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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
CUNT CASTLE
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Chapter One
I sat obediently with my lover at dinner. I sipped my Chardonnay but
said nothing. WeÕd met just last month. IÕd taken several male lovers
since my Òsinful sojourn,Ó as my mother called it when holding tea in the
parlor for her friends. She had taken to relieving her mortifaction at my
not turning out Òher way,Ó as she liked to call it, by publicly humiliating
me in front of her friends. But IÕd culled a few secrets from her old
photos and letters that told me the 60Õs werenÕt the placid decade of
civility and conformity that she now claimed they were.
ÒWell,Ó she would say, over her teacup. ÒWe did have to protest the
social injustices of the time. Vietnam, civil rights. But otherwise we
went to class and did our homework and trained ourselves to be modern
working women,Ó my mother would patiently explain to me. ÒStyles are
styles, my dear, and the media is always full of hype. Now go do your
homework, and that doesnÕt mean Ôgo chat up men on the Internet.Õ I can
read your e-mail now, so donÕt think I wonÕt catch you.Ó
And sheÕd nod to her friends and theyÕd all chime in on how important
it was to Òprotect the safety of a child,Ó namely, me.
IÕd taken back my old name, ÒFleury,Ó short for ÒFleurette.Ó But IÕd
changed it a little in my 14th year of life. ÒFurry,Ó I was known as now,
and you can probably guess what my boyfriends thought of when they
called me that.
I was no longer trying to grow up. I felt dreadfully mature, in fact.
Trying to keep my various men friends and boyfriends from killing each
other while still actively liking me was no easy job. ThatÕs why I was so
happy when I met Louis. He was French, full of money, and with a sly,
overpowering manner that absolutely guaranteed a girl sheÕd bear at least
one of his children, whether she wished to or not. He made it possible for
me to forget my other boyfriends, gorgeous as they all were. He expected
me to focus fully on him, to think of him all the time, even if he skipped
asking me out and I knew he was making love to another woman just to
force me to pout and see other men. And, of course, the whole time IÕd be
with some other man IÕd be thinking of him, spoiling to get revenge. When
weÕd meet IÕd be eager to wreck his hopes, but find myself embraced in his
arms instead, melting like butter.
And so it was I sat at dinner now, in one of MontevideoÕs best
restaurants, watching the moon rise over the sea and the homely fishing
vessels as they trundled out for a nightÕs hard work amidst the waves. My
panties were tucked into the breast pocket of his $1400 dollar jacket.
HeÕd dared me to take them off and, infuriating me at last with his
teasing, IÕd slingshotted them at him when the waiterÕs back was turned
and the other diners seemed occupied. I think a middle-aged lady saw me,
but no one else. Except, of course, our dinner guests, Polly and Andre.
ÒYou should send her to Traflangier,Ó Andre chuckled, still amused
that IÕd shot my panties at my boyfriend.
ÒEh, you know what they call that place,Ó Louis replied. He dabbled
with the plastic sword sticking up from his Daiquiri. He leaned close to
Andre, speaking low, but not so low that I couldnÕt hear. ÒCunt Castle.Ó
ÒHmmm?Ó Andre asked. He looked pleasantly startled. Polly shot me
a look of disgust and rolled her eyes, as if to say, ÔMen!Õ That one word
said it all. But I didnÕt mind. I was enthralled with Louis. Polly was just
13. She reminded me of myself a year ago, except she was more like my
mother, always trying to be prim and proper. I think she loved Andre
despite herself. She still had her panties, though from the length of her
dress youÕd have wondered whether she intended them as underwear or
outerwear.
ÒIt was intended as a place of sexual liberation in the 60Õs, run by an
old pharmacist who used to hand out his homemade drugs to the kids like
they were candy. Then, in the 70Õs, as his flock grew a little older, it
became a Ôsex for healthÕ place, for people who werenÕt into jogging 20
miles a day but didnÕt mind spending lots of time each day humping in bed.
