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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
DESIRE ISLE
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Chapter Ten
"Ick! What's this?" Melanie asked.
"It's caviar, silly," Candy replied.
"I suppose you're only used to your boyfriends buying you a
cheeseburger?" Renoir asked smoothly.
"Well, yes," Melanie replied. Delicately she spooned a bit of the fish
eggs into her mouth. "Not bad," she said, but her face told a different tale.
"You'll acquire a taste for them, just like everything else in life,"
Candy said, eagerly spooning down her own portion.
"Yes, like coffee, cigarettes, whiskey, suppositories," Renoir said.
The girls looked up at him at the mention of the last item. Their eyes
bulged slightly.
"Men," Candy said under her breath, rolling her eyes as she turned her
attention back to her caviar. Meekly Melanie looked back down at her own
plate and hoped Candy's bottom proved prettier than her own.
Candy and Melanie had gotten back in touch with one another. They
met in New York City, but found themselves still a little afraid of the idea
of whoring. So, perhaps in an attempt to escape the inevitable, they took
off down the coast in Melanie's red Corvette for Florida. Soon they
alighted in Miami, where it didn't take long for them to bump into a man
who took a great interest in them. They had met Renoir while shopping in
a beachfront clothing store. He was a mysterious European, about 6' 2".
He seemed to have loads of money.
"So what brings you to Miami?" Renoir asked casually as he strolled
down the sidewalk with the girls, after insisting on paying for their
beachwear in the store.
"Well, um, we actually came here to make some money," Melanie said
with a little gulp. Candy nudged her in her ribs.
"Money?" Renoir asked with a smile. "Well, I hope you're interested
in an occupation which I have a need for. I'm sure I could pay you more
than a decent salary."
"What she means is, we're hoping to be, well," Candy seemed torn
about whether or not she should tell Renoir they were planning to be
whores. Melanie did to. If they girls told him what they intended, there
was little doubt Renoir would be able to pay. And judging from his
interest in them, there was even less doubt that he would eagerly snap up
their offer.
"Lots of men like us," Melanie tried to explain.
"I'm sure they do," Renoir replied with a broad smile. At the moment
he was wearing a straw Hawaiian hat atop his head, which looked out of
place on his otherwise Continental frame. It added to his aura of
decadence, of a life spent pursuing the more forbidden fruits of the world.
"And, well, we can't be friends with them all," Candy continued. "So
we've tried to find some way we can separate them out. They're all
handsome and everything, and well..." Renoir tapped his pants pocket.
"How about a man's assets?" Renoir asked. "All other assets being
equal, as you say, I'm sure there must be some variation in the men's
financial assets." The girls were both looking at him now, soaking up his
words. He had such an excellent way of stating things without being
unnecessarily explicit. "Now, for a pair of girls as beautiful as you, I'd be
more than happy to wake up in the morning and find I'd parted with
$10,000." The girls' eyes gaped wide.
"$10,000?!" Melanie gasped, and Candy had to nudge her again, lest
they begin to entertain their fellow pedestrians.
"Indeed," Renoir said. "And I'd be more than happy to buy such girls
dinner, and take them to a show, dancing, whatever they might desire."
"Well, we don't have any specific plans for this evening, do we,
Melanie?" Candy asked her friend.
"I'm sure we could cancel," Melanie replied softly.
"Then it's agreed," Renoir said. "We'll meet this evening at the Ocean
Tower."
"Alright," Candy said, for both of them.
The memory of that afternoon's conversation came flowing back as
Melanie sat picking at her caviar. Beside her stood a sheet of glass,
beyond which twinkled the cityscape of Miami. The moon was just rising,
a curved sickle looking for a harvest.
"Shall we dance?" Renoir asked Candy.
"Why not?" Candy replied. He rose and took Candy by the hand.
"Come, Melanie, you can dance too," Candy said to her friend.
"Yes! I'll be the luckiest man on the dance floor," Renoir said.
Reluctantly Melanie agreed. A few minutes later both she and Candy were
on the floor, dancing with Renoir.
