Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 32    Monday    June 26, 1995  
alt.stories.erotic  alt.sex.stories

D R E A M G I R L S  S T O R I E S
Chambers of Love
Part Thirty-One
by Andrew Roller 

Chapter Eighteen

         A chill desert breeze pricked at our skin.  We waited.  A coyote 
howled in the distance.  Then, opening the door slowly, a stooped-over, 
elderly Mexican woman let us in.  She regarded us.  Then she beckoned 
us forward to a room where men were laughing.  Opening the door to the 
room she urged us inside.  We stepped in.
         Half a dozen men smiled as they saw us, welcomed us with eager 
gentility.  They occupied a large room with sumptuous divans and 
ottomans, complete with a wet bar.  A young Spanish girl in an 
abbreviated maid's costume stood at the bar, dutifully mixing drinks, 
her head bowed submissively.  Heavy drapes, richly embroidered, were 
drawn shut against the desert night, against the bright high-flying 
moon.
         Fresh drinks were passed to us from the bar and we graciously 
accepted them from the nearest men.  Our suitor on the airplane 
introduced us, by our first names only.  Julie and I were all dolled up in 
clinging, low cut gowns that shimmered with our every movement.  
After we'd met each of the men our host, named Alex, asked us if we 
were ready to party.  We said we were.  With polished grace Julie 
turned and unzipped my dress in back.  I wiggled and it glimmered its 
way down my body, pooling around my ankles on the plush carpet.  I 
stepped out of the $2,000 gown as if from discarded Jockey shorts.  
Then I turned and did Julie.  A moment later we stood before the men, 
and they were most delighted with our party clothes.
         I wore a pink corset.  The edges were trimmed with ribbon and 
little pink bows.  It was laced in front, very tightly.  Cupping my 
breasts, it just covered my nipples, leaving the tops of my areolas 
enchantingly visible.  The constricting corset descended to just above 
the wisps of my pubis, which it left uncovered.  It was shorter behind 
and left my bottom completely free.  Cinched so tightly about my waist, 
the corset actually made my bare bottom stick out like some overripe 
pumpkin.  Alex expressed an interest in the effect and I turned about to 
let him see.
         "Ah, that is why I love seeing women in difficult clothing," he 
said admiringly.  "You girls would never wear such outfits if it weren't 
for us men wanting them, would you?"
         "Not likely," Julie said.  Her voice came breathily.  She was 
cinched as tight as a drum.  Her corset could not quite contain her 
womanly bosoms.  The upper halves of her areolas along with her 
pointed nipples overflowed the top, where tightly drawn cups of thin 
lace had been forced to give way to them.
         Garters clung snugly to a pair of long semi-sheer stockings that 
sheathed my legs, right down to my booties with their decorative 
buckles.  My stockings were pink, the booties white patent leather.  
Julie was similarly attired, in colors of violet and blue.
         "Sir," Julie said expectantly.  "As you can see we have no panties.  
You promised you'd give us something upon our arrival?"
         "Ah, yes!" Alex replied.  He presented us each with a color-
coordinated G-string.  Daintily I stepped into mine, as did Julie with 
hers.  I pulled it up around my hips and looked down at it.  Rope-like it 
dropped in front over my mound, utterly failing to cover it.  Threading 
through the lips of my cunt it ascended through the clenching of my 
bottom crack to rejoin my string-wide waistband in back.  There was 
nothing more.  Yet I found that I could spread it open slightly with my 
finger tips where it crossed through my cunt, forming a little gusset of 
sorts that just barely enclasped my labia lips within it.
         "Yes, that will form your diaper," Alex told me.
         "My-my diaper?!" I asked, shocked.  Julie had just covered her own 
cunt with the makeshift gusset and looked up in alarm as well.