ÔSexual therapy and then sexual recoveryÕ came into vogue in the 80Õs,
with everyone in the final days disavowing their sexual past as they
feared their newly-born children might one day walk in their ways.Ó Louis
took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled. ÒHe died about then, Ô87 or
so. For awhile the place lay dormant. Then his estate was finally settled
and his niece took it over. Nowadays she runs it as a place where girls can
be taken to Ôreceive instruction,Õ as she puts it. Men take their wives
there, or their lovers.Ó Louis shot a glance at me. ÒOr a girl might take
her manly boyfriend there, it makes no difference.Ó
Louis lifted his hand from his drink and fiddled with my panties.
Part of them stuck out the top of his pocket, and I was wishing heÕd stick
them all the way down in so no one would see. ÒAnd so the place is
alternately called ÔCunt Castle,Õ or ÔCock Castle,Õ depending on which
version of the eroticized estate most suits your fancy. As for me, I
propose a suggestion. You and I might send Polly and Furry there for two
weeks, and then later, they might send us.Ó
A shiver ran down my spine. Immediately I knew somehow heÕd pull
it off. And I knew something else too. Despite his words, I knew heÕd
never let me send him there. No, it would just be me. My mind swirled.
What must it be like to be taken someplace by your husband, or your lover,
and made a love slave for a week? How long was it? Did he say a week, or
was it two weeks? IÕd found a book once in my dadÕs dresser, when I was
snooping around. It was under his underpants. Probably a fitting place for
it, too. Story of OÕrevoir, or something. O? Au revoir? I couldnÕt
remember. Maybe it was the book version of 9 1/2 weeks. IÕd seen part of
the movie once, late at night, after Leno. Well, this was 2 weeks. Yes,
that was it. Two weeks. Polly looked not the least amused, but I found
myself a little intrigued. And I could hear a little voice somewhere inside
me warning me away. Ôno, furry, and change your name back too, you canÕt
go there, your mother will report you missing and...Õ
ThatÕs why I liked Louis. My other men friends worried constantly
that they might get in trouble seeing me. Louis absolutely did not care.
He knew my mother had her Ôsurveillance radarÕ on me 24 hours-a-day. He
knew if I disappeared for two weeks thereÕd be no way to hide it from my
mother. And now here he was, smoking his head off, not caring the least
about the Surgeon General, and proposing sending me to some weird castle
or something where IÕd get to play Geisha Girl for two weeks. Polly was
right. Men!
ÒAlright,Ó I heard Andre agree. And I realized I must have missed
some crucial bit of their conspiratorial conversation, the words spoken
just quietly enough to force Polly and I to strain forward to find out what
they had planned for us. ÒThe price is steep, but it would be worth it to
make this bitch more agreeable.Ó He pinched PollyÕs thigh. She flinched,
frowned. She looked like a cat who, seeing a canary, wants it but
remembers the last one had given it indigestion. My cat ate a bird once,
one that had eaten pills intended for pigeons. Only a fast trip to the vet
had saved her. My mother insisted on giving her away a year later when
we moved. I wanted to run away, to go back for her, but I got lost trying,
and the police delivered me home at 9 oÕclock that night to a cold supper
and stern words from my father. I know the real reason mother insisted
on giving away my cat. It was pregnant, and she didnÕt want me to know
about sex. But I knew. I saw her getting fat and a friend had told me the
reason. Mother maintained we were feeding her too much, and actually cut
back on her food. I had to feed her surreptitiously under the table.
ÒOkay,Ó Louis said. He smiled at me. Nothing more was said
between them. He ordered dessert for us. Cherry Rhubarb pie. A little
sweet, a little sour. Was it a way of telling us what they had in mind for
us? I didnÕt know. I ate mine slowly, savoring the tangy mixture, yet
contemplating it to, wondering if I should let Louis lead me into his
fantasy of me being his absolute, total slave. I had no illusions. ThatÕs
what it would come to. Utter subservience to his will. I felt a thrill deep
inside myself as I wondered whether I should accept this, or run to the
maitre de, explain I was only 14, and that Louis was not my father at all
but my illegal lover. The police would come quickly, he would be whisked
away. Or he might harm me. ThereÕs no telling what an enraged man might
do. Then again, if I slipped away, to use the toilet, he would never know.
My daddy would protect me from him. But my daddy screwed my mother
every night. He was mine, but...