Now two girls as beautiful as Melanie jiggling away in skin tight
dresses are bound to attract a lot of male attention. But Melanie and
Candy dutifully refused the other men who tried to break in on their dance
with Renoir. For $10,000, Renoir was entitled to dance as much as he
liked with them. During the dancing Renoir at times held each girl close,
sometimes holding both at once. Hands slipped to the more special parts
of the body and all parties concerned were pleased with the quality of
what they found. Finally, Renoir with a lump in his pants and the girls
stiff-nippled, their little buds poking insistently at their gowns (for they
wore no bras), the trio returned to their table. Renoir called for the bill.
The girls retreated momentarily to the ladies' room.
"God, what a dancer!" Candy enthused.
"Such a gentleman, too," Melanie said, primping before a mirror. The
bathroom was luxurious. The sinks were of marble and the mirrors framed
with gold.
Soon the girls and Renoir rendezvoused once more. He led them from
the restaurant, one of them on each arm. A limousine was waiting for
them outside the hotel.
"Where do you live?" Candy asked Renoir, not really intending the
effect that any male would take from such a question.
"I'm staying in a hotel, actually," Renoir replied. "I've lived there for
about three months. Even had it redecorated to meet my own specific
tastes."
"Wow," Melanie gushed.
"Would you girls like to view my domicile for yourselves?" Renoir
asked. "I'm always interested in the opinions of females. The female
species seems to have a special talent for interior decoration. Perhaps
you could suggest some improvements."
"I took interior design in high school," Melanie said, again not
intending the full consequences of what a lusty male might make of such a
statement.
"Why, then you must see my penthouse," Renoir replied.
"Your penthouse?" Melanie gushed.
"Of course," Renoir smiled. "Do you think I would bother girls like
yourselves with anything less?"
"I'd like to do some more dancing," Candy said. She placed a gloved
hand on Renoir's thigh. There was a sly grin on her face. "Those men at
the restaurant were such a bother. Do you think your penthouse is big
enough for us to dance there?"
"Why of course," Renoir said. "Let's have some more dancing." He
lowered the smoked glass partition between himself and the driver
partway. "1346 Hacienda--The Palladium," He ordered the driver. The
chauffeur nodded silently. No doubt, as he looked back at Renoir, a girl on
either side of him, he felt a twinge of envy. Then the smoked glass
partition went back up, and all was lost to view.
Renoir's penthouse suite was sumptuously decorated. But, indeed, it
still had the feel of a bachelor pad. Both girls sensed the lack of a
feminizing influence. It added to Renoir's masculine allure.
Renoir stacked a half-dozen of the latest pop CD's on a player. Music
began thumping out, low in volume but enveloping in its appeal. Renoir
poured drinks for the girls and then, cocktail glasses in hand, they began
to dance. Soon Candy and Renoir were bumping and grinding, pressing their
loins together, then backing off, then butting up against each other again.
Melanie was encouraged to join in, and she did. As the dancing progressed
Candy decided to be relieved of her gloves. She bit into the fingers of one
glove, loosening it. Then she pulled it off and tossed it on the floor. A
moment later and her other glove followed. A look from Candy and Renoir
told Melanie she should do the same. Nipping at her own gloves with her
teeth, Melanie soon got them off. A little more dancing ensued, and then
Candy got another idea in her head.
"Unzip me," Candy said suddenly, turning her back to Renoir. As
Melanie watched with both awe and apprehension, Renoir pulled down the
zipper of Candy's tight-fitting dress. Then Candy turned about, facing
Renoir once more. But now the back of her dress was unzipped. As Candy
wriggled about, her eyes gleaming mischievously, her dress began to droop
on her body. Soon her boobies were revealed. They bounded out almost in
time to the music, first one, then the other. Candy looked down at them,
then back at Renoir. The two of them came together, joined loins, then
backed off. Candy turned her back to Renoir once more, and leaned
forward. She wriggled her bottom at him. Her dress dropped to her hips
and hung there. Then Candy turned about and moved toward Renoir. They
bumped genitals, and Renoir deftly shore Candy's dress from her hips. The
dress fell in a pool to Candy's ankles and she daintily stepped out of it,
still keeping time to the music, a cocktail still balanced precariously
twixt her fingers.