         "Did you not know?" Alex asked us.  "We have only one bathroom, 
right over there, and it is unfortunately a men's room.  You girls will 
have to wear diapers...little adult diapers that suit your attire."  He 
glanced meaningfully at our G-strings.  "However, there is the matter 
of your bowels.  Adult diapers like you are wearing now cannot hold 
back a bowel movement.  Therefore each of you will be fitted with a 
butt-plug prior to partying with us men this evening.  Did you know that 
having something inside your rectum while you are being fucked in the 
pussy adds immeasurably to your pleasure, and that of your lover?  A 
sidelight I thought I'd mention."  He produced two well-greased butt 
plugs, thin but rather longish.  "Kindly bend over and pull down your G-
strings in back, girls.  I must get these up you before we can begin 
partying in earnest."
         With very great reluctance Julie and I drew down our G-strings in 
back, hooking them under the cheeks of our bottoms.  Then the men led 
us to the nearest settee, of bright red and yellow fabric, and pushed us 
over its back, so that we were standing on our tiptoes.  Gasping within 
the confines of my corset, my elbows found the seat cushions in the 
front of the sofa and gratefully rested upon them.  My hair fell about my 
face.  Julie's head plopped down beside mine.  
         My legs were roughly separated, into a bold vee.  I turned my toes 
inward, desperately trying to keep them in contact with the floor.  
Julie's legs were opened next.  Speaking gentle words to us, Alex had 
men forcefully spread our bottoms.  I felt the cool air of the room touch 
my anus.  Beneath me I noticed that my nipples had popped out of my 
corset.  I was like Julie now.  Nothing remained hidden, save my lately 
covered labia...in my diaper.
         A cold film was applied around the ring of my anus.  It grew warm 
as the finger applying it circled, lovingly.  Then the tip of a tube was 
gently inserted within me there and a long ejaculation of creme shot up 
my ass.  I mewled in protest at the unwanted anointing.  My bowels did 
not wish to be baptized.  The tip went to Julie next, she shared in my 
plight.
         I felt the intruder then.  Snub nosed, of india rubber, probing 
expectantly against the tightness of my anal ring.  
         "Oooch!" I said suddenly, and my cherry was popped, my ring 
opened anew.  Julie cried out as her own bottom was breached.
         We were told to pull up our panties then...our diapers.  Reaching 
back, still over the couch, I yanked up my G-string.  Julie was equally 
happy to get hers up.  I stood with difficulty, the men helping me.  Bow-
leggedly I regarded the new sensation in my innards.  My guts were well 
plugged, my anus distended, bottom cheeks moulded about their 
intrusive new friend.  Julie stood gaping, looking from one man to the 
next.  We were given fresh drinks and told to swallow all.
         "Bottoms up, girls," Alex said of our glasses.  "I'm having the 
liquor content cut back so you can enjoy yourselves without getting 
sleepy.  Please drink as much as you can!  And now I think a relaxing 
game of shuffleboard would be in order after our strenuous 
preliminaries.  Gentlemen, ladies?"  
         A curtain was drawn back, revealing a narrow space with a 
shuffleboard painted on a polished wooden floor.  Julie and I were 
invited to go first, competing against one another.  The winner would 
play against a male guest, we were told.  The loser would have her 
fanny smacked.  
         Spraddle-legged and huffing in our corsets, Julie and I played 
shuffleboard.  Julie lost, and was promptly put over Alex's knee and 
given a dozen "well deserved" slaps on her rump.  It was blushingly red 
when he finally let her stand up.  She rubbed it briskly.
         I soon lost to a male guest and he gave me a spanking just as 
Julie had suffered.  Red-bottomed, we were now ordered to play 
hopscotch.  A slab of cement was revealed behind another curtained 
wall, complete with a stone and chalk.  Bending down, nearly crushing 
our tummies in our corsets, we were forced to draw out a hopscotch 
pattern on the cold slab.  Our bosoms burst completely from the 
confines of our corsets as we worked.  They jiggled merrily, oblivious 
to our torment, happy to be free.
         We played out two rounds of hopscotch, and were spanked 
afterward for our errors.  Then more drinks were served and we were 
urged to indulge ourselves on snacks which the Spanish girl brought 
around on a silver tray.  "Keep your energy up, you know," Alex reminded 
us.  We stood munching on cheese-laden celery sticks and bits of 
toothpick-speared beef as the men chatted amiably around us.  This was 
definitely not a party I'd seen the likes of before.  