Louis was mine altogether. Well, he loved other women, but I hoped
he loved me most of all. If I said ÔnoÕ to him I knew IÕd lose him. Oh, what
to do? What to do? I looked at Polly. She was complaining about her
dessert. Andre was quite indulgent. She explained to him in her high-
pitched voice that while the cherries were fine, the rhubarb was much too
sour. And, come to think of it, the crust was not flaking properly. Her
mother made much better crusts than this. Andre nodded patiently. Louis
rolled his eyes, accepted that the girl must be listened to. I liked the way
Louis rolled his eyes. So worldly. Yet, as I gazed at Polly, I noticed how
freely her breasts shifted within her blouse. It was tight. She had let her
jacket become unbuttoned. Andre liked toying with her clothes while she
was eating. I saw that PollyÕs blouse was tented where her nipples were.
She was excited by all the attention she was receiving, both from Andre
and Louis. Why had she not worn a bra? I had a bra on, a nice black one,
with my vest neatly buttoned over it, to give just a hint of it out the top.
Yet she, with her jacket now opened, showed everyone how thin her blouse
was and how stiff her nipples were. I glanced around. Did anyone else see
besides us? Oh well, we girls have a right to skip our bras if we wish,
but... This was an elegant, high-class restaurant, not a nightclub. The
waiter returned. Andre made to order a cherry pie, without the rhubarb,
but after her long soliloquy Polly seemed not to wish to change her order
after all. I knew then she just wanted to be noticed, paid attention to. I
was jealous. Here she was, cheating, with her nipples all erect and her
blouse treacherously thin, with even Louis watching her now instead of
me. Should I slip away to the ladies room and ditch my bra? That would
top her, me sticking my bra in the waste bin where it might be seen by the
other ladies, and returning, sitting down, with my breasts noticeably bare
beneath my little vest.
The waiter, at a nod from Louis, presented the bill. Louis handed him
a $100.00 bill and rose. We were leaving, just that suddenly. Polly, more
or less finished with her pie by now, took a quick sip of her coffee and the
four of us were outside the restaurant within the minute. I felt the cool
night air brush against me beneath my skirt, my panties still tucked
neatly in LouisÕ pocket. I reached for them, for the bit of them that stuck
up, in his jacket, where he might have worn a carnation instead of using
my underwear. With a suave movement he brushed my hand away. He
wanted to keep them. I gritted my teeth and realized I would have to bear
up without them. I felt so cool, so free. There was absolutely nothing
underneath my dress. The wind caught it. My hands leapt to my thighs,
trying to keep the doorman fetching our car from catching sight of my
nakedness. I regretted wearing such a short dress now. Mother would
never have approved, and now I knew why. It was not handkerchief-short,
like PollyÕs but it was still way too short to run around in without any
panties on.
Three couples passed us, the men in tuxes and the women wearing
evening gowns. We nodded. I gripped my dress tightly, trying not to look
obvious as to why. LouisÕ convertible rolled to a stop in front of us. The
doorman hopped out. Discreetly he offered me his hand, and I hoped heÕd
not seen anything in his lazy roll up the last few feet of the restaurantÕs
driveway. Or the couples, for that matter. With people in front of us,
behind us, I wished to get into the safety of LouisÕ car as quickly as
possible. The doorman opened the side door and seated me. I made sure
my skirt got tucked right up under my bottom. Louis plopped into the
driverÕs side seat as Polly and Andre got in back.
ÒLouis!Ó I hissed. But he ignored me. As the car pulled away he
removed my panties from his pocket and handed them to the doorman.
ÒShe wonÕt be needing these,Ó he grinned. The doorman smiled back,
glanced beyond him to me, and I hunched as fast as I could into a
humiliating crouch on the front seat. Behind me I heard Polly giggle into
her hands. Andre failed to suppress a chuckle.
ÒLouis! That was awful!Ó I sulked.
ÒYou are young, I am young, the night is young, and we are free,Ó he
said, a whisp of the poetic in his voice, the lights of the restaurant
passing away behind us and a starry sky opening up ahead. I sat up a little.
I felt the long silkiness of my hair flow out behind me and into AndreÕs
face. He was forced to move a little closer to Polly to get out of my hair.