Candy turned to Melanie. The redhead was only in a pair of chiffon
panties now, as well as her heels. "You must undress too," Candy said to
Melanie. "It's much more fun!" Melanie caught Renoir's eye and he was
obviously eager for her to comply. She danced within range of him, then
presented him her back. With a swift movement of the man's fingers, the
deed was done. Self-consciously Melanie at first tried to press her arms
to her sides to keep her dress up as she continued to dance. But then she
let her arms drop, knowing her shyness must look silly. The first of her
boobies bounced out. She turned to face Renoir. The second bounced free.
Guiltily she looked down at her naked breasts. As she wriggled her hips
they responded as might twin peaks of gelatin. They wobbled all about,
their tempting nipples stiffly inviting the touch of fingers. Renoir moved
close. Suddenly he reached up and grabbed both of Melanie's tempting
melons. He squeezed them, testing their firm resiliency and momentarily
halting their wiggly ways. Melanie's nipples quivered in Renoir's grasp.
"May I kiss them?" Renoir asked hotly. Melanie looked up at him with
wide eyes, said nothing. Renoir brought his lips to her teats and sucked
each nipple into his mouth in turn. Then he released her, and reached down
and helped her dress over her hips. A moment later Melanie was stepping
out of her evening attire, leaving her only in panties and pumps.
After a few minutes more of dancing Renoir walked over to the CD
player. He pressed a button, and the pop tune in progress stopped. A
classical piece came on. He invited the girls over to several side chairs
arranged around a table. "I have some gifts for you girls," Renoir said. He
went into another room. As the girls pondered all the wicked things a man
might bring out, they glanced at each other nervously. But before their
minds could call up too many things Renoir returned, and in his hands he
held jewelry! He insisted that the girls remove their earrings. Then he
himself put dangling, jewelled earrings, much more expensive than the
girls could have afforded, on each of them. The girls felt special and
protected, like little captured birds, as Renoir affixed the earrings on
them. Then he admired both girls, and said, "I think you're both old enough.
Come, we'll pay a visit to my playroom."
"Your playroom?!" Melanie asked.
"For adults," Renoir added.
"Oh," Melanie gulped. He led them down a hall in his apartment.
Melanie walked with mincing steps, but Candy sashayed along, seemingly
at peace with whatever lay ahead. Fishing keys from his pocket, Renoir
stopped before a door and unlocked it. Then, his hand on the door's knob, he
turned to both girls. "I hope you don't find my favorite room unsettling.
You're welcome to suggest improvements to it, of course." And with that
he opened the door and ushered them inside.
As Melanie caught her first glimpse of the room she nearly froze.
There were straps, chains, O-rings, and all manner of wicked little
implements, all centered around a wooden table that stood in the middle
of the room. Candy turned to look at Renoir, probably as surprised as
Melanie, but managing to suppress her fear. "It's sound-proofed, of
course," Renoir said airily, as if that answered whatever doubts the girls
may have had.
"This looks more like a stable," Melanie said in a barely audible
voice.
"Yes, and it needs fillies," Renoir smiled.
"Do you bring dates here often?" Candy asked boldly.
"Only my favorite ones," Renoir said. He looked meaningfully at
Candy's sumptuous, naked titties. She turned quietly away from his gaze.
"What are these little things?" Melanie asked, venturing to a
nightstand beside the table and picking up a tiny cone. Renoir walked up
behind her and grasped her gently by her slim shoulders.
"It's a suppository, for the urethra," he said softly. Melanie shivered
and dropped the cone at once.
"Where shall we start?" Renoir asked Candy, his hands still on
Melanie's shoulders.
"Let's dance in here!" Candy offered brightly.
