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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
AMSTERDAM DAMSELS
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Chapter Five
We stepped outside. It was dark. Somberly the street lights lit the
pavement with little pools of light. A police car slipped past, unseeing.
We stood on CybilÕs porch, bathed in shadow. A limo pulled up. It was
rented, I saw. The driver! He at least would see me! I could not bear the
thought. Cybil pressed my hand firmly, drew me forward. I stumbled down
the front porch steps. My heels were spiky, showy. They were not good
for walking in. Tucking a finger into the top of my towel to keep it up, I
walked down the frontyard walkway with Cybil beside me. I dared not
glance to the left or the right. My hair hung alongside my eyes, hiding my
face a little, disguising me. I thought I heard laughter in the distance,
voices. Were people sitting out on their front porch? It was warm out. I
prayed they were inside, their voices drifting out through open windows.
The limo driver got out, awaited us. He opened the limo door. Cybil
made me get in first, followed. I smelled fresh leather, clean, newly
polished. I was glad of it. My bare bottom made contact with it. I held
the towel to me, clinging to it like some stricken passenger might hold a
life preserver on the drowning Titanic.
We sped away from CybilÕs house, from Hell. But where were we
going? Cybil took out a blindfold from some hidden place in her bodice.
ÒYou must not know, dear, it is the rules,Ó she said. Quietly she tied the
blindfold over my eyes. I sat still, feeling the soft swathing fabric bind
me. I was blind now, a young Oedipus. When she was done Cybil stroked
my nearest thigh. Shiveringly I sat beside her, anxious, uncertain. I was a
fawn. I had submitted to the huntress. I did not have to be shot.
We rode. We arrived. I was taken from the limo. I was brought
inside, still blindfolded, unknowing. I heard voices. We walked, me
unsteady in my heels, Cybil firmly striding, guiding me.
My blindfold was unfurled. I blinked. I was in a backyard garden. My
breath caught in my throat. My titties bobbed on my chest in surprise. I
saw gentlemen, suavely dressed, women too, some attired like Cybil.
ÒWhat a pleasant surprise,Ó a woman said, coming forward. She had
red hair. It was piled atop her head. She wore a formal gown, all frilly,
sequined. Without any introduction she took my chin, kissed me on my
mouth. Her tongue drove into me and stabbed within my mouth. She
released me. She drew back. She smiled.
ÒMay I walk my doggie?Ó Cybil asked. Her voice was sweet,
plaintive.
ÒYes, please do,Ó the woman answered. Cybil took me by my leash.
She lifted it off my back, out of the slumbering crease of my bottom.
ÒDown, doggie,Ó Cybil told me. She brushed my long hair with her
hand as she spoke. Feeling awkward, almost wanting to laugh, yet
mortified, I knelt onto the ground. It was soft grass, Japanese grass. It
would not hurt me. ÒUp with your bottom,Ó Cybil said. She lifted her
open-toed shoe, pressed her toes to my belly. I leaned forward and arched
my butt up. I did not want to, knew I had to. ÒWiggle it, show it off,Ó
Cybil urged. I waggled my butt like a dog, feeling ludicrous, blushing
deeply. Right down to my toes.
ÒAh, delightful creature,Ó I heard a woman sigh.
ÒShe is not house-broken, though,Ó Cybil replied. ÒI must use your
yard.Ó
ÒGo ahead,Ó the red-haired woman answered. She seemed eager to
see my display. I felt my need then, knew I had suppressed it on the ride
over. But no. I would not do it. I would not embarrass myself in front of
these strangers by doing such horrid things. Peeing? Pooping? It was
awful, truly!
Cybil toed my bottom. ÒGo,Ó she said. I hoped she meant to move, to
crawl, for I pawed my way forward across the grass in response. ÒOh! She
IS a doggie!Ó Cybil, evidently surprised, cried out. She followed. I pulled
on my leash like an eager puppy.
The yard was bright as day. Overhead lamps lit my bottom-rolling
four-legged crawl across the grass. I found a bed of flowers. Daffodils.