She moved a little bit away, keeping her distance. She did not want him
toying with her clothes in the back seat, for she knew sheÕd lose them if
he did. Passersby would find 13-year-old girlÕs panties on the road the
next day, a sock, a shoe, and think the worst.
Louis turned on the radio. My favorite song wafted into the night. Up
on a down escalator. A remake, by a new band. Or at least thatÕs what
Louis said. IÕd never heard the original. I began to sway to the tune. I did
feel free. I wasnÕt at home, like I was ÔsupposedÕ to be, doing my
homework. I wasnÕt even chatting with guys on the Internet. My mother
should at least be happy for that! You never know who youÕre talking to on
the Net. It makes it exciting, but it can be a drag to. I was sure I was
talking to Sylvester Stallone for three whole weeks and then it turned out
to be the nerd down the street. He collected Stallone movies and I found
out (after the fact, of course) that he even published a zine about Stallone
called ÔMillions of Cunts and Dead Bodies.Õ He probably knew more about
Stallone than Stallone himself did. So I wound up being in his stupid zine.
When our ÔrelationshipÕ fell apart he wrote, ÔBimbo Stoned on Stallone,Õ
and put all kinds of things in the story, including totally untrue stuff
about me that heÕd made up.
I saw the road was becoming thick with old trees, their branches
obscuring the sky. Moss hung from some of them, almost reaching into our
car as we passed. I shivered a little. An owl passed overhead, startled by
our passing. In back Polly was prattling about her motherÕs pie crust, and
how she sometimes made home-made lollipops for her, and Polly and her
little sister would peddle them round the neighborhood in a wagon.
ÒAnd this boy, he always tries to get them for 50 cents instead of a
dollar,Ó Polly declared, quite caught up in her recital. ÒHe says our
lollipops arenÕt WORTH a dollar! Well, if theyÕre not worth a dollar, what
is he doing standing there arguing with us, when it says right on our
wagon, Ôlollipops, $1.00Õ DonÕt pull on my jacket, Andre. ItÕs special. My
grandmother bought it for me. Anyways, I think he should just read our
sign, and if he doesnÕt want any, he should just let us be. Finally we made
a sign that said Ôlollipops for girls onlyÕ and...Ó
I let my mind detach itself from PollyÕs babble. She was a little girl
sometimes, a moody teen other times. You could never tell which. I think
she liked best getting some man totally absorbed in her life, listening for
hours perhaps, and just having him sitting there, endlessly fascinated. It
was certainly more than her dad did. He was a big fat guy who threw his
rolled newspaper at her and told her not to interrupt him when he was
watching T.V. Trouble was, he wasnÕt ever not watching T.V. And her
mother was as much of a bitch as mine was. So we partied together.
SheÕd done it already, several times, said she liked it but it had scared her
at first. I tried to keep an eye on her a little, like a sister might. Not that
she was my sister. She reminded me now and then that she was free to do
as she pleased. But I kept a subtle watch over her, if I could. Like right
now, I knew Andre was trying to slip her jacket off. She probably didnÕt
even notice, except she kept batting his hand away as she talked. Her
nipples stood up like thorns in the chilly night air. I think she was
actually trying to button her jacket up but she was so preoccupied in
telling her stories that she never quite got it accomplished. She liked to
wave her hands around a lot to make her Important points, which were
always quite numerous in her stories.
Suddenly the trees gave way and I saw, up on the heath, an old castle
crumbling in the moonlight. Its turrets stood up starkly but you could see
that time had eaten away at them. I think the Spanish had built the place
as a fortress, to guard the harbor, but had not gotten much done with it
before quitting. Then, later, a millionaire at the turn of the century had
taken up residence, intending to finish it, only to go bankrupt, leaving it
half-built, and wearing away in its original Spanish form from the storms
that blew in off the coast each year. Gazing at it, I sensed it was
otherworldly, its stones glimmering in the moonlight, half there, but also
not there as much as it was there.