"Of course," Renoir replied. "But to dance in here one must dress
appropriately." Melanie thought Renoir would try to take off her panties
as he leaned over her. But instead he picked up a small clamp. He lifted it
to Melanie's stiff nipple. Before she could fully understand what he was
at, she watched the clamp brought to her tittie and felt a sharp pain as it
was released on her teat.
"Ouch!" Melanie hissed. The pain subsided, being more shock than
trauma, and Melanie was left staring at a little clip that hung tenaciously
upon her right nipple. Then, wordlessly, she watched as Renoir fetched a
second clamp from the table and adorned her other nipple.
Candy had sidled up to the pair and now Renoir pushed Melanie aside.
He fetched two more clasps and confronted Candy. He told her to
straighten her back, to stick out her chest. Candy slipped her drink onto
the nightstand and dropped her hands to her sides. Glancing down at her
chest, she arched her back, pulled back her shoulders, and stuck out her
tits. She watched, almost with curiosity, as Renoir lifted the first of the
clips to her mammaries. She bit her lips and briefly shut her eyes as the
first clip took hold. The second followed, eliciting a similar response.
"There," Renoir said, admiring his handiwork. "I think we're ready to
dance." But Melanie had been studying a small apparatus, which, to the
detriment of Renoir, had been left lying next to an instruction sheet on
how to use it. Melanie looked up, clutching the naughty device in her
hands.
"No," Melanie said. "If we're to wear nipple clamps, you must be
restrained too. With a--(she looked down at the instruction sheet still
lying on the nightstand)--with a cock ring!"
"With a?" Renoir began.
"Yes!" Candy replied. She lunged at Renoir from behind. She reached
round his waist and began unbuckling his belt. Melanie knelt before him,
laid the ring on the floor, and unzipped his pants. Her fingers snaked
inside his underwear and brought forth a steaming rod. Renoir looked
down to watch himself as Candy dropped his trousers. His underpants
were then shorn from his hips, leaving him naked from the waist down.
Melanie flicked her tongue around the flange of Renoir's circumcised cock,
to make sure it was at full erection. Then, taking the instruction sheet
from the night stand, she studiously applied the cock ring to Renoir's
genitals. When she was done Renoir's testicles and penis bulged hotly
from a pair of adjustable ivory rings that were painfully tight. Renoir,
relishing Melanie's impudent inexperience, nonetheless begged her to
loosen the rings a bit, which she finally did. Then she rose and invited
Renoir to dance.
There was no music, but the girls hummed a tune and the dancing
seemed better than any that had gone before. Renoir's cock jiggled
stiffly, the balls below swollen with sperm, aching to be relieved. A
succession of droplets of pre-cum formed on the tip of Renoir's penis, only
to be flung away as he continued dancing. Often the girls, squealing, were
inadvertently hit by Renoir's flying pre-cum.
"What do you do with the 'fillies' you bring in here?" Candy asked
Renoir.
"Oh, I indoctrinate them into the finer pleasures," Renoir replied.
"What are you going to do to us?" Melanie asked. She bumped her
pantied loins up against Renoir's captive cock.
"What would you like to have done to you?" Renoir asked. Melanie had
not expected an answer like that. She screwed up her pretty face and
thought a moment.
"My daddy put me over a table and whacked my bottom," Melanie said,
seemingly changing the subject. "It was his study. This room sort of
reminds me of that.
"Did it hurt?" Renoir asked. Melanie looked surprised. She put her
hands to her pantied rear. "Have you ever had your bottom walloped?"
"No," Renoir said. "Tell me about it."
"It hurt," Melanie replied. "Like the dickens."
"But you liked it?" Renoir asked.
"No, of course not!" Melanie frowned. "Who ever heard of someone
liking a spanking?"
"Properly administered, it can be a source of stimulation," Renoir
said. "I take it then you've never had a sexual spanking?"
"No," Melanie said. "Just the ordinary ones, and not too many of
those, thank God. But I don't blame my daddy. I had been naughty, and I
deserved it. And he gave it to me, just like he should. But I'll bet you'd be
too much of a weenie to punish me if I ever misbehaved for you," Melanie
taunted. Pointedly she glanced down at his cock, held tight by the ivory
rings.