Delicately I sniffed them. I liked their fresh scent. I kneed on. I met a
man. He gazed down at me, quite pleased with my demeanor. I wagged my
tail at him. I could not help it. I felt a fullness in my bladder, in my
nether tube. I realized I had to go pretty badly. Could I hold it? Would
they let me prance around a bit and then let me get up, like a dignified
young lady, and go use the toilet? As I watched the man unzipped himself.
His cock stemmed out. The garden party was sprouting new growth. A
dozen penises soon burst forth from flies and stood quavering in the air,
fully erect, all deliciously over-sized, long and wiggly, with perfect
heads.
I lost my head, my manners. I squatted as neatly as I could and let
my bottom hang behind my heels. I was grateful for their height, now.
They would keep me aloft, above the impending puddle. Looking up at the
man, I peed into the grass.
ÒAh, not housebroken indeed,Ó a woman said behind me. I shivered.
It was the redhead. Lightly she caressed my back. When I was finished I
stood. The game was over, wasnÕt it? I was heel deep in a puddle. I could
not crawl out of it without splashing myself.
ÒCome here,Ó the redhead said. She took my hand. I thought she
would lead me to the privacy of a bathroom for my number two. Instead
she took me out to the daffodils. She turned me around. There was a
whiff of lilacs in the air, from nearby bushes. ÒPlease fertilize my
plants,Ó she said. She pushed my head down, a hand under my belly. Like a
mechanism she bent me forward. I grabbed my knees. She pushed against
my back and I let my hands slide farther down my legs in response. My
long hair hung down. It wavered softly in the air.
The redhead separated my legs. I adjusted, letting her part me,
knowing I could not do otherwise. Cybil appeared beside me, her pooper-
scooper in her hand, but I guessed she would not get to use it. My shit was
needed, according to the redhead.
ÒPoop,Ó the redhead commanded. I felt my titties flinch at that. My
bottom quavered. I did not want to. I felt the enema at work, the laced
granola bars. Their remains slid down my chute. I drew in my cheeks,
trying to stop them. I felt fullness. ÒBear down, child,Ó the redhead said,
stroking my hinds with swirling fingertips. In a moment I would be dirty.
I gritted my teeth. I flexed my cheeks, feeling a sliding within me.
And then, then I knew. Something big was nosing its way out of my hiney.
My virgin hole. Nothing had ever gone up it. But this one was big, coming
down. Would it prepare me?
A plop. I looked between my slim, spread legs. At my heels, just
beyond the spikes, a big turd lay upon the daffodils. It would nourish
them. I felt another one coming.
ÒAh, a perfect stool,Ó the redhead announced. People gathered round
me. There was a murmuring. Cocks were fondled. Dresses were upraised
and pussies sought. ÒGood, good,Ó the redhead told me. I heard a snip. A
branch was passed to her from a nearby tree. It was a birch branch, newly
budded. I did not like that. It scared me. I urged my bowels to expel the
turds faster. Plop! Plop! Two more. I felt grateful. I thanked myself for
eating just the right amount of granolas. Enough to actually go, when
needed, here in the garden; not so many as to embarrass myself. I had not
planned it. I had prayed. God had answered.
Hoping to avoid the birch, I knelt again. I felt a last tardy turd make
its way down my passage. I spread my knees on the grass. I forced it out.
Then, lickety-split, I headed across the grass. My leash trailed out behind
me and dragged along, loosely. I was a loose doggie. Someone would have
to catch me.
I spied a sprinkler. Yes! God was with me tonight, despite my
immense sinfulness. I drew the leash into a coil in front of me. I turned
around. I backed into the sprinkler. I felt a rush of terrible excitement as
I gasped at the icy sprinkler water spritzing onto my behind. I was
douching myself, right here, at the garden party! In front of two dozen
people, elegant strangers. I giggled. It was too silly to be true. Yet I was
doing it! I wagged my hiney in the cooling chill of the prickling sprinkler.
My lovely hair tumbled over my face, still dry, my boobies hanging dry and
bare beneath me. Only my bottom was wet. I kept my legs apart, trying to
aim the spray just where it was needed. I was fortunate. It was
reasonably well-directed.
ÒShe is beautiful beyond belief,Ó a woman said of me, coming up.