ÒIt looks so strange,Ó I said to Louis. Our small sportster began
crossing the lea. I saw cows grazing on either side of the road. We were
out in the country now, down the coast, coming at the castle in such a way
that I guessed weÕd been in the forest behind it, and would wind up at last
smack in front of it, the road now curving round to affirm me, the
pounding of the sea now reaching our ears as we ran along the edge of a
cliff and soon found ourselves at the castle gate, with the sea at our
backs, some 50 meters down where the rocks dueled endlessly with the
waves.
The gate was closed, but I saw the latch might be lifted to let us in.
Louis stopped the convertible and leapt out. For a moment I speculated on
jumping into his seat and just driving away and leaving him there. But I
was too young to drive. I might get in trouble. As I watched the swagger
of his hips I knew I couldnÕt do it. He was such a rogue, and I loved him for
it. He lifted the latch and the gate, with a loud creak, swung open fairly
easily, its opening slowed only by its own rust, and by the sense I got that
it had never been quite properly installed. Louis returned to the car, and
we breezed on into the compound behind the castleÕs broken walls. I was
reminded of Troy, after the entrance of the Trojan Horse, except here the
problem was as much that the walls had never been built as that they had
since been destroyed by the elements. I could see piles of shattered stone
mingled with neatly stacked stones, waiting a century now to be built
with, grass growing amidst them, their weight gradually sinking into the
earth, returning to that primal bedrock from which they had once been
quarried.
We glided to a stop in front of the castleÕs residence. It was a
modern home built upon and within the stones that had made up the
original unfinished fortress. Louis had me get out and guided me up to the
front door. We must have been expected for, without knocking, he opened
the door and let me in, waiting for Andre and Polly to step in behind us.
I found myself in an entryway floored with maple, potted plants
sprouting flowers and vines, a living room beckoning just beyond. A
woman emerged from the room. She was darkhaired, exquisitely dressed.
She seemed a bit of a cross between a modern business woman and a lady
in her home expecting to entertain guests. Her blouse was ruffled, long-
sleeved. She wore a patterned vest over it with a long flowing dress
cinched round her narrow waist that hung in folds down her legs to her
shoes. They were modest, not spiked high heels like Polly and I wore, but
not flats either, sort of inbetween, elevating her just enough to give her a
graceful, self-assured dignity without being showy. I immediately felt a
sense of warmth and comfort seeing her. She smiled at us. Louis took me
by my elbow and squired me into her living room.
We sat down on a brocaded couch. A primly dressed young woman
dressed in a maidÕs white blouse and black skirt brought us tea. I took the
cup, saw it was excessively fragile, held it with a little trepidation. I
thanked the maid and took a sip. It was delicious!
ÒJasmine, with a twist of Orange,Ó our hostess smiled. ÒThe cup is
from before the war. I do so like authentic things, you know. I was
surprised to find the set of them here, still intact, given my uncleÕs
antics.Ó She glanced at Louis and I thought I saw a knowing look pass
between them. I gulped. Was she really a hedonist? She looked so proper,
a new traditionalist, like someone you might find at the health food store
sifting beans with a pitcher, worried that CampbellÕs might give her
lymph node cancer or whatnot.
Louis engaged her in a pleasant conversation about the weather up on
the heath. She said it could be windy sometimes. Polly said she was glad
it wasnÕt windy tonight since sheÕd already found her dress Ôliked to be up
more than down,Õ as she put it, on nights when the wind blew. It was
short enough that a good gust might completely lift it and wrap it inside
out around her waist.
Our hostess, who went by the name of Rose, laughed. She said
PollyÕs sort of dress was a favorite of hers in her high school days, and
with legs as excellent as PollyÕs she shouldnÕt feel the slightest remorse
in picking such a revealing skirt.
ÒStand up, girls,Ó Rose said to us quite abruptly. ÒIÕm sure your
boyfriends have seen you in your bikinis before. Strip down to your bra
and panties, each of you. I want to see how pretty you are in them.Ó
Anxiously I stood. IÕd wondered when sheÕd broach the reason for our
visit here. CouldnÕt we just sit and sip tea? It was so nice, the room was
so pleasant, decorated in a style a woman might choose for our home. Yet,
rising up, I felt LouisÕ eyes running up my legs, and AndreÕs too, hoping to
catch a glimpse of what should have been concealed beneath my skirt but
wasnÕt.