Renoir advanced quickly upon Melanie. She raised her hands to her
face and intercepted his. At the same time she broke into a peal of
giggles.
"What about the time your little stepsister birched you? Wasn't that
a sexual spanking?" Candy, dancing beside Melanie, asked.
"That was just my little sister being a brat!" Melanie replied. She
struggled playfully against Renoir. Candy stopped dancing, and gazed at
the pair. Renoir got the better of Melanie and turned her about. His rock
hard penis played along her bottom cheeks as he struggled with her. He
pressed her forward, bending her belly over the hardwood table that
dominated the room. A moment later a chastened Melanie lay flat upon the
table, her feet still on the floor but her upper body pressed hard against
the wooden platform.
"Tie her," Renoir said gruffly to Candy. He bobbed his head,
indicating sturdy chains affixed along the sides of the table. The platform
was well equipped. It had chains dangling from each corner, plus a pair at
the table's midpoint. It was these last that Renoir indicated to Candy.
"Melanie's my friend," Candy said compassionately, resisting Renoir's
order. Renoir gave an angry, guttural growl.
"Umph! Renoir!" Melanie piped up. Renoir eased up, putting less
pressure on Melanie's trapped frame. "I'm sorry I insulted you." Renoir
stood more erect, leaving Melanie lying of her own free will across the
table. She made no move to rise. "I insulted your manhood, calling you a
weenie," Melanie said. She seemed to relish the insulting term as she
spoke it. She wiggled her little bottom, as if to tease Renoir's big prick
into spearing it. "Since I insulted your manhood, I'm sure you must
thoroughly spear me with it to prove it isn't a weenie," she said invitingly.
"So, go ahead, I'll be as obedient as possible." Melanie arched her bottom
as high as she could, standing on her tiptoes. Candy put a hand over her
mouth. Could this be little Melanie? What had come over her?
"I want you up on the table, kneeling," Renoir said gruffly to Melanie.
Gracefully Melanie stood. She gave her long, lemon mane a toss.
Wordlessly she clambered up onto the table. Renoir gave her bottom a
little push with his hand to help her. Melanie knelt on all fours on the
table. She looked back at Renoir.
"May I have a pillow?" Melanie asked.
"No," Renoir replied. Obediently Melanie put her face down on the
hard wood of the table.
"Ooch," Melanie said as her face came into full contact with the
wood. Renoir turned to Candy.
"On second thought," Renoir said. "Candy, get me two pillows from
the bedroom." Candy went to the door of the playroom. It was locked, and
seemed so heavy and solid that she thought she might not even be able to
swing it open if it had been unlocked. Renoir, seeing her predicament,
went and unlocked the door and pulled it open for her. Melanie, meanwhile,
reached across to the nightstand that held various wicked toys. She
picked up a urethral suppository and contemplated it. She brought it close
to her face. She stuck out her tongue and licked it.
Renoir's hand came to Melanie's and took the urethral suppository
from her fingers. A moment later Candy scampered back in from the
bedroom, carrying two large pillows. To Melanie's surprise, Renoir had her
lift each of her knees in turn, and put one of the big pillows underneath
each of her knees. Neither pillow was for her face! Kneeling on the
pillows, Melanie's bottom was now arched even higher into the air.
Melanie felt very open and vulnerable. Her knees were spread
provocatively wide, and she wondered what Renoir had done with the
urethral suppository she had so foolishly wet down for him.
"Take Melanie's hands and chain them to the front of the table,"
Renoir said to Candy. He made to chain Melanie's feet, then paused. He
looked up at Candy once more. "I expect you to obey this order," Renoir
said to Candy. The redhead meekly nodded her head. Her friend was
cooperating with Renoir now, so how could she refuse? Candy eyed the
whips and other flagellums hanging on the walls of the room as she went
to the front of the table. She saw that Melanie was gazing at the
flagellums too. She tried to catch Melanie's eye, but the blonde seemed
lost in a dream.
