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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Fifteen
With my accomplishments in the dungeon behind me, I returned to
Gretchen a new woman. Wearing the same yellow dress I'd left in, but
vastly more self-assured and daring, I smiled at her confidently as she
let me in. Melissa was there, playing improbably with blocks on a
carpet in the middle of the room.
"Silly girl! Are you regressing to infancy?" I asked smartly,
teasingly.
"She's been spanked and she's moping," Gretchen smiled. "Come
and tell me all about your adventure." She strolled into the kitchen and
I went with her, Melissa leaping up and scuttling in behind us so as not
to miss a word.
Gretchen poured us all hot coffee and I shared the details of my
adventure with her and Melissa. They sat, attentive, even the
experienced Gretchen appalled at what they did to my tits. Melissa
shivered frequently, though I doubt that it was entirely from terror.
She had her hands pressed tightly between her closed legs. Her knees
knocked together almost rhythmically at the mention of each lurid new
detail.
"Well, that certainly was quite a story!" Gretchen said when I
was done. She rose, and I rose, and then we both looked at Melissa.
Eyes wide, she peered up at us, and a guilty look spread over her
features. "Melissa! Were you frigging yourself while Barbi told her
story?" Gretchen asked reprovingly.
"N-Nooo," Melissa replied, wide-eyed, but her teeth were
chattering as she said it, with uncontrollable girlish lust. "Come then,"
Gretchen said, extending her hand. Wordlessly Melissa took it. She
stood up. Gretchen looked at me. "You come with me also, Barbi.
Telling such a naughty story as that! You should be ashamed to speak
such words!" With a rueful look on my face I followed her.
Gretchen led us upstairs and into her bedroom. It smelled fresh,
with a vase of daisies placed by the bedside. Gretchen ordered Melissa
and I to get naked and get in the bed. As we stripped off our clothes
she took hers off as well. Then Melissa and I turned back the bedcover,
exposing crisp white sheets that I knew would be damp before the sun
set. At the moment its rays streamed in the room, flooding it with
warm sunshine. Yet we were ordered to bed all the same. Sex in the
afternoon. It seemed especially naughty.
Melissa and I slipped between the sheets, not drawing them above
our thighs lest Gretchen scold us. We huddled together. Gretchen stood
looking at us for a moment, hands on her hips. Then she went to a
drawer and, her back turned to us, took something out. When she
returned to the bed, and got in it, I saw that she was bringing a riding
crop to bed.
"Now which of you do you girls think is the naughtiest?" Gretchen
asked sweetly, cuddling with us.
"Barbi."
"Melissa," I replied.
And I knew then that we were in for a unique afternoon, all by
ourselves in the bed. We kissed, little pecks at first, hesitant. Then,
growing bolder, our kisses became more passionate. We felt each other
freely. Then, mounting me atop Melissa, Gretchen began striking me
with the riding crop, giving my newly healed bottom fresh welts. I
screamed, I cried, but I never wavered in kissing Melissa, rubbing
myself furiously against her. I relished obeying. Even obeying a
mistress, I realized. I knew there would be many more adventures for
me in the days to come.
###
I was invited to a dinner, Gretchen said. Soon a limo pulled up out
front. It was empty inside, except for the driver. We drove towards
town. Sitting in the back, I tried the door once, at a stoplight. I found I
was locked inside.
We pulled up in front of a modest house. The driver let me out,
escorted me to the door. He rang the bell for me. A woman answered. I
smiled softly. I gave a little curtsey. I was dressed in a short skirt
and blouse, with white cotton panties. My frilly lace bra was just
visible through my blouse. I wore a bow-tie of ersatz formality around
my neck. Black, patent leather booties, matching the color of my tie,
encased my feet. They each had a shiny silver buckle along the side.
The woman returned my smile. She was business-like and
efficient. She was on lunch break, it seemed, between important
meetings. Or at least she was dressed that way. She wore a loose but
imposing mauve double-breasted jacket. It had fabric-covered buttons,
side pockets, shoulder pads. There seemed to be no blouse underneath.
From the bulge of her prominent bosom I guessed she might well have a
bra on, though, perhaps of black satin. Her straight skirt, dropping to
her knees, left her calves bare except for nylons. I thought perhaps
they might be held up by a garter belt, of black satin also. She turned
on the heel of her suede pumps and ushered me in.