         Alex reached out and touched a finger between my legs, which I'd 
been bidden to always keep at least a foot apart.  I felt a tingle of 
pleasure as he rubbed my gusset-covered cunny.  "Still dry, I see," he 
observed.  Simultaneously he felt Julie.  Then he ordered more drinks 
for us and waited while we swallowed down every drop.
         "Good girl," the Spanish lass said to me when I was done, patting 
my bottom.  She took my glass.  Then she complimented Julie in the 
same way and took her empty glass also.  She sashayed back to the bar, 
her bottom peeping out from under a very short leather skirt.
         "You'll get to know her better later," Alex assured us.  "Her name 
is Ophelia.  She's very loyal.  My best maid."
         The party progressed next through a series of card games, played 
around a low coffee table.  Julie and I were allowed to sit on a sofa like 
the other guests, but we were made to keep our knees wide apart.  
Occasionally Alex reached over and felt our gussets.  Slowly a need to 
pee began building within me and I found it harder and harder to keep 
my legs spread.  Alex told me he'd introduce my ass to the riding crop if 
I put my legs together.  
         More and more, as the card game idled along, this time being a 
long version of bridge, I burned to pee.  Julie dropped her hand at one 
point and pleaded to go to the bathroom.  She was denied.  I put a hand 
to my pussy and squeezed it.  No relief.  Julie did the same.  Within 
minutes we were sitting there, before half a dozen strange men, with 
our thighs compressed tightly together and our fingers mashing our 
cunts.  Our eyes bulged, our cheeks were puffed.  We squirmed like 
toddlers.
         "Tsk!  Tsk!  Such an expensive couch you girls are sitting on, you 
know," Alex observed.  "I hope I've given you big enough diapers.  That's 
Ophelia's favorite couch and she'd be quite upset if you emptied your 
bladders on it."  Julie and I grimaced.  I squeezed my eyes shut, opened 
them.
         With a sudden realization I noticed my g-string was no longer dry.  
The spot on the couch where my fanny rested wasn't dry either.  In 
shock I looked down and found myself peeing!  My body had taken over, 
taken its own course.  I tried to stop the flow but it came out lustily, a 
full bladder behind it, urging it on through my peehole.  Julie gasped and 
looked down at herself.  Spurred by my example, her body had followed 
my lead.  Squishing our pussies with our fingertips we tried to hold 
back the flow, failed.  We gazed at Alex's stern demeanor with bleak 
eyes.
         Alex ordered the men to remove all of their clothing.  He told us 
to "sit tight."  I watched in wonder as the group of dark, handsome men 
stripped themselves to their skin.  They sat around us with their cocks 
and balls casually displayed.  They complimented one another on their 
attributes.
         Ophelia entered the room.  Her maid's costume was gone and she 
was utterly nude.  Her only adornment was a riding crop, which she held 
lightly in her hand, between her lovely young breasts.  It pointed stiffly 
up at her face and she toyed with its loop with her tongue.
         "Sir," she lisped over the leather tip of the crop to Alex.  "I'm 
ready for my punishment."  With small, almost tentative steps, yet 
exuding a kind of erotic confidence, she advanced with her wicked toy 
into the midst of the men.  She was young, frail, a twig of a girl, yet 
with superb bosoms.  Except for her lightly olive-colored skin she 
reminded me very much of myself.  I who sat wet, shuddering, and 
frightened upon the couch, vainly trying to cover myself with my hands.
         The men sat admiring Ophelia for a bit as she stood meekly before 
them, holding the instrument of her bottom's impending demise.  I 
admired her cheeks from behind.  They were white, flawless, two 
shades lighter than the rest of her, and completely unmarked.
They clenched together, then eased, then squeezed themselves together 
again, sweet round moons glowing softly.  The men stood.  They formed 
a semi-circle about her of honed, hairy, in-the-buff brawn.  Yet they 
still merely regarded her, perhaps unsure of who was entitled to her 
first.
         Olivia did not look at the men's faces but rather surveyed the 
thicket of penises which surrounded her.  She seemed to examine each 
one with her gaze, evaluate it, judge it?  Was she prey or predator?  