Candy chained Melanie's hands down much more loosely than she
knew Renoir would like. She just couldn't bring herself to bind her friend
fast, no matter what the consequences.
"Ooch, please not too tight sir," Melanie piped up. Renoir was
chaining off her ankles, and apparently doing a very good job of it. Had
Melanie only begged him to show mercy to arouse him further? In any
event, her imprecation did not seem to lessen the tightness of the first
chain upon her ankle. Still working at Melanie's wrists, Candy watched as
Renoir tied down Melanie's second ankle just as securely as he'd bound the
first.
Renoir made no effort to check Candy's handiwork when she told him
she had finished. Instead he ordered her to fetch a bottle of scent spray
from a lower shelf of the nightstand. She did, and he told her to stand
behind Melanie and squirt down her bare bottom with perfume. He,
meanwhile, would select an implement from the wall for Melanie's
punishment.
Candy stood behind the bottom of her fair friend. She aimed the
first squirt of the scent spray. She felt a bit angry at Melanie now. Her
friend was getting all the attention from Renoir, reducing Candy to a mere
servant! Candy aimed the scent spray right at the partially hidden dimple
of Melanie's anus.
Suddenly there was a knock on the playroom door. Renoir had not
bothered to lock the door after Candy went for the pillows. Candy turned
to look what was up, suddenly more aware than ever of her near total
nudity. The door swung open. A European woman stood in the doorway.
She looked fit and trim, like an aerobics instructor. She was over 30,
perhaps as old as 40.
Melanie, as if waking from sleep, lifted her head slightly and stared
behind her arched bottom in surprise. As the image of the woman
impacted itself more fully upon Melanie, she lifted her back until it was
almost vertical, raising up her head for an even better view of the woman.
Her hands, very loosely chained, moved easily across the table to support
herself. But her feet remained immobile, trapped at each corner at the
bottom of the table. Melanie's long, lustrous hair spilled down from her
head to splay across the table. From a corner of her mouth a bead of
saliva drooled.
Renoir was as surprised as his two young charges. He turned, cock
stiffly erect, one hand on a pony lash he'd just taken from the wall.
"Miriam!" Renoir gasped.
"I thought we had agreed not to exchange bodily fluids," Miriam said
stiffly to Renoir.
"Why, I wasn't-" Renoir began.
"You've been having whores here every night, haven't you?" Miriam
said accusingly.
"Well, now and then," Renoir lied.
"Excuse us, girls," Miriam said to the shocked Candy and Melanie.
"We're married, and we agreed with each other that we would not exchange
bodily fluids with others. At least, one of us agreed." Renoir gave an
audible gulp. "I'm sure you're delighted that your loving wife has come all
the way from France to pay you a visit," Miriam said to Renoir. As she
spoke she advanced on Melanie. Candy backed away, but Melanie couldn't
move, her ankles still being tied off to the table. Miriam lightly ran her
riding crop over Melanie's bare bottom. Melanie wanted to scream and
laugh at the same time. She was totally vulnerable, yet she was also
mooning this austere woman with her naked heinie. And the woman was
clearly jealous of her. Miriam gave Melanie's bottom a little tap with her
crop. "There's a masturbation party over at the Lesperance's," Miriam said
to Renoir. "For those of us who are socially correct in our sexual
appetites. I suggest you and your young charges join me there. I'll be
waiting for you in the living room." Miriam turned and left the room as
quickly as she had come in. Pointedly, she left the door open behind her.
"What's a masturbation party?" Candy and Melanie asked Renoir
almost in unison, as soon as Miriam had departed. Renoir put back his pony
lash and sullenly walked over to Melanie. With slow, certain hands he
began undoing Melanie's ankle chains. Candy, sensing an opportunity to
help her friend regain her freedom, went to the head of the table without
being told and began unraveling Melanie's wrist chains.
"A masturbation party is where we each masturbate ourselves,
watching each other, or masturbate each other. No fucking is allowed."