I was met by a man in a tux. He indicated a chair to me, in the
living room, a chair where I could sit by myself. I took it gladly. He
sat on a settee with his wife. A servant came, a Spanish man, and
served us drinks. He left. My hosts chatted with me, asked me about
my life, shared with me some of theirs.
The man seemed in his forties, the woman was younger. But she
was elegantly mature. I hoped I might be like her someday. Confident,
self-assured. I fidgeted a bit, trying my best to be sophisticated and
well-mannered like she was.
The servant called that dinner was ready. We rose. Into the
dining room we went, then stopped. I found myself standing between
the man and his wife. Rebecca, I'd learned to call her. He was named
John. I felt their breath close. They were both taller than me. There
was a flash of silver and John snapped handcuffs on me, behind my back.
I started, gasped. I hadn't expected that.
Gazing at the lavish spread on the dinner table, I felt fingers
come to the buttons of my blouse, pop them open one by one. My blouse
was eased off my shoulders. There was a glint of steel. Scissors!
They were lifted to my bosom by the woman. She slid a point of the
sharp scissors underneath my bra. She clipped the center of my bra
open. The twin cups of my brassiere popped apart, my bosoms spilled
out.
John whistled softly. My nipples wriggled stiffly. Rebecca
smiled, hinted with the scissors that she would be happy to snip off my
nipples for me if I asked. I trembled.
With a flourish Rebecca plunged her scissors into my skirt's
waistband. I felt the cold steel against my belly. Rebecca cut my new
skirt right down the front. Shorn from me, it fell to the floor.
Obviously I would never wear that skirt again. Poor skirt. I'd liked it.
Only my panties remained. Must these, too, be lost to the
scissors?
"Certainly," was Rebecca's crisp reply. She relished cutting them
off me. Her wicked scissors were stuck right down the front of my
panties. She sliced them open.
I thought at least they'd let me keep my bow-tie on. I rather
fancied it. But they cut this off as well. Finally my shoes were
brutally attacked with the scissors. I stood there watching as Rebecca
did her best to cut them to pieces.
Still standing atop the remains of my heels, I shivered as Rebecca
and her husband admired my utterly naked body. The scissors, for the
moment at least, were at rest on the table nearby, shining maliciously
under the glittering light of an overhead chandelier.
"So precious, so flawless, so delicate," Rebecca cooed. She said
she liked the fact that I was almost without any suntan. She lifted
each of my nipples. Her husband frankly palmed my bottom.
A collar was secured around my throat. It had little points of
steel on it. Softly Rebecca said it was time for dinner.
I stepped forward, bare feet padding on the rug. I made for the
nearest chair. But Rebecca turned me aside.
"No, dear, your meal is here," she said. She pointed to a corner of
the room. There were two bowls on the floor there. One was for food,
the other held water. They were dogfood bowls.
I was forced to my knees. The servant came. He dumped a heaping
pile of turkey scraps, mixed with stuffing, into my bowl. Steam wafted
up from the food. At least it was hot. The toe of John's shoe kick-
prodded my bottom. I dropped my face to the bowl, my hair spilling all
around me, golden-blonde, radiant. Wordlessly I began to eat.
John and Rebecca settled into their chairs at the table. They
sipped red wine and Chablis as I lapped water from my doggie bowl.
They discussed politics, religion, the arts. Finally I asked if I could
have more food. I was still hungry. Gretchen hadn't given me breakfast.
"You will have to come and beg, like any pet would," Rebecca
replied. I kneed my way over to John, as I guessed was expected.
Solicitously I knelt at his feet, gazed up at him. He took his linen
napkin and wiped my chin, around my mouth, where the remains of my
bowl meal had accumulated. I begged for wine. He let me sip some
from his glass.
"I shall not just give you food for free," John told me then. If you
want to eat you must perform...services. Can you handle a zipper with
your teeth?" I knew his meaning then. Handcuffed, I crawled
awkwardly beneath the table. He opened his legs for me. With my
mouth open, I sought out the zipper on his pants with my tongue.
Finding it, I clasped it between my front teeth and pulled it down. His
dick popped right out. He wore no underpants.
My mouth agape, my head weaved about as I sought to catch the
plum of his penis. It must have taken only a moment, catching the head
of his waving, newly liberated dick with my mouth. But it was so
shameful, I felt so humiliated, that it seemed an eternity to me.
