed to drink more and more, using their
peeing as a substitute for what they really wanted to do, but couldnÕt. I
thought of all that sperm roiling within their bulging balls, so eager, so
desperate. Rose gave Melissa some barrettes, plastic little girl ones, and
she took a break from her pee-duties to slip them into her hair. They had
teddy bears on them. The real bears sat just a few feet away.
ÒAs a little girl, I dreamed of having a special dungeon of
punishment for all you big nasty men,Ó Rose said, turning to them once
more. Her honeyed cunt belied her childish air. She was a woman, though
still 19, with big boobs and a cunt dripping from her own pleasure. But
she had the voice, the softness of a little girl. She brushed her hair back
and continued. The pigtails were loosely tied, they left strands of her hair
sweetly falling into her eyes.
ÒAll you big men in my life. Teachers, Principals, neighbor-men,
Uncles, and then the ones on T.V. every night: rapists, child molesters,
murders, and those awful men who burned the American flag. Yes, as I
little girl I wanted to put all of you into my bedroom and make you
behave.Ó I sensed there was more to her words than just simple teasing.
Rose turned. She walked past the daybed to the far wall. A door, I thought
it just a small clothes closet, opened with a twist of her hand upon the
knob. Rose reached within, flicked on lights. I craned my neck to see, my
ponytail swishing behind me. Melissa looked, her eyes wide. She reminded
me of her look in the cage, her eyes flash-bulb bright as she saw Lord
Algonquin enter.
Rose caught my stare with her eyes, bade me silently to bring forth
the men. I walked to them. Melissa was given the same duty. We stood
before them, policegirls on our first call.
ÒGet up,Ó I said to the men. Melissa repeated my command. They
gazed up at us. Then they stood, one after another. They towered over us.
Melissa and I gulped, looking up at them. Their erections pulsed mightily
before us. ÒCome along,Ó I said. I crooked my finger at them, at their
cocks in particular. Melissa walked beside them, I led the way. Into the
room we went, the little closet-room that proved to be bigger inside than
IÕd thought.
Rose stood facing us. All around us were the toys and playthings of
little girls. A small bed, frilly, with Little Mermaid sheets and pillows. A
girlÕs hairbrush, heart-patterned curtains, a big white teddy bear. But
there was more. Upon the childishly patterned wallpaper were set iron
chains. Along one wall, paddles and whips and a long whippy cane. There
was a trestle, over which many a body had been bent, I guessed, given the
deep impression in the leather padding where the tummy met the
cushioning. And the little girlÕs bed had cuffs attached to the headboard
and footboard.
I drew in my breath as I surveyed the scene. This was obviously
from the original whorehouse. Had 19th-century Pretty Babies been
tucked into this bed? Little girls, back in the days of child labor and child
brides? Or were big girls, girls like ourselves, or women installed in
here? Women who were wives by day, but turned into children at night, in
here, amongst all the dollies and picturebooks?
ÒThis little piggie went to market,Ó I said to myself, under my
breath. I gazed at the nude men, their bare butts staring at me as I stood
behind them, Melissa beside me. WeÕd presented them to Rose. She was
mistress. She was in charge now.
ÒHereÕs a little treasure my aunt taught me about,Ó Rose said. She
lifted something from the wall. I could not tell what it was, at first. ÒI
never got to use it before, didnÕt even know they still existed. Until last
night, when I found this room. IÕve tidied it up for you. The room, I mean.
For all I know, this block is just as it was when it was last used. Perhaps
it last clasped some PrinceÕs member, or some Nazi soldierÕs.
I realized then what I was looking at. It was a small block of wood.
It was composed of two halves, and hinged at one end, so that the two
halves could open and close upon each other, like jaws. The block looked
like a rectangle, and had a hole cut right through its center. When the
halves of the block opened, the hole became a half-moon in either half. I
thought perhaps the block was to be closed over somebodyÕs finger, but the
hole looked too big for that. Yet, surprisingly, the hole was too small for
a wrist. I certainly had nothing to fear from the block. There was nothing
on me that could be stuck through the hole.
