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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
AMSTERDAM DAMSELS
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Chapter Seven
Several days passed. I played at giving room service. I got to serve
the dreamboat and his ladies breakfast. They let me get in bed with them.
I sucked the man. He had awakened with a big tent pole. I helped him keep
it nice and stiff. The woman wanted to whip me. I left before she could.
I found Kali and Alex. He was tied up, his cock and balls held by a
little pouch and teased with a soft leather teasewhip. She danced the
tails over his awesome genitals. He begged her for release. I didnÕt dare
try blowing him. He would have cum instantly. I left them to their games.
I did not wish to see a male so abject, so desperate.
I served others also. I brought what they asked, stayed a bit
sometimes, but never quite allowed myself to fuck. Just a kiss here, a
quick blow, something fun and easy. I wanted to screw, I guess, but
couldnÕt allow myself to. I was scared, maybe. I was only 15. I was
Betsy with breasts.
My marks went away. I had a flawless ass again. I played with
Becky in the pool. And thatÕs where I met my next mistress. Funny, isnÕt
it? I always shrank away from engaging a man directly. I mean, I might
give him a little suck, but then IÕd flit away. It was as if I needed a firm
hand to guide me. It could be a manÕs hand, I guess, but the men were
always so nice, so concerned for my age, perhaps. They didnÕt want to rob
me of my so-called innocence. My so-called innocent life. But a woman
wouldnÕt hesitate to. There is always a little jealousy between women. If
she is roadtested, her thinking goes, why arenÕt I? At first, when youÕre
just a little girl, they persist in keeping you innocent. Then you get older,
you grow breasts, your bottom fills out, your long legs stand in sharper
contrast to your other assets. And suddenly the other, older women of the
world say to themselves, I think, ÒOkay, cunt. You want to compete with
me? Alright. We shall both be sexy, then. I will let you into the world of
adults. In fact, IÕll help you, so you arenÕt just Ôlegging around,Õ showing
off to any man you please. And they bring you into society. They make you
a debutante. They hold proms for you, coming out balls. And then youÕre in
their world. Their hope, I guess, is to marry you off to someone, to get
you to join Concerned Women for America. Yes, it neutralizes you. You
start to worry about whether Tide or Wisk gets your clothes whiter.
Should I use liquid detergent, or powdered?
I lay face down on a chaise lounge, my chin in my hands, my legs bent
up, kicking lazily at the sky. I was reading Cosmopolitan. Something
about 101 ways to Bed a Man. I had on a little pair of bikini panties. My
bra was lying on the cement.
She sat down beside me. I ignored her a moment, then looked up. She
had raven-black hair, like Cybil. Gypsie eyes. She looked about 30, looked
as if she could read my palm and tell me my fortune. Her bust was
impressive. I imagined her at my age, wowing the men with her overgrown
breasts as she walked off to school. She was dressed in chic business
attire. A small coat, upturned collar. Her blouse had to struggle to
contain her bosoms. It was tight, perhaps purposely a size too small. She
wore pants that tucked into knee-high leather boots.
Running a hand through her deliciously curly hair she said, ÒHi, IÕm
Laurie.Ó
ÒHi,Ó I replied. There was almost a lisp in my voice, submissive. I
felt naked before this woman. Well, I was naked, almost, but, I mean... I
could not express it. Her eyes burned into me. I knew she had cucumbers
somewhere, lots of them, attached to dreamboat men. ÒIÕm Melody,Ó I
answered.
For a moment neither of us said anything. We just gazed. My eyes
drifted to her bosoms. You could hardly ignore them, so the were so
fascinatingly big. Her own eyes absorbed the sweet hanging of my tits.
She watched as my nipples stiffened.
Cybil appeared. ÒHi!Ó she said brightly. ÒMelody, this is Laurie.Ó
ÒWeÕve already introduced,Ó Laurie replied. I nodded, smiled. I
wiggled my tushy. My panties barely contained the cheeks.
ÒSheÕs a world famous dominatrix, IÕll have you know,Ó Cybil told
me. ÒSo donÕt cross her, okay?Ó She smiled. I shivered, nodded.