They all gathered around me. A few stole away, in the distance, to
undress more fully. They were unable to wait any longer. Could I wait? I
gazed up at the gorgeous cocks arrayed over my head. I licked my lips.
Instantly I knew it was a mistake, for they all interpreted it as an
invitation.
The birch was passed forward. The woman took it, the one who had
so recently complimented me. She had long blonde hair pinned up in a bun,
a few strands hanging down. She was still in her fancy gown, a true Lady
welcome at any ball. ÒBad dog!Ó she said. She brought the birch firmly
down on my rump. I cried out. I did not want this!
I looked up at Cybil pleadingly. My bottom, bitter-stung, bounced
behind me. My mouth hung open, agape. My bosoms bounced their nipples
above the grass. ÒIt must be so,Ó Cybil said sweetly, courteously. ÒThe
price must be paid.Ó
ÒBad doggie!Ó the blonde said again. Her hair was whitish-blonde.
Her face was delicate. Her tits bulged out above the confines of her low
cut gown. Swiftly she brought the birch down again. I yelped. Like a
doggie I yelped. My bottom stung all over. I felt as if IÕd backed into a
rosebush. Tears brimmed in my eyes. I had backed into a beeÕs nest, thatÕs
what! A whole swarm of them!
A few extra strands were free now of the blondeÕs pinned-up bun. A
nipple popped free of her dress, stiff from her exertions. My eyes met
hers. We were two blondes together. Gentlemen prefer blondes, donÕt
they? She preferred me with a sore hiney.
ÒBad, bad, doggie!Ó the blonde admonished again, giving me a third. I
bolted under the blow. I ran, crawling, dashing on my knees across the
grass. The people laughed. They made way for me with my swinging tits.
My ass churned through the cool night air, red-speckled from the birch. I
heard someone shout that I should be greased down and made into a pig.
My leash was caught. Alas, the curse of every household pet! The
blonde came forward. I cowered. I could not take any more. She smiled at
me. There was a communion between us. I realized she might have played
this game, months before, last summer perhaps. ÒOne more,Ó she said to
me. Her eyes were bright. She reminded me of a blonde on MTV, a game
show host. I saw her naughtiness. Her silken hair was tousled. Strands
hung freely down around her eyes, her ears. Her nipples had wiggled free
of her dress, both of them, though her bosoms were still firmly gripped by
the dress farther down. They looked like half-birthed babies. Twins.
ÒThatÕs it,Ó the blonde said to me. With awful fright I raised my
bottom up for her. My legs shook. I knew this one would be the worst. I
could guess it in her eyes. ÒYes,Ó she breathed. She waited, savoring the
wicked blow.
ÒOh, please get it over with!Ó I begged. My hiney was high, too high,
high as the clouds, scorched by the sun, though it had long since set. The
yardlights illuminated my distress. My bosoms quavered beneath me, full
and round and pendant. I sank forward on my shoulders. I could not bear
it, no! But I kept my bottom high. My breasts touched, pressed into the
grass.
WHACK! Deep-impressing the birch came then. I felt it swoop under
me, scooping me up, lifting my hiney high as the moon.
ÒAughgghgh!Ó I cried out like a banshee. The buds had bitten me, my
poor soft hiney, even my cunt! I wailed out my unbelievable, unending pain.
Oscillating, grinding, my cheeks clenching for dear life, desperate, I
worked my ass. The people laughed. They did not care. They enjoyed my
display. And then I felt it. A dozen pricks spouted right onto my burning
bottom. It was like the sprinkler again, except the seed was hot, blazing,
like my beet-red ass.
Suddenly I pressed my face to the grass and abandoned all my
principles. I knew what Cybil meant, suddenly, thrusting my hands back. I
found my cunt, fingered it. In between the burning pricks where the birch
had struck I found my clit. It was unharmed. The blonde was either a very
good aim, or I was very lucky, for I had been fully budded when she struck.
Gently I massaged my spot, but with passion, yes, feeling it upon my
seeking fingertips, loving it. My bottom ground on, spermed, wet, flaming
flames of strawberries and cream.
Never would I have done this, never! Upreared, my face and shoulders
thrust into the padded grass, I rubbed myself to orgasm. Two dozen eyes
watched, four dozen! I could not keep track of my surroundings anymore.