Finally I got hold of it with my lips. I sucked on it. Rebecca, sounding
like God somewhere above the table, warned me to only pleasure John,
not to make him come.
And how was I supposed to do that? I wondered. Maybe a woman
like her, who had doubtless given thousands of blowjobs, could judge
something like that. But me? This was almost my first, and I couldn't
even see John. I was wedged under the table, my hands cuffed. The only
thing I had to judge John's responsiveness with was my mouth! And, I
suppose, my ears, I was thinking, when a rather loud record was
abruptly put on. It was symphony music.
Struggling in the darkness beneath the table, I tried to please
John without making him too happy. I wished dearly I had some way of
knowing how he was feeling, responding. Young men could shoot in a
moment, without warning. Older men might take longer, but then again
perhaps not, depending on how excited they were by the girl. This I
knew just as a matter of common sense. And I knew that older men,
once they came, might take awhile to revive. Rebecca might be quite
pissed ifÑ
Ack! He was coming! Just like that! One moment I was
obediently slurping away, and suddenly a shower of semen flooded my
mouth. I drew back, instinctively, hoping somehow to avoid the
accident I'd just caused. Of course this let me get sprayed in the face,
and did nothing to undo my error.
Ow! A swift kick in my hiney. Rebecca's foot. "Get up!" she
ordered me. I obeyed at once, and hit my head on the underside of the
table. At last I kneed my way out from under the hanging lace
tablecloth. "Come over here!" Rebecca called.
I stood. Nakedly I walked over to where Rebecca sat in her chair
at the table. My hair tumbled over my shoulders, luxuriant but
bedraggled. A bit bedraggled. With stringy semen laced in it here and
there. The white stuff was all over my lips, on the tip of my nose. My
eyes were downcast. My body was pinkly white in the light of the
chandelier.
"You couldn't resist getting a mouthful of my husband's sperm,
could you?" Rebecca asked me harshly.
"No mistress," I replied. I thought it best not to call her by her
first name any more. She didn't seem to want to be on familiar terms.
"We shall have to entertain John, the two of us, if he is to get it
up again," Rebecca said to me. I trembled before her in her mauve
business suit. "He likes to see girls abused. Sexually abused, of course.
You are lucky you have the body for it." Rebecca made to rise. I was
frightened. I grasped at straws in my defense.
"Ma'am, mistress, I'm still hungry," I said in a pleading voice. I
did not wish for dinner to be over. Dinner was safety. What happened
afterward promised to be the scary part.
"Of course, dear," Mistress said, subsiding once more in her chair,
reluctant but intrigued. She opened her jacket, flicking the buttons one
by one with her long manicured nails. I stood, watching curiously,
expectantly. Rebecca pulled apart the halves of her suitcoat. A pair of
breathtaking breasts wobbled into view. They were perched atop a
tight corset. It failed utterly to contain them, pressing against the
undersides but leaving the nipples free, doing little more than lifting
her breasts and offering them like ripe fruit.
Rebecca grasped me by the back of the hair and pushed my head
down to her closest tit. "Suck," she commanded. With hesitant little
licks of my tongue I tested the resiliency of her nipple. It wiggled
playfully. "Suck it, I said!" Rebecca snapped. Fearfully I drew as much
of her teat into my mouth as I could and fed upon it. There was no milk,
of course, it was only pretend food.
"Such a sweet little mouth," Rebecca said, after awhile, and began
stroking my hair. I felt comforted. With her help I sought her other
breast, toyed with its nipple, suckled, nourished myself upon it.
When I'd fed from both breasts Rebecca allowed me to lift my
face. She licked the sperm from around my mouth. Only a little
remained. Most had gotten on her breasts and been licked off by me.
I wondered what someone would have thought if they'd walked in
just then. Rebecca, the successful business woman, with her jacket
open, her titties exposed, a young girl standing obediently and quite
nakedly beside her. My face sticky with sperm, her breasts wet with
my saliva. Would John rise, introduce himself to our visitor? Would he
zip up his fly before he did, or would he leave his sausage hanging out,
still large in its limpness. Would he speak quietly with the guest,
stiffening slowly? Male or female, it might not matter, especially if
they were young. He might pork either sex, I thought, just like
Gretchen's husband. Would the young woman, a secretary perhaps, try
to retain her composure? Would a male, an assistant maybe, mention
the member?