The men converged more closely upon her.  Stiffly they presented their 
cocks, their manhood, many idly thrusting them at her.  Olivia placed a 
finger lightly upon the head of one, stilling it.  She lifted her eyes to 
the man's face, silently seemed to say, "Settle down, boy, we have all 
night ahead of us."
         "Please introduce your lovely pussy to each man's cock," Alex told 
his maid.  Smilingly Ophelia presented her slim hips to the closest man, 
who grasped them hungrily.  He lofted her up until she was on her tip-
toes, then settled her tight lips onto the bulging head of his organ.  
Ophelia gasped as it slipped within her.  Yet the man was limited, Alex 
said, to giving her the head only.  Fortunately no one had greased up yet, 
so there was plenty of natural friction present to slow the entry.  The 
man gripped Ophelia, holding her up, even as she went slack, pretended 
to swoon.  She dangled her hands behind her, as if to more easily slide 
earthward, right down his big shaft.  She wiggled playfully upon the 
impaling head.  With a groan of displeasure the man was forced to lift 
her off himself before she should make him violate the rules.  Ophelia 
went to the next man and did a similar dance upon the head of his prong.  
Gradually she was passed from man to man until each had enjoyed a 
taste of her pussy, and she of his deliciously intrusive penis.  Even Alex 
limited himself to just a teasing probe.  Her eyes and his seemed to 
share a special thought as she entertained his organ.  But no words 
were spoken, save a soft flutter of moans from her and a grunt from 
him as he tasted her tightness.
         Alex ordered Julie and I to masturbate ourselves as we watched 
all this, and we did so, obediently stroking our lips and clittys with a 
finger.  We pulled our panties down to the tops of our thighs to give 
ourselves free access.  By the time Ophelia had mounted her final steed 
we were in a fluster of impending orgasm.
         Alex looked at us.  Our titties ballooned naked above the shattered 
tops of our corsets.  Our faces were flushed.  Our panties were prettily 
lowered, cunts sweetly moist.  Still our legs were sheathed in the 
finest silk, and our feet shod with new booties.  Their decorative 
buckles gleamed.  Uncomfortably we shifted upon the plugs which 
speared our bottoms.
         Ophelia turned to us then, said we must accompany her to the 
woodshed.  Conscious of the men's admiring gaze, we rose as gracefully 
as possible.  Julie seemed more ladylike than ever, poised and sleek.  
She walked before me as we filed out of the room, the men taking up 
position at our rear, following us.  Ophelia led the way.
         We stepped through a door and out into the stillness of the night.  
I heard cows lowing in the distance.  A tumbleweed lazily rolled by, as 
if to gawk.  We stepped upon flat, shattered flagstones, following them 
in a path to a weatherbeaten stable.  It was small, built for one purpose 
only.
         Julie and I stepped inside, big-bottomed in our clenching corsets, 
following behind the lithe, light-hearted Ophelia, free in her nudity.  I 
spotted a brazier.  Its coals glowed brightly.  "We brand the cattle 
here," Ophelia said easily, by way of explanation.  As if I wanted one.
         The men entered and closed the door behind us.  It was crowded.  I 
wanted room.  There was a space available, where a post stood, 
festooned with iron manacles.  Fresh hay upon the wooden floor there.  
And before the post a sturdy, leather-topped trestle, waiting perhaps 
for someone to be draped over it.  
         Julie, ever the sweet young mare in times of crisis, stepped up to 
the brazier.  An iron rod lay within it.  With polished grace she slipped 
on an oven mitt, which hung from the brazier, then lifted the hot iron.  
         "It has your mark upon it, Alex," Julie said softly.  The tip of the 
iron, a little circular brand, glowed luminously.  Julie blew gently upon 
it, as if to cool it.
         "What do you think of it?" Alex asked.  
         "It is lovely," Julie said of the brand.  "I'm sure your cows are 
very proud to have it upon them."  She lifted her eyes to his.  They were 
radiant.  Yet tears had formed in the corners.  "Where-where do you 
place the brand?"