Crying out my pain, my pleasure, I worked myself to bliss, again! Again!
And yet again, in throes of untold dreams and nightmares on the dewy
grass.
At last I was finished. I was a mess. There was no question. My
bottom burned, my cunt was bitten, my breasts had ground their nipples
into the earth. My hair and makeup were beyond repair. Quietly, almost as
an afterthought, I peed out a new tribute on the earth. I felt Cybil nudging
me with her toe.
ÒGet up, darling,Ó she said. I turned my face to her. I had grass
stains on my cheeks. She saw me wide-mouthed, my tongue lolling on my
lower lip, smiled. ÒYou are virgin yet. I have hardly begun with you,Ó she
said. I gulped. I could take no more of this. ÒCome, we must treat your
bottom,Ó she said to me. ÒAll play and no rest would make for a very worn
out wench indeed.Ó
Unsteadily I rose. She bent, lifted me. Amidst my bedraggled hair I
surveyed the scene around me now. Couples sprawled upon the grass, or on
blankets hastily thrown down, imitating me in my so-recent cries. Men
fucked women deeply, women worked their bottoms, elevated their cunts
in quick successions. All was as if in Hell, except there were no tortures.
Just wild, unceasing fucking. The tribute that the men had paid had not
finalized the night. In my wild buckings they had gained new strength,
watching me. With cries and grunts echoing in my ears Cybil took my
hand, led me away. In the distance I saw the blonde, receiving her due.
Ah, yes! The redhead had the birch now, it looked worn down. Valiantly
she struck the blonde with it, besmirching her bottom, making her sob, as
the blonde herself sucked greedily on a manÕs cock. So she received her
due also. Good. I found myself impulsive, suddenly. I broke from Cybil and
ran to where the redhead stood. I grabbed the branch from her. And then,
seeing how hurt the blonde already was, I could not strike her. No, there
were too many red lines already, crisscrossing her, too many little
bruises marring those lovely, creamy, shuddering round hinds.
I dropped to my knees. Feeling absolutely unimpeded by any
remaining morality, I laved my hot tongue over the poor blondeÕs bottom.
My own knees pressed into the grass. I lost my footing on my heels and
knelt like a bitch in heat, bottom upreared once more. The redhead dove
down behind me. Immediately she began giving me the same tongue bath I
was treating my blonde tormentress to. And Cybil, somewhere back behind
it all, took up the birch and raised the redheadÕs skirts. Uncaring, I heard
a howl as that well-used birch rod made a new acquaintance. Above us,
the moon raced through the clouds. We were werewolves, members of the
werewolf club. We had each in turn howled out to the mistress moon and
she had shone down upon us, tut-tutting at us.
New wonders seized me. The redhead found my clit with her delicate
tongue even as Cybil lashed her. I prayed the redhead would not bite me
there. Licking, licking, licking she brought me to orgasm. I could not hold
it, I groaned and moaned and bucked. I forgot about my chastised bottom.
I lived in a world of bliss, eternal, licking the ass in front of me and being
licked in turn in back. Rearing we formed a kind of female daisy chain. I
think I peed again, doing it there, on the grass. I think the redhead drank
my pee.
Later, it became obvious we were finished. The game had been
completely played out. Mouths separated slowly from cunts. Final kisses
were exchanged, in the most intimate places. I arose. I felt abashed.
Teetering on my heels I made for the back door of the house. I had not
seen it earlier. I had been blindfolded before. I was in a new landscape.
Cybil bobbed up beside me, pulling up her dress, her titties hanging free. I
saw others, gathering their clothes. People dressed quickly, hastily now,
as if not wanting to be the last to be seen in embarrassing nakedness. I
had nothing to wear. Cybil passed me a dress, said the wearer was inside
somewhere. I heard a shriek. Someone played still. There was the swift
unmistakable crack of leather. But the rest were done. I dropped the
dress to the grass and stepped into it. I pulled it up. She was slim,
whoever she was, now receiving her torments upstairs. I got it up, Cybil
slipped the straps up onto my shoulders. They were spaghetti thin. I
heard soft moans, a command. Another, quieter slap of the leather. And
then then creaking. A bed on springs. They would be done soon too now,
unless the male still had much strength left. Perhaps it was a nightcap.