ÒShe hasnÕt told me to do anything yet,Ó I replied. My face blushed. I
looked guilty.
ÒWould you like me to?Ó she asked.
ÒWould you like to?Ó I answered.
ÒItÕs not nice to answer a question with a question,Ó she said.
ÒLaurie runs a big fashion magazine in Paris,Ó Cybil chimed in. ÒA
French version of GQ.Ó
ÒThat sounds cool,Ó I replied.
ÒPut your shoes on,Ó Laurie said.
ÒShe keeps her men in line, I can assure you,Ó Cybil said, winking at
Laurie.
ÒAnd how are things here? Do you have any discipline problems?Ó
Laurie asked Cybil. She turned from me. I sat up. I dropped my feet to the
pavement. I slipped them into my heels. My mules were my sole
companions. Nothing else belonged to me, except my body. Did I wish to
lose that too? I flicked the waistband of my panties open, let it snap shut
against my skin. This was a loaned bikini. From Cybil. Other than that I
had just my shoes. I bent and wrapped the little ankle straps around my
ankles, buckled them closed. My breasts swung as I worked.
I sat up. My breasts bounced like jello on my chest, subsided. Laurie
turned to me. She stood. ÒI need you,Ó she said, and reached out her hand,
took mine. In her eyes I saw magazine covers, layouts, cameramen with
cameras and me posing for them, a GQ guy on my arm.
I stepped forward. I bent to get my bra from the walk.
ÒNever mind that,Ó she said.
She pulled me. I turned to Cybil, hapless. She smiled. ÒHave fun!Ó
she urged.
Tits bouncing, leggy and awkward, I let Laurie lead me across the
well-clipped lawn.
ÒDo you need me for a model?Ó I asked.
ÒOf course, dear,Ó she said, half turning, smug. ÒBut not nude
modeling. So we can play, too.Ó I wondered at her words. So we can play...
Did she mean? We reached the house. She took me inside, down the hall,
around a corner. We exited through the front door. Down the front walk
we went, me all naked, save for my swim panties. I put my arm up, tried
to hide my jostling tits. A limo waited out front. Had it been there since
sheÕd arrived? The engine was running. We got in.
Laurie poured me a drink in the back seat of the limo. I sat on the
leather bench beside her, comfortable in my new surroundings, but
curious, tentative. She was clothed, I was bare-legged, topless. My hair
was flowing and free, hers was precisely curled, permed.
We did not drive far. We got out. She took me up a walk into her
house. Again I had to raise my arm to keep from showing my boobs to
passersby, neighbors. I clutched at my breasts with my hand, did a poor
job of hiding them. I saw no one, but there could be eyes, watching. From
windows, perhaps.
We went inside and I saw that my attempts at modesty had been
futile. There was a party in progress. Guests turned, stared at me, turned
away. It was not a pool party. Everyone was in formalwear, though it was
quite fashionable, trendy. Laurie guided me through the guests,
wordlessly. They seemed not overly concerned with my appearance, my
plight, only looked to admire my nudity. She took me to a room just
beyond the festivities.
It was small. I gasped when I saw it. It looked like a cell. The floor
was tiled, some tiles were cracked. The walls were bare. In a corner
stood an old-fashioned toilet, the tank overhead, a chain hanging down. A
roll of perfumed toilet paper, however, waited. At least that was a
luxury. There was a small sink beside the commode, a mirror for a girl to
fix her makeup in.
And then there was a bed. It was just a cot, actually, like a prisoner
might sleep on. It had an iron frame. There was just a sheet covering the
mattress. There was no second sheet, no blanket. A pillow waited at one
end. And tied to each of the four iron posts of the bed was a black cloth
strip, knotted loosely, needing only an arm and a tug on the cloth to be
fully secure.
Scariest of all, there was a stout pegboard on the wall. From it hung
a variety of whips, straps, and paddles. I nearly fainted. Laurie pushed me
into the room, closed the door behind us.
ÒSit on the bed,Ó she told me. I turned, abashed, afraid. I sat my
bottom neatly on the edge of the mattress. Quickly she undressed, taking
off everything except her boots. Then she put her jacket back on, left it
open. Her bosoms thrust out from between its halves, impressive as ever,
their cherry tips hard and wobbly, the nipples as big as dollar coins. I
watched her, feeling like a hunted fawn. She had found me. She had
brought me to her lair.