"Sir, you seem to be sexually excited. May I help you with that?"
my imaginary visitor asks. Or perhaps the visitor is older, and quite
shocked. Would Rebecca suffer repercussions in the business world?
Then again, was she a businesswoman at all? Perhaps she was just a
wife, playing a role.
"But you will not escape your punishment," Rebecca was saying to
me as my mind returned to the present. "There are many wicked
delights waiting for you, my dear, and you are going to boldly enjoy
them. I will not let you hesitate or hang back. No, we are going to see
just what this lithe little body of yours can take!"
She stood up then, cast off her jacket, reached behind herself and
summarily unzipped her skirt. It fell to the floor, revealing a proudly
displayed public mound, framed by the garters of her corset. They kept
her nylons tight, thigh-high nylons that I knew she didn't want to get
any runs in. I suspected she would be most delicate with herself, while
forcing me to undergo the most nasty torments.
Bravely I let them lead me into their bedroom. With a dismayed
gasp I saw it was "ready for business." The bed had straps hanging
above it, for reluctant arms and legs. Upon it lay a riding crop, and
beside the bed, quite matter-of-factly, were salves and unguents and
pots of cream to soothe abraded skin. A gag was looped casually around
one of the bedposts, untied, waiting. A blindfold lay nearby, upon the
pillow. A mirror, turned inward, reflected all the activities that might
take place upon the bed back toward its occupants, such as they may be.
In a corner there was a rocking horse, perhaps a treat for little
girls. On the wall, beside it, a pony lash hung from a nail. A hole in the
handle let it hang whip downward. Did I see the tip twitch expectantly
when I entered the room?
An ostrich feather stood among the perfumed vials on the
nightstand. I wondered if other girls had been tickled by its tip, their
cunnies moistening pleasantly as Rebecca or John invaded their most
intimate parts. Unlike the business meeting, with its insistence on
modesty and decorum, this was a place where modesty was banished.
Penises were required to be erect, nipples to be rigid. Private parts
were not hidden but totally, mercilessly exposed.
The bed was rather high. There was a helpful staircase of little
wooden steps beside it. They had placed the little stairs before the
inward turning mirror, so that anyone walking up them would have her
bottom reflected even as she displayed her nudity in front.
I walked to the steps, graceful in my stride. I did not have to be
told. I knew what was expected of me. Giving my long hair a casual
toss, I regarded the steps. Then I mounted them. I stepped mincingly
up them, suddenly hesitant. Upon closer inspection the bed seemed to
loom before me as a kind of platform for sex, a sacrificial altar, even.
Rebecca had said she would show no mercy with regard to my
denouement.
Childlike I stood upon the bed, my feet sinking into the mattress.
My bottom seemed to loom larger as a result, my heels negatively
inclined, pressing down into the mattress more than my toes. My legs
were awkward, attractive in their awkwardness.
Innocent in my appearance I watched, wide-eyed, as Rebecca
advanced upon me. She had donned soft leather gloves. In her hands she
held a long white rope. Turning slightly, I gave Rebecca my wrists.
There was no hope of refusal. Frankly Rebecca bound my wrists, then
flung the rope over a beam high above the bed. She pulled the rope down
on the other side of the beam, yanking my arms skyward. I gasped. My
big breasts bounced on my chest. She pulled hard, again, nearly
wrenching my arms out of their sockets. Then she tied the rope off to
the black rail that formed the bed's headboard. Uncomfortably I
realized I had a sudden need to pee. The wine had found my bladder.
Dared I ask? I looked back over my shoulder, to where Rebecca had
retreated to. She was helping John out of his clothing. He was husky,
hard-bodied, unique for a man over 40. I saw that his cock had
stiffened. Not completely, for that might have saved me from
punishment. But pleasantly, as if to say, "I'll get fully erect when the
mood moves me." He was in no hurry. We were utterly at his disposal.
He had no reason for urgency.
I was the living centerpiece in a room specially furnished for sex,
I realized, and nothing else. This bed hadn't been purchased for sleeping
in. Ever. Beneath my feet, below the sheet, I felt the crinkle of plastic.
A covering to protect the mattress from all the bodily fluids that
would no doubt be spilled. This was a room for activity! A playpen,
playground, for adults. I wondered how often cocks were freed in here,
only to be titillated and thrust within clenching orifices. Squeezed dry
by female slaves. Or perhaps, sometimes, the males were the slaves,
their balls and dicks required to serve female predilections. I
remembered the book they'd shown me at the other dinner party.