         "The females receive it right upon the bottom," Alex said.  Julie 
considered the brand once more, then quietly replaced it in the brazier.
         "It must be very hot to do its job," she said.  She buried the tip 
within the blazing coals.
         Lightly Ophelia took Julie by the elbow, turned her to face the 
post.  Julie shook off her hand.  With quiet grace she advanced to the 
trestle, clad in her booties, her steps still awkward because of the butt 
plug, yet managing to roll her hips seductively.  She smoothed her 
fingertips across the leather-covered top of the trestle.  Ophelia 
stepped up to her, grasped her by the soft brown locks of her hair.  She 
bent Julie down over the trestle.  The glorious moon of Julie's bottom 
rose as her face was forced toward the floor.  Julie's arms were lifted 
above the back of her head and, sticking out straight in front of her, 
were shackled to the post.  Ophelia gagged her with a strip of soft 
leather, forcing it between her teeth as a kind of bit.
         With a skip in her step Ophelia went behind Julie then, and bent 
and spread her ankles.  Julie seemed recalcitrant and Ophelia gave her a 
light slap on her bottom with her hand.  Then the legs were drawn 
suitably wide, and clamped into irons.  Ophelia stood up and admired her 
handiwork, taking up her riding crop where she'd put it aside and 
impatiently slapping her flank with it.  She tossed her head.  Her dark 
hair moved freely, casually.
         Alex held me tightly.  My panties, never recovered, hung tightly 
round the tops of my thighs.  Julie's panties too remained where she'd 
slipped them in order to masturbate.  They hugged her just beneath the 
underside of her bottom.  I'd heard a tearing sound when her legs were 
pulled apart and realized now it had been her g-string.  Filaments of 
ripped fiber glimmered here and there along the string.  It would not fit 
her anymore, was just an ornament now, a decoration.
         Because she had peed she must be washed first, Alex said.  He 
rubbed me idly upon my clitty as he said this, as if to keep me ready for 
my turn.  Ophelia, able-bodied as a farm girl, filled a bucket from a 
spigot and hoisted it, carried it over to Julie's bottom.  With a sponge 
Ophelia bathed the glorious haunches in ice cold water.  Julie flinched 
and moaned beneath her gag.  When the laving was complete Ophelia put 
the bucket aside.  She kissed each wetly gleaming cheek then, lightly, 
careful to leave no lipstick mark.
         Alex chilled me to my core a moment later, saying, "You shall do 
the honors, Kimmy."  Roughly he guided me forward to the brazier, 
fitted my right hand with the mitt, made me pick up the awful brand.  
He presented me with the spectacle of Julie's helpless, darling young 
wife's bottom.   

D R E A M G I R L S  L E T T E R S         

         ÒAbout these pedophiles, I think they are a Menace 2 Society,Ó 
writes MissLadyAsstor333@titwhittle(elementary).  ÒWhen we look at 
them, they look BACK at us!!!  This must not be allowed.  Also, if we ask 
them a question, they actually answer it.  DonÕt they know that adults are 
never supposed to talk to children?  (ThatÕs what my teacher, Miss Prude 
says, and she is 73 years old and bald from many years of living, so she 
obviously knows everything.)  And then there are the SUPER child 
molesters, the ones you see on AmericaÕs Most Wanted Men.  These men!  
They want to put their penis where it NOT supposed to go.  Up bottoms, 
into little girls, and even into a girlÕs mouth!  IÕm sure my big sister would 
NEVER allow her boyfriend to do that.  I hope you will only write stories 
about senior citizens from now on, like Miss Prude.  It will cut down on 
your workload.  She has no hair and no tits, so you will only have to write 
about her ass.  It is a big one, I admit, but other than that there should be 
no problem.  Thankyou for printing my important comments.Ó

         ÒMy theory is, donÕt do it before youÕre 21--and then donÕt tell me 
about it.Ó  --First Lady (and former Flower Child) Hillary Rodham Clinton, 
Newsweek, June 26, pg. 15

         ÒOnly old men go to the mosque now.  We heard too many lies there.Ó  
--Time, June 26, pg. 42

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