Nude and beautiful, if utterly deadly, she drew a small phone from
her coat pocket. She unfolded it. She punched a button, spoke. ÒThere is
no cane,Ó she said. ÒBring me my cane.Ó
A moment later the door opened. A middle-aged woman came in. Not
a partier, but a kind of washer-woman. She had big arms, wet, looked as
if she had just come from scrubbing floors. I looked down at the tiled
floor. It was sparkling clean, polished, despite its age. Perhaps she had
scrubbed it this morning.
ÒHereÕs your cane, maÕam,Ó the washer-woman said, handing it to
Laurie. ÒI had to give Tommy what for this morning. Sorry I forgot to
return it. He was in the apple orchard again, picking them apples. I got
him right across his arse -- oh, my what have we here? Oh, youÕre going
to get it! I see youÕre stripped down for action, maÕam, yes indeed. Has
she been naughty, then?Ó the washer-woman spoke in a kind of lilting
cockney, never quite finishing a sentence or pausing before she ambled
right on to the next.
ÒThank you, Hilda. SheÕs one of my new models. I just discovered
her. IÕm going to give her a few pointers, thatÕs all,Ó Laurie said. She
eased the old washer-woman back out and shut the door behind her. She
turned to me. ÒDo you remember when you answered my question with a
question?Ó she asked.
ÒYes,Ó I gulped. I wanted to run, to hide. I wanted to shrink into my
panties, but they were too small.
ÒThatÕs one of the things you mustnÕt do when you work for me,Ó she
said. She flexed her cane. ÒStand up, please.Ó Her voice was kind,
courteous. I stood. I was all trembly, like a newborn calf. She saw my
anxiousness.
ÒTurn around,Ó she ordered. Still her voice was soft, gentle. I
turned my back to her, knew where her eyes went when I did. ÒYes, take
them right down, get them right off,Ó she said to me, knowingly. I hooked
my thumbs reluctantly in the waistband of my panties.
ÒMy heels too?Ó I asked.
ÒNo, of course not, dear. The panties, that is all. Pull them down. I
wonÕt do it for you.Ó
I hesitated. Oh, why was I even here? Why was I even in
Amsterdam? This was so silly, so crazy...
ÒThe longer you wait the harder it will be,Ó she warned me. I tugged
on my panties remorsefully, drew them down, felt my bottomcheeks spring
out, into the air. It felt cool, caressing. ÒAll the way down,Ó she said.
Anxiously I stooped lower, pulled the panties down my thighs, over my
small round knees, down my calves. I let go of them at my ankles. They
hung there, forlorn.
ÒTake hold of yourself,Ó she said. I grabbed my ankles. I felt my
breasts swinging gently beneath my chest, saw the nipples wiggling, the
plump gourds hanging like ripe apples. ÒStraighten your legs,Ó she said.
ÒPosture is important. Surely you know that, as a young lady, donÕt you?Ó
I raised my bottom higher, felt my knees lock. I strained to keep hold of
my far-distant ankles.
ÒNow we shall conduct the job interview,Ó Laurie said matter-of-
factly. ÒWhat is your name?Ó
ÒMelody,Ó I answered.
WHICK! The cane sliced into my bottom, catching me just below the
tender inward curving of my cheeks. ÒOW!Ó I cried. My hinds wobbled, my
tits bounced.
ÒThatÕs just your first name,Ó Laurie told me. ÒI need your full
name, please.Ó She flexed her cane, as if in readiness for the omission of
my middle name.
ÒMelody Emily Carr,Ó I said. I felt a tear in the corner of my right
eye.
ÒAnd your age, Melody?Ó
Ò15,Ó I answered.
WHICK! Another wicked cut. ÒYeow!Ó I cried. My nipples danced, my
bottom bucked and reared. I had trouble holding on to my ankles.
Ò15, maÕam, is how you should answer, Melody,Ó Laurie told me. I
sniffled.
Ò15, maÕam,Ó I choked out.