And then I guessed. I squeezed MelissaÕs hand as I guessed. She still
watched, wonderingly.
ÒItÕs for their cocks!Ó I whispered. Melissa clapped her hand to her
mouth and could barely contain her surprise, her delight. Five of the
blocks remained hanging on the wall, their jaws open. Rose smiled at the
Black Knight. With obvious love for his big, throbbing cock, she fitted the
halves of the block over it. And then she closed them. The wooden block
closed around his shaft, imprisoning part of it, leaving the head sticking
out through the hole. Much of his cock remained on either side of the
closed block, but the middle part was as securely held as if it were inside
a womanÕs cunt. Rose locked the end of the block with a little silver
padlock. Hinged on one side, locked on the other, it would not open again
without a key. I saw no key. Leads trailed from either end of the block.
Rose drew these within the Black KnightÕs legs and wrapped them tightly
around his balls. Then she looped them several times around the base of
his penis and tied them off in a neat bow. He was still strong, his back
powerful, rippling, his buttocks clenching, but his lovely organ was now
completely subject to the dictates of RoseÕs awful miniature-pillory.
I let go of MelissaÕs hand. I pressed my hands to the buttocks of
Lancelot. Let him be next, my knight in shining armor. Or, rather, without
his shining armor on, I realized, lost in my heroic speculations as I urged
him forward, my fingers pressing into his ass flesh. He obeyed. Like a
horse stepping forward to be shoed, a proud stallion, he presented his cock
to be fitted by Rose.
My Lancelot grunted as his cock was enclosed by the little wooden
stock. Then Rose made him wince as she drew the leads back and tied the
soft white lead ropes securely around his heavy balls. Finally she made a
little bow with the ropes atop the root of his penis, just like a little girl
might. Lancelot gazed down at himself, amazed, his hands cuffed behind
his back, pressed into the small of his back, his broad shoulders hunched
over as he looked down at his flower of manhood, his pronging prong,
embedded within the clasping wood.
Each man in turn was served with his own piece of wood. It closed,
it separated, it made his pee slit a separate part of his body, out beyond
the jaws of the wood, out where his cockhead was, all purple and hard,
begging, yet separated by the wood from the life-giving balls which hung
waiting between his legs.
There was a potty. It was made of plastic. It was not connected to
any pipes. It was a training-potty. Perhaps a little girl had used it once.
ÒCome, you must pee for me, to ensure that everything is still working
right,Ó Rose said. She led the men with their organs sticking out in front
of themselves, their wooden bars tied on tightly, over to the potty.
Melissa picked it up and moved it out away from the wall, so that all the
men could stand around it at once.
ÒPee into it,Ó Rose commanded. ÒAnd donÕt wet the seat.Ó The men
laughed. They were too drunk to care. They peed all over the potty, hitting
the seat, trying to hit Melissa in the final moments. ÒWell, I can see your
things work just fine,Ó Rose said, dismayed at the mess. The little girlÕs
room was not quite a little girlÕs room anymore. Men had entered. Male
beasts. Their urine, puddled on the floor and wetting the potty seat, was
evidence of the all that the feminists said was wrong with men.
There were only three of us, young females, and six of them. Yet we
had managed to cuff them with our beauty, our guile, and now we had them
by the balls too, and their precious cocks. We would teach them feminist
lessons now, the lessons men learned when they explored Brazil and came
upon Amazons.
ÒIt is the sperm that is the problem,Ó Rose said. SheÕd picked up a
pair of spectacles and placed them on her nose. She looked bookish. She
had ideas, great thoughts. ÒAll you men are sex offenders, being nude in
front of Melissa here, only 14, and Jennifer, a mere 15-year-old. How
naughty of you to display your rude cocks in front of such innocent young
girls! Fortunately, I believe in treating the problem itself, instead of the
offender. He is just a prisoner of his own balls. Which is why they must
be milked.Ó Rose beckoned to Melissa. They stepped behind the little
girlÕs bed and hefted something big and silver onto it. It was heavy. It
landed on the bed with a hard metallic thud. There were six holes
arranged along it, within the gleaming steel. ÒI got this from the barn out
back,Ó Rose told the men. ÒI ought to make you traipse bare naked through
the snow to the barn, to be milked amidst the hay, with cows mooing
while you give up your seed.Ó She smiled. She loved their cocks as I did.