ÔOne for the road,Õ for lovers of discipline.
I was not one of them. I had cum, yes, but I was going now. I would
go home and go back to the health club and get my ass back in shape. I
hoped never to have it Ôshaped upÕ again. I would ship out. I would leave
all this behind. They would be dreams, memories.
Cybil guided me by my shoulder. We passed a gentleman, a lady. She
said goodbye to them. I bowed my head, too embarrassed to say goodbye
myself. I was submissive again. I was with Cybil. She would take me
home.
We went out the front door. Cybil took out the blindfold. I looked at
her. She tied it gently over my eyes. I must not see, must I? The police
would come. They would ruin it. All must be kept anonymous. Except my
bottom. Flaming brightly, it knew what had happened. It would be
introduced into evidence. The prosecutor would introduce it to the jury.
ÒThis is her ass, let me see, mmmm, it is a virgin ass, isnÕt it? IÕd better
check, to verify the authenticity of our evidence. She SAYS she has a
virgin ass, but we must be sure.Õ He would jab me. The observer would
change the observed.
The limo came. We got in. I could not sit in it. Cybil had my lie
sprawled over her knees, my bottom up. She raised my dress and squirted
cold cream on my sore hinds. I shivered. She rubbed, but lightly, gently. I
cried softly then.
ÒDonÕt worry, you have a healthy bottom,Ó Cybil assured me. ÒIt will
be back to normal in just a few days.Ó She grinned. ÒProvided, that is, you
stay out of the dungeon.Ó
ÒIÕm already in Hell,Ó I groaned.
ÒYour bottom will have a sweet sting to it after awhile,Ó she said.
ÒA kind of flush. It will present a blushing brideÕs pair of cheeks to all
who see it. You must show it off, show what a good girl youÕve been.Ó
I bit my lip. A virgin showing off her cherry, blushing hiney. Yes,
what a capital idea. Perfect. If you wanted your bum speared by the
passing gentry in the hall.
ÒNow dear, do not be at all upset about this,Ó Cybil urged me,
squirting cream directly on my still injured cunt. ÒDo not let it dampen
your enthusiasm. She was a little rough with you, I admit.Ó Cybil eased
her fingers over, into my cleft. ÒBut nothing too terrible. I will see to it
that you are better treated in the future. The moon was full, you might
say, and she got carried away. But a girl must feel it at least once, donÕt
you think? That biting, right where it really makes an impression. I think
so, anyway. Then you know you are truly female. It is our lot in life, you
know, despite the best efforts of NOW and Hillary Clinton. We must
receive if the race is to continue. This is but practise. Wait until you
have a babyÕs head bulging out between your cuntlips. Then you will
REALLY feel something, I can assure you.Ó
ÒHave you ever had a baby?Ó I asked. I was pouty now, sulky. My
bottom jerked as Cybil touched my sore spots.
ÒNot yet,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒBut I will soon. I want to feel it, you
know. I want to feel my belly swell with some manÕs seed. The perfect
father, of course. He has to be Mr. Right, not just some boytoy. But when I
find him IÕll let him rut in me until IÕm quite well pregnant, I assure you.
We will do it every night. And when IÕm pregnant too, to make sure I stay
that way.Ó
ÒIÕve never given birth,Ó I said moodily.
ÒI didnÕt think so, dear,Ó Cybil replied. I felt immature then. I
wanted to be older. Yes. And she would certainly make me older, wouldnÕt
she, if I let her? Still 15, maybe, but Ôroadtested.Õ
ÒModel drives well, men find,Ó the headline would read.
ÒItÕs our newest,Ó the proprietress told the press Friday. ÒA fine
specimen of American engineering.Ó Lee Iacocca would be pleased.
America had triumphed again. Except I might be a little sore, after all
that test-driving. Ah, well, kick my tires, why donÕcha. Take her for a
spin.
Well creamed, I got out of the limo. Cybil urged me forward, back to
her house, back to new mysteries. I would go exploring once again, I knew.
I loved, dreaded it.