Polly stood up too, like a child at a recital might stand, as if to play
a song and sing a melody, and win a prize. She liked being the center of
attention. I, however, seeing the maid return, felt less sanguine, less
Pollyannish. Was I to bare myself in front of her? I tried to clear my
throat.
ÒMaÕam, IÕm--Ó I began. How could I hint to her that I didnÕt HAVE
any underwear on?
ÒJust unzip it,Ó Rose said, still seated, waving her finger like a man
might, commanding.
ÒOhhh, I donÕt mind, I guess,Ó Polly announced. ÒCould we go down to
the beach perhaps? I donÕt have my swimsuit but I could swim in my
panties.Ó She unzipped herself, the fiend, leaving me with little choice to
follow, as the mensÕ eyes all turned to her to watch. I zipped down my
dress in back and we both pushed our miniskirts down our legs to our
ankles.
ÒOh!Ó the maid exclaimed, seeing my naked bush.
ÒSheÕs new,Ó Rose said, grinning with a sideways glance at the maid.
She spoke to me, as if confidentially, as if between friends. I with my
dress round my ankles and she with her lovely clothes that covered her
from neck to toe, sitting as I stood before her, Andre and Louis grinning at
my back. Or, rather, a my body a little lower down...
Polly laughed. ÒIÕd forgotten you shot your panties at Louis!Ó she
laughed. She bent and picked up her dress and stood momentarily, not
knowing what to do with it. Then Louis, the devil, reached out and took it
from her, making her beam. I think she had a thing for my Louis. Perhaps
she hoped to have both he and Andre eating out of her hands
simultaneously, with me forgotten.
ÒAnd your blouses, dears,Ó Rose added.
ÒOh, I donÕt have my bra on,Ó Polly piped up. Suddenly it mattered to
her that the maid was present, observing us. Maybe she didnÕt even want
Rose to see her.
ÒYou may go topless on the beach here in Brazil,Ó Rose said to her.
ÒYes, but my parents donÕt allow it,Ó Polly replied.
ÒIÕm not your mother,Ó Rose said. ÒSo take off your top. I wonÕt
tell.Ó
Reluctantly Polly shed her jacket. I unbuttoned my vest, dropped it
to the floor. Louis bent and picked it up. With a grin he passed it to Andre.
What were they planning? Polly was having trouble getting her blouse off,
having chosen to just pull it over her head instead of unbuttoning it, and
she danced around on her tiptoes with the blouse up round her face and her
panties entrancing the men. Her boobies, substantial in size for her age,
wiggled freely. Her nipples were naughtily stiff, and I knew she was quite
aware that both our boyfriends were eyeing her keenly.
I settled for a less acrobatic undressing. Reaching behind myself I
unsnapped my bra. I did it without thinking, seeing PollyÕs breasts so
grandly displayed, forgetting entirely that Rose had not requested it.
ÒMy,Ó Rose said, drawing the menÕs attention to me. ÒI like the no-
nonsense approach.Ó
ÒWhoosh!Ó Polly let out a great breath of air as she freed herself
from her shirt. Her bosoms gave a final joyous wiggle, then gradually
settled down. ÒOooo, youÕre totally naked,Ó Polly declared, seeing me.
ÒWell, I have my shoes on,Ó I answered.
ÒDonÕt leave your friend like that,Ó Rose told Polly. ÒAnd pick up
your blouse. DonÕt just drop it on my floor.Ó Contritely Polly picked up
her blouse and gave it to her boyfriend. Then, shrugging and putting her
hands in her panties, with a dubious glance at the maid, she yanked them
with childish efficiency down her legs and walked out of them. ÒPick
those up too,Ó Rose reminded her. Polly turned, bent over, picked up her
undies. ÒBring them to me,Ó Rose ordered.
ÒTo YOU?Ó Polly asked.
ÒYes.Ó
ÒDo as she says,Ó Andre said gently. Polly complied, a bit puzzled.
Rose accepted her panties, gave them a quick sniff, then beckoned me. I
approached her, carrying my bra. IÕd not had time to give it to Louis. Rose
made me bend forward as if she wished to whisper something in my ear.