"Not even up the bottom?" Melanie asked, giving her own a wriggle.
Again Candy was shocked at Melanie's eagerness to "come on" to Renoir.
Perhaps this older man somehow fulfilled a need in Melanie to seduce her
own father, Candy thought.
"Not even up the bottom," Renoir said grudgingly. He freed the first
of Melanie's ankles and she happily kicked it up in the air. Before they left
the playroom Renoir made the girls take off the rest of their things. The
girls breathed a sigh of relief as he began their undressing by gently
taking off their nipple clamps. "Now you do the rest," Renoir said,
stepping back and lighting a cheroot.
"Even our heels?" Melanie asked meekly, as Candy shimmied self-
consciously out of her panties.
"Even your heels," Renoir replied, exhaling smoke. He was back in
command now, and clearly feeling as comfortable as before. He stood and
watched the girls' movements with eager eyes as they stripped off every
last stitch of clothing, including their stockings. The girls, for their part,
undressed with a mixture of seductivity and innocent apprehension. When
Renoir led them back down the hall the girls walked with shivering steps,
bottoms wiggling, fearful of what lay ahead. Each of them had their arms
crossed over their breasts.
Miriam was sipping a martini when Renoir and the girls re-entered
the living room. She regarded the girls with a mixture of matronly scorn
and erotic stimulation. "I have laid clothes out for the girls," Miriam told
Renoir. "Have them put them on." Candy and Melanie looked with surprise
at a number of items that had been lain on the couch. There were twin
camisoles, two pair of white mesh gloves, sheer white nylons with
garters to hold them up, and little white lace-up booties. The booties rose
to just above one's ankles, and were perched on six-inch heels. There was
also a broad ribbon for each girl, which they were told was for the
adornment of their necks. A golden brooch lay next to each ribbon, which
Miriam told each girl to fasten upon the ribbon, at her throat. In addition
there was a broad-brimmed straw hat for each girl, with a ribbon of its
own. Finally each girl had been provided with a parasol; in case, Miriam
said, they stayed the night at the party and wished to stroll the
Lesperance's gardens in the morning. Apparently Miriam was as worried
about melanoma as she was about AIDS. That both Candy and Melanie were
nicely tanned, with obvious white patches of skin where their bikinis had
covered their boobies and bottoms, seemed not to faze Miriam. As long as
they were in her care, apparently, there would be no more exposure to sun.
There was also a simple white shift for each girl, to put on when she
had finished dressing in the more intimate apparel. Miriam began their
change into the new outfits by relieving them of the beautiful earrings
Renoir had given them. The girls watched the earrings go with a great
deal of sadness. But their outlook improved when Renoir presented them
each with a new pair of earrings, chosen to match their new outfits. As
before, Renoir clipped the earrings through each girl's ears himself. Then,
at Miriam's command, the girls began helping each other into their new
apparel. When the girls were about dressed they realized there were
no panties. "Ma'am, where are our panties?" Candy asked Miriam. The
woman just smiled.
"Put on your shifts, girls," Miriam instructed. She said no more.
Meekly Candy and Melanie wiggled into their slips.
A limousine was waiting for the two couples down below. The girls
got quite a few looks as they passed through the hotel lobby, twirling
their parasols, wearing opaque chemises that tempted the viewer to peer
as intently as possible, hoping for a vision of what lay beneath. When all
four partiers were ensconced in the limo, the mood turned somber. Miriam
and Renoir had little to say to one another. In the years of their
relationship, they had grown to know each other's feelings without
speaking. The girls, forced to sit next to one another, not on either side of
Renoir as they had before, tried to remain on their best behavior. All knew
what delights lay ahead. The girls and Renoir had gotten not a little
aroused from their frivolity in the playroom. But Miriam's presence
prevented any shenanigans from taking place. Melanie felt like she was
riding in the family car on her way to church.