Betsy met us as we entered. She had on pajamas, clutched a teddy
bear. Her thumb was in her mouth. She seemed to have been roused from a
late night movie. A cartoon Bugs Bunny squawked in the next room in
Dutch.
ÒWhere have you been?Ó she asked. Her eyes met mine. I looked a
wreck, I could not hide it. I smelled very feminine, too feminine. I felt a
wave of humiliation wash over me. A smack. The back of BetsyÕs drop
seat pants were open. Her little bottom stuck out. Cybil spanked her hand
across it. ÒOw!Ó Betsy cried.
ÒFasten up your seat,Ó Cybil told her.
ÒDon wanna,Ó Betsy replied. But she set her teddy down and lifted up
the flap, struggled with the buttons. Her teats budded into the front of
her tight-stretched pajamas, forming twin tents. I loved her then. I bent,
kissed her lips.
ÒYou taste funny,Ó Betsy said. She wiped a hand across her mouth.
ÒThen donÕt ask where IÕve been,Ó I replied. I stood. I made to leave.
Unknown to me, as I turned, the well-slit evening dress I wore billowed
out.
ÒYou got a spanking!Ó Betsy cried. She glimpsed my streaked ass, the
nearest hind. I, of course, was completely without panties, lucky to have
the dress.
ÒYes, she went to get a spanking, and now sheÕs back,Ó Cybil told
Becky. Without even asking me she pulled up my dress in back and let the
poor innocent see my flinching, reddened bottom.
ÒW-Why?Ó Becky asked.
ÒBecause she wanted one,Ó Cybil lied. At least I hoped it was a lie.
ÒItÕs what big girls do sometimes. They get spanked, because they want
it.Ó
ÒOhhh! I donÕt care how big I get, IÕll never want a spanking!Ó Betsy
cried. I loved her self-assurance. For her, the world was determined fact.
It would remain so until she was twelve. Then, somehow, it would begin
to change.
ÒWell, youÕd better not stay up past your bedtime, then!Ó Cybil
continued, as I stood with indrawn cheeks, wishing I were someplace else.
ÒBut Bugs the Bonker only comes on after midnight,Ó Becky replied.
Her eyes were wide. In the next room I thought I heard a pig getting
porked with a carrot.
ÒWhat?Ó Cybil dropped my dress. The lesson on the bare essential
meaning of life was over. ÒWhat are you watching in here?Ó Cybil asked.
Traipsing into the room with the television, her hair as mussed as mine,
her perfume almost as thoroughly natural, she let out a little howl. ÒGood
heavens! This is pornography!Ó she cried. I heard a click. Silence
followed. A scampering of footsteps. The teddy was gone, picked up
again. ÒWho ever told you you could watch such trash?Ó Cybil scolded
Betsy.
ÒNobody,Ó Betsy replied, wan-eyed.
ÒSkkeeeat!Ó Cybil cried, thrusting out her palms. ÒUpstairs with
you, or youÕll look just like Melody there!Ó Betsy scurried past me. Her
drop seat pants remained half-unbuttoned, her bottom showing. She
dashed up the stairs and was gone.
ÒShe can be such a little dickens sometimes,Ó Cybil told me.
ÒWell,Ó I answered. My eyes were loving, reproving.
ÒAh, yes, I guess IÕm not the best example either,Ó Cybil sighed.
ÒBut itÕs all natural, with me. She likes playing maid. Who cares if she
sees a boyÕs cock, or a manÕs? TheyÕre all born with them, you know. A
boy sees his penis from birth. Does that rob him of his childhood? I think
not. ItÕs those T.V. shows that bother me, all artificial, lowest-common
denominator. And that SimpsonÕs program. Making fun of cartoons that
saw people in half and squirt blood all over the place. ThatÕs the problem
in the world, Bosnia, Rwanda, Pol Pot, still at large, I might add, and
supported now and then with United Nations funds, IÕll bet.Ó
ÒWell, my ass is sore,Ó I said, cutting her off. I felt quite in need of
a bath.
ÒYes, itÕs your bedtime too, isnÕt it?Ó she smiled. She took my hand.
Wriggling still with my soreness, I proceeded up the stairs with her. We
bathed together, tenderly, and then shared her bed.
30
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