ÒDonÕt worry, youÕll learn it all. YouÕve quite an incentive, donÕt you
think?Ó she asked.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I answered.
ÒSee? YouÕre learning already. Did I have to remind you that time?Ó
ÒNo, maÕam,Ó I answered.
ÒWould you like to pull your panties up, Melody?Ó she asked.
ÒYes!Ó I cried.
SNICKCK! A double-salute! I almost bounded right up then, losing my
grip entirely on my ankles. ÒOh, Boo! Hoo!Ó I sobbed out. I did not like this
whipping, not at all, though the thought of being a GQ model girl had me
tingling in inappropriate places.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó Laurie reminded me.
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó I said, and reached for my panties.
WHACK! ÒNot yet!Ó she told me. ÒI merely asked.Ó
ÒOh! I canÕt stand this!Ó I cried.
ÒYou are the chosen,Ó she said. ÒLook how sparkling clean this room
is! Do you think youÕd ever be made to scrub it down, except for the
pleasure of some gentleman? Of course not! Only for erotic reasons
would I ever give you a scrub brush and bucket, or anyone else, for that
matter. Look how slim and lovely you are! Surely a few disciplinary
strokes of the cane are not too much to ask. Afterward we shall dine
together, you and I, at a fine restaurant somewhere. And I will introduce
you to my male models. But first I must establish who is boss. IÕll have
no Beckys here. You are too old to act like that, though youÕd try to get
away with it if you could.
ÒOh, please hurry!Ó I said. Whatever she needed to do, I wanted her
to get it over with.
ÒAh, sweet dear, wait for it,Ó she said. ÒThere is no rush. You are
young, I am young. Show me how you can take it, be patient. Ask for the
next stroke.Ó
ÒPlease, then -- but not too hard!Ó I still wanted her to hurry up.
WHACK! ÒOoooch!Ó I danced about. I weaved, waved my hips. I
lurched. I almost fell on the bed. My boobies bounced like they were
spring-loaded, under the blow.
ÒSee? You keep your posture well. You are more well-behaved than
you think, precious. I like that in a girl. Tell me what kind of modeling
youÕd like to do.Ó Laurie whisked her cane through the air, testing it,
keeping me on edge.
ÒUh,Ó I gulped. ÒNot bare-bottomed modeling, thatÕs for sure,Ó I
answered.
WHACK! Again the awful cane. I jumped up this time, I could not
bear it. My hands flew to my ass and I rubbed it.
ÒMy, my, if youÕve had enough, why didnÕt you just say so?Ó Laurie
asked me.
ÒI-I Oh, you wicked woman!Ó I cried. My bottom was seared. It was
not its flawless white anymore.
ÒGet your panties up, we shall go to lunch,Ó she said then.
ÒWhat about you?Ó I asked.
ÒAh, I am not dressed. I had forgotten,Ó she smiled. ÒDo you have to
pee? I have to,Ó she said. She walked to the toilet, sat down gracefully. I
watched her bosoms jostle one another as she settled onto the ceramic
seat.
ÒI have to go too,Ó I said, walking towards her, pulling my panties
up.
ÒThen youÕll just have to take these down again,Ó she smiled, putting
a hand out, catching my half-raised panties by the crotch. My bottom
wiggled excessively from my caning. I heard her piss into the toilet.
She pushed my panties down my calves again. I did not know what to
say. I felt we might not make lunch, after all. I heard her pee stop. ÒSit
it my lap and weÕll do it together,Ó she husked.
I straddled her. Still wriggling from the searing strokes across my
ass, I got down on her open thighs, rested my bottom between them, facing
her. She took my hair, drew me forward. We kissed. ÒPiss now!Ó she
breathed. Together we released our streams into the bowl.
We wiped each other. It was a moment of sharing, helpfulness. It
felt unique. She eased me off her legs and we both stood up.
The door opened again. It was the washerwoman. She had a little
rack of clothes. Just filmy panties, sheer nothing nighties, an
insubstantial bra or two. ÒIÕm sorry, maÕam. I forgot to return the
clothing,Ó she said. ÒIÕm lucky wasnÕt a man with her in here. He might
have wanted her to dress up for him.Ó
ÒJust put the clothes against the wall,Ó Laurie said dismissively.