Instead she bade me to open my mouth. Did she wish to inspect my teeth?
The panties! Before I could refuse, Rose had popped the entire wad
of PollyÕs discarded underpants into my mouth.
ÒOh, my!Ó Polly said. But Rose took her hand, keeping her from
drawing away, and took my bra and pulled Polly down to her face by her
hair. With Polly staring Rose right in the eyes, Rose bound my bra across
PollyÕs rosebud mouth, forcing it between her lips, then tying it tightly in
the mane of her hair at the back of her neck. ÒOoooph!Ó Polly was reduced
to saying, her wished-for protest cut off before she could give it. As for
myself, I had only to reach into my mouth to take out her odious
underpants (tasting them revolted me!) but somehow I sensed I must not
disobey. Lightly, brushing my hand over my mouth, I touched them, but I
did not remove them. The maid watched us both with ever-growing
amusement. Behind us, our boyfriends were clearly enchanted.
ÒGood, you learn your lessons well,Ó Rose said, seeing I had not
removed her makeshift gag. ÒKeep it there, hold it in your mouth. It
delights your boyfriend to see you so, and it delights Andre also.Ó She
turned her eyes back to Polly, who was hoping to untie the knotted bra at
the back of her head. ÒNo, Polly!Ó Rose told her. ÒWhen I attach something
to you, you are to leave it there until I wish it removed.Ó
The maid had skirted round behind us meanwhile and I felt her take
both my arms and draw them back. I was complaisant. I did not think
quickly enough. A moment later I felt cold steel bind my wrists and a
telltale ÔclickÕ gave me the warning IÕd wished I had sooner.
ÒYes,Ó Rose said. She lifted a fingernail and ran it down my belly.
ÒHow sweet you look all nude, with nothing but a gag and handcuffs to
adorn you. And your pretty shoes, of course.Ó I wished very much now to
spit out PollyÕs panties but I felt Louis and Andre rise from the couch
behind me and draw near. They both lifted weights, I felt a sudden sinking
feeling that any disobedience on my part would do nothing to advance my
interests and only make things worse for me.
Polly made to bolt away but the maid, expert at least in something,
caught her before she escaped and managed to get one handcuff locked
round her wrist. Andre, his hands reaching out to grab her, quickly
immobilized her so that her other wrist could be attached to the first.
ÒNow, girls, IÕm glad we have that out of the way,Ó Rose said
politely. She remained sitting still, all cultured and dignified. The men
returned to the settee. The maid remained close, certain to intervene if
we did not do as asked. I realized she was much stronger than she looked.
I wondered if she worked out with men at the gym. Her figure did not
show it, but I her arms, though slim, had a steel in them IÕd not sensed
earlier.
ÒOmopho,Ó Polly began.
ÒShhh,Ó Rose scolded her gently. ÒYouÕll be here with me for two
weeks, Polly. ThatÕs all. But IÕve entertained many girls like yourself and
I really donÕt need to hear all your little complaints and protests. I
myself was trained here, long ago, under my uncleÕs tutelage. And I was
only seven, so youÕve nothing at all to complain of.Ó She settled her hands
in her lap and looked at us both. Her eyes admired our nudity.
ÒThere is much that I must do with you both in two weeks, girls, and
I expect strict compliance with all my requests. We havenÕt really any
time for disagreements.Ó The maid, who had, unnoticed by me, withdrawn
briefly, now reappeared and passed into RoseÕs hands a most daunting
object. A paddle, hard as oak and with holes cut through its center so it
could be swung faster. ÒThis is one of my friends that helps me keep
order in my house,Ó Rose said, receiving the paddle with a warm caress of
her hands upon it. ÒIÕm going to introduce both of you to it so we can
understand whatÕs at stake when I ask you to do something. Fleury, youÕre
the oldest. You first.Ó With that she pulled me right up to her knees and
had me stand bending over them. ÒDonÕt drop your panties, or itÕll be
extras for you,Ó Rose told me.
I bit into the silky cotton of PollyÕs panties and felt Rose raise her
hand behind my bottom. For a moment I just stared at the rug. It was so
lovely, deep-pile with interwoven threads of different shades of blue.