ÒBut I am not a mean feminist. No, no. If you want to spurt out your seed
in a little girlÕs room, so be it, just as long as you are milked dry.Ó The
men gazed in awe, in wonder, at the large steel object set atop the bed. It
was every manÕs deepest nightmare, and his deepest fantasy; to get his
cock caught in a relentless, unyielding, unending milking machine of
pleasure. Rose stepped out from behind the bed. She ran her fingertips
along the heads of the menÕs imprisoned penises, caught in the wood,
facing the deeper, longer punishment of the milk machine. ÒDonÕt think for
a minute that once youÕre fitted inside the machine, fully erect, and cum,
that your cock will be allowed to shrink down to its normal size,Ó Rose
taunted the men. ÒThe machine will not let go. It will tighten its grip on
your cock if it tries to withdraw. You will be milked remorselessly, and
then some, until you have absolutely nothing left in your big bad balls!
DonÕt even try to fight it. I know, I know, you will try to be manly. The
machine will not care. You can try to hold out, to keep from cuming, but it
will not care. It will simply fuck you until you give up your seed, and then
it will keep on fucking you. This is what you men really want, isnÕt it?
You just want to be hooked up for life to one of these!Ó There was a
savageness in her voice now. The men looked a bit more sober than they
had in a while. ÒYouÕre going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow,Ó Rose
teased them. ÒAnd not just in your heads!Ó
Undoing her recent handiwork, Rose untied the wooden blocks from
the men. They had been for pleasure only, letting her play with them,
admire them, as they stood stiffly handcuffed before her. Now she would
watch their butts from behind as they were milked in the milking machine.
Melissa and I, Rose, all of us together, slapping the menÕs butts, laughing
with them, at them, worked to get them hooked up to the machine. The
men were so desperate to cum by now that they gave little protest. Each
cock was put in its little hole, right up to the root. The men had to kneel
on the little girlÕs bed to get themselves into the machine completely.
Kneeling, their butts flexing tensely, they made ready to be milked.
ÒIs it safe?Ó one of the men asked, the last to go in.
ÒIt is safe, darling,Ó Rose assured him. ÒI love your cock even more
than you do.Ó And she popped him in, just like that. He shuddered as he
felt the elastic, rubberized inside of the hole close down around him. They
waited, all six of them. Sweat beaded their brow. ÒThere is another
machine in the barn, for a womanÕs breasts,Ó Rose told the men. ÒPerhaps
you will see it in action sometime.Ó Her finger hovered over the switch. I
gazed at the hoses stretching out from the back of the machine. They ran
through holes, cut in the wall. A curtain had covered them where they
entered the wall but Melissa drew it back now, at RoseÕs command, so that
all could be seen. ÒThe hoses are connected to a vacuum pump,Ó Rose told
the men. ÒThey will provide the suction. It is a mild vacuum, nothing your
cocks canÕt handle. It has been tested before, on other men, according to a
note my aunt left me. The Nazis used it on prisoners, later it was
modified for pleasure. As the vacuum sucks, the machine will grip and
milk. Try to hold out as long as you can. I know I told you to cum, but now
that youÕre hooked up, your lovely cocks inside the thing, I almost canÕt
bear to see you lose all your precious sperm.Ó
Rose waited still, gazing at the men, their knees penitently arranged
on the edge of the bed, their chests tight, muscled. I gazed from behind at
their tense buttocks. I could see Rose weighing her options, wondering if
she really wanted to see these fine stallions give up their seed to a
machine. And then Melissa darted to the switch. She was young. Men did
not have the lure for her that they did for me, for Rose. Her childishness,
her mischievousness, won out over all else. She flicked the switch and
the machine belched to life.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-----Back issues (and stories): http://www.dejanews.com/
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Or via the Web:
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-----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:
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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