She had me by the arm. My panties ringed my ankles, impeding me. We
drifted even now toward the roomÕs far end, toward the bed. ÒAh, now she
has a nice dell, doesnÕt she?Ó the washer-woman said. Her eyes admired
my pussy greedily. ÒWill you be needing a hand-towel, maÕam? I see there
isnÕt any in here.Ó
ÒNo, not right now,Ó Laurie answered. ÒJust privacy, please.Ó
ÒYes, maÕam,Ó the washer-woman replied. Giving me a knowing wink
she turned, trundled out, shut the door.
ÒGet out of those panties and kneel up on the bed,Ó Laurie instructed
me.
ÒOh, not another spanking!Ó I pleaded. I knew there were still quite a
few implements hanging on the wall, all of them as yet untried.
ÒJust do as I say, or I will spank you indeed,Ó Laurie answered. I
bent, sniffled, untangled my panties from the spikes of my heels and
tossed them towards the door.
ÒDo you want someone to trip over them when they come in again?Ó
Laurie asked me, seeing where IÕd thrown my undies.
ÒI wouldnÕt mind,Ó I replied. I hated that washer-woman. So
ridiculous. Big and fat and admiring me like I was some thoughtless
object.
ÒGet on the bed,Ó Laurie told me. ÒFace on your pillow, bottom high,
kneeling.Ó I dropped my knees onto the cot and kneed my way forward on
it. I bent my head, my back down, pressed my cheek to my pillow. It
smelled fresh.
Laurie admired my rearing ass. Clean, neat strokes of the cane made
searing red lines across it, keeping me perpetually jiggling it even as I
waited for her next move. ÒDo you know what drew me to come see you
this morning, to meet you?Ó Laurie asked me.
ÒNo,Ó I breathed into my pillow.
ÒBecause I hear youÕre an anal virgin,Ó she answered. Her words
were frank, scary.
ÒI-I-Ó I wanted to deny it. She took a vial of oil from one of her coat
pockets. She uncorked it. She sprinkled some on her finger.
ÒNoooo,Ó I gasped. Yet I did not flinch, save for the gentle weaving
undulations of my ass.
ÒYesssss,Ó she replied. She drew close to me, bent, her bosoms full,
nipples stiff. She parted my cheeks with a thumb and forefinger, found
them tight, springy, clenching. She put a finger to my rosette. ÒDo not
tighten yourself, Melody,Ó she urged. I tried to relax. I knew I had come
for this. I knew, yet I did not know. She pushed her finger within my
sphincter. I stiffened, jerked. She prodded me. I blubbered into my
pillow. She burrowed deeper still. ÒHave you ever had anyone up this
far?Ó she asked. Her voice was casual, polite. We were at a garden party.
ÒNot-not,Ó I gasped.
ÒWell, now you have,Ó she replied. She thrust in more, I felt my
cheeks flex reflexively wide, then tighten again. ÒTry to relax,Ó she said.
I felt my breath huff and puff up from my throat, past my teeth. She drew
back a little. ÒIn and out, in and out now, just like a penis,Ó she said. I
felt her surge back and forth, croaked. It was an utterly new sensation. I
was sure I didnÕt like it. ÒYou will have a penis in here soon, I can assure
you,Ó she said.
ÒYesssss,Ó I breathed, gasped. Did I want that? I did not know what
I wanted. My panties were on the floor on the other side of the room.
ÒIn and out, in and out,Ó she said. I felt slimness. I wanted
something bigger, fuller, deep down inside me there. ÒNow, letÕs take this
little finger of mine out and see what else we can teach you with,Ó Laurie
said. I heard a pop. Her finger was withdrawn. She went to the sink and
washed it. She drew and linen handkerchief from her coat pocket and
wiped her fingers. I remained quivering on the bed. I was afraid to move,
like a patient after surgery.
Laurie reached into her coat. It looked to me like she was reaching
for a gun, except she pulled out something worse. A dildo. Fine and big
and looking like it had been carved from ivory. She walked over to me
again.
30
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