WAHACKCCK! I nearly jumped out of my skin as the paddle descended
and hit my behind. What a smoking hand that woman had!
ÒEeeeyahah!Ó I cried. I nearly regurgitated the panties in my mouth,
spittle and all, the sting was so sharp. My bottomcheeks wobbled as if a
thundercloud had shattered upon them. The pain reverberated across my
hemispheres, impressing itself deeply and making me want to burst into
tears.
ÒTwo more,Ó Rose said. Without waiting to hear from me she
thundered in another blow. I did lose the panties this time.
ÒEeeeeek!Ó I shrieked, loud and long and lusty. My poor heinie
shuddered and felt for a moment like it had been pressed into a hot
summer sidewalk. I gasped.
Rose waited a moment for me to quiet down.
ÒIÕd prefer if youÕd not wake my other guests,Ó Rose said. She lifted
her hand and toyed with my locks of hair. She brushed a few strands back
from my eyes. ÒThey turned in early, you know, and IÕm sure theyÕd love to
have you join them. But the male slaves are so rough. I donÕt want you too
put out your first night here. One more, dear. IÕll forgive the panties.Ó
And with that she laid on the third stroke, as hard and firm and
unforgiving as the first two had been. I screamed out my pain and
collapsed over her knees, still so neatly covered by her conservative
dress. I kicked up my legs and held my bottom like it was the last
precious thing on earth. Tears welled in my eyes and I did not try to hold
them back.
As I wept, the maid picked up PollyÕs panties from the floor. As
soon as my sobs had subsided a little she stuffed them right back into my
mouth.
Polly, for her part, had run and hidden behind the grand piano, but
Andre had fetched her and now brought her to Rose. She was bent over
amidst much gagged squawking and given three butt-thumping swats just
as I had been. Louis, meanwhile, took me back to the sofa and had me sit
my wounded bottom down on his lap. I could feel his thing rudely growing
up between my asscheeks and I did not like it at all. How dare he be
excited at my suffering? And yet it was undeniable that he was. As I
squirmed with painful remorse upon his groin he grew bigger and bigger.
His cockhead pushed deep into my crevice and I soon found my squirmings
were actually impaling me upon him. I tried to shift my bottom but he
restrained my legs, holding me by my naked thighs so that I was forced to
relieve the sting of my fanny by grinding it into the upwardly rising stem
of his thing. Finally I was able to sit still, sniffling, with Louis grinning
his sardonic grin at me as Andre consoled Polly in a similar manner.
ÒCome, girls, we havenÕt all night,Ó Rose said. She stood and
beckoned us all to follow. We were led back into the entryway and,
through a portiere, up a long flight of wooden steps. They were brightly
polished. I had to be careful not to slip on the brightly waxed surface.
Upstairs, with the noise of rowdy parties emanating from closed doors on
either side of us, we walked down a long hall. At the back we were let
into a little girlÕs bedroom.
What a pretty room it might have been, but it had, like the castle
itself, a twin nature to it. I drew in my breath over PollyÕs panties as I
saw that the lovely fourposter bed, intended to have a canopy, had instead
made use of its four posts to allow straps to be fixed to them. I eyed the
straps at the baseboard posts and guessed my own feet might soon make
their acquaintance. Lifting my head, I was shocked to see straps hanging
above for the feet or the arms to be placed in, should anyone wish it,
while a mirror on the ceiling promised to reflect all back down upon the
poor victim bound in the bed.
Next to the girlÕs bed was a painted nightstand, with flowers and
decorative daisies embossed in small wooden embellishments upon its
white surface. But atop it, next to the bottle of the Winnie the Pooh
bubble bath, lay a heap of menÕs condoms. There was also a tube of
lubricant and, next to that, a sinister looking device that I knew to be a
speculum.
Rose turned to us both and met our eyes. We stood before her like
disciples waiting to be crucified, all trembly kneed and with our bottoms
still feeling like well-smacked jello. Our teats were hard, though, and my
tummy swirled at the prospect of such complete subservience to LouisÕ
wicked wishes. We had simply made love before, in our trysts. We had not
gotten kinky.
30
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