The Lesperance's had a small compound along the shore. It was a
structure, square in shape, of whitewashed masonry. Spotlights in the
yard highlighted the house and various monuments of shrubbery. The girls,
Renoir and Miriam were let out of the limo and escorted up the front steps
of the home. There a woman Miriam's age greeted them. Like Miriam, she
was dressed conservatively in evening wear.
Inside the home opened up into an extended entryway. The foursome
was led down this to a living room, where light-hearted merriment had
already begun. People, all still dressed, though some more provocatively
than others, were mixing. The girls soon found themselves being
introduced to a variety of people, many of whom they found delightful.
They remained a bit bashful, however, for it was quite obvious to everyone
that their chemises were exceedingly simple, too plain for partywear.
Obviously, they must have more enticing clothing on underneath. And with
the removal of their shifts, of course, the girls would be left standing
before their fellow guests without panties. Nonetheless, the girls kept up
their courage and paraded from guest to guest, chatting happily and
aimlessly twirling their little parasols. Every man, like Renoir, was
impeccably dressed in a tuxedo. It was the men who insisted on occupying
most of Candy and Melanie's time.
Suddenly the crowd quieted. Melanie could sense a change in the
mood of the people. She felt the partiers gathering around herself and
Melanie. Before she knew it they were completely surrounded by a wall of
admiring people. Miriam pushed through the crowd. She took each girl's
parasol from her hand and gave it to a man to hold. "You girls are our
newest friends, so you may begin the proceedings," Miriam said to Candy
and Melanie. With that she instructed Melanie to lift up her arms. Then,
taking Melanie's shift by the shoulders, she hoisted it up until it cleared
Melanie's hands. Melanie felt quite awkward as this happened, the shift
covering her face, while below her bare thighs were exposed, with her
pantiless bottom and pussy. Candy was next, and a moment later the girls'
parasols were returned to them. But the shifts were passed into the
crowd, and disappeared. Melanie searched the faces for Renoir, but he was
nowhere to be seen.
Miriam took Melanie's gloved hand and led her over to a sumptuous
couch. A little square of lace had been laid on the couch, and Miriam
seated Melanie on the lace. Candy was led over by a man, who seated her
also on a lace square on the couch. Miriam then loosened the ties of
Melanie's camisole at the top, where it covered her boobies. She worked
the camisole open until Melanie's breasts were fully exposed. At the base
of the camisole, it was still tied tightly across Melanie's tummy, just
above her navel. Miriam then loosened the Candy's camisole.
A woman stepped forward. She pointed to Candy. "I want her nude on
the bed," the woman said. Miriam nodded. She made Candy rise, and told
her she must not masturbate. Then Miriam ordered Melanie to begin
arousing herself.
Melanie looked up at the strange sea of faces. She sat before them,
breasts bared, pussy open between her spread thighs. How could she
possibly play with herself before these people? Miriam ordered her once
more to begin, and still Melanie just stared back at her, unmoving.
A riding crop was produced and placed in Miriam's hand. Melanie's
eyes bulged. She knew if she didn't start at the wicked task assigned her
Miriam would show no hesitation in beating her about the face and
shoulders with the crop until she obeyed. Tentatively, her teeth biting her
lower lip, Melanie drew a finger across her nipples. Miriam moved the
hand that held the crop. Melanie winced. She took her breasts in her hands
as best she could and squeezed them. She twiddled the nipples between
her fingers. She lowered her head and licked the nipples. Then she looked
up again, hoping that would be all that was required. It wasn't.
Melanie dropped a hand to her crotch. She traced the outline of her
pussy lips with her fingertips. Uneasily she snaked her fingers inside. It
felt odd, pleasuring herself with gloved hands, still wearing her little
booties, her stockings pulled tightly up her thighs and held in place by the
virgin white garters. Melanie steeled herself and worked at her pussy
more assiduously. Despite her recalcitrance, she felt the first wave of
cum-laden pleasure wash over her. With greater vigor, all under the
watchful eye of Miriam and the guests, she played with herself. A small
moan escaped her. Poor Candy! She was watching all this, knowing her
turn must come next!
30
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-END OF story EMISSION