Shocking things indeed could be done in the name of sex, to both sexes.
I'd been spared many of them so far, but Rebecca, sensing this (perhaps
even being told it by Gretchen) seemed determined to make me breach
new boundaries. She strode up to me again, placed a gloved hand on my
bare hip. Softly she caressed my heinie. The leather felt smart,
civilized, against my saucily nude rump. In her other hand she held a
riding crop, picked up from the bed. She seemed to hesitate though,
lingering over me, as if not wanting to damage such a fine specimen.
Realizing perhaps at last that she only had me for the night (I
learned of this proviso later), Rebecca stepped back. She drew the
length of the leather crop across her palm. She sized up my bottom.
"Please, mistress, not too hard," I begged. My voice was soft,
lilting. A wicked grin spread across her face. Her bosoms brooded
above her corset, plump and white and lovely.
"It shall be exceedingly hard, dear," Rebecca replied. "Most
painful. You will relish each crisp stroke as I know you can, if only you
try. Each will be delivered with consummate skill, if I can manage it,
to bring out a sweet, exquisite cry from your little throat. And when I
am done you will have the most beautifully striped bottom of any girl
in London. You will be able to show it off at parties, and people will
say, "My, she's had a lot! She was a good girl, to let herself in for such
a punishment." Because you have, haven't you, dear? I mean of course
if I untied you now you'd leave, your bottom cheeks huddling thankfully
as you scurried out the door, but you aren't exactly staying in a convent
with Gretchen, are you?
Oh, you're going to be so aware of your bottom in the days to
come, thinking of it every minute! How naughty to want to think of your
bottom all the time. But it will be so sore, deliciously sensitive. You'll
have to sit down very gingerly at dinner, Robert will get hard just
watching you. And that's what you want, isn't it, you little tart? You
want to be the very picture of feminine delicacy, with even a delicate
ass!"
She struck me then, a bright, blazing brand of the crop right
across the summit of my bottomcheeks, and I cried aloud.
"Yes, dear, shout and scream all you like. No one can hear. Your
naughtiness in wanting your bottom sensitized is private now, though
later you will hardly be able to keep it so. If you go out to a restaurant,
people will whisper as they watch you flinch sitting down. You'll have
to request a cushion, too. Imagine that! "Please, Mr. Maitre d', may I
have a soft pillow to sit on? I have a very sore bottom right now."
"If you go to the pool, in a fashionable thong swimsuit, there will
be no hiding it. People will remark to each other as they watch you
wriggle by. You might meet someone in a poolside bar, chat awhile,
then turn around. Oh, my! Imagine their shock when they see your
stripes. And imagine the temptation too. They'll want to add some of
their own. "This girl is incredibly sexy," a man will think as you
deliberately show him your bottom, in the seemingly innocent act of
turning around. "Wow! I must have her!"
She hit me again, and I hollered. My lungs expelled air, refilled. I
danced upon the sheet, lifting one leg, the other, trying to cast off the
pain. "How skittish you are!" Rebecca said, watching me in my nudity as
I leapt about. I was heedless of how the lifting of my legs exposed the
pouch of my cunt. "You want the marks but not the pain, don't you,
dear? Like wanting a baby without childbirth. I'm afraid it's not
possible." She struck me again. The crop seemed to sweep up, lifting
my bottom. I saw John in a mirror, stroking himself. I was on display,
a sexual mannikin. The model every man dreamed of: gorgeous,
stripped naked, existing only for his sexual pleasure. And when he was
through he would dispose of me, sending me back to Gretchen, thinking
of me no more.
WHACK! "Yeeeoch!" I wept at the laying on of this latest strike,
the tears flying from my face. Not crying, really, not yet. That would
come later; instead the tears seemed simply to be popped right out of
my eyes, like the erect nipples popping up from my breasts.
WHACK! WHACK! Two more burning strokes, placed neatly
between those that had been laid on before. She was skilled in the art
of it, that was for sure.
She let me feel the heat of it then, the heat suffusing my bottom.
Rebecca strolled over to John. She put down her crop and felt his
genitalia with her gloved hands. Clinically, like a nurse. He seemed but
a boy in her hands. Not by his size, certainly, which was overwhelming
in the fullness of its erection, but by his demeanor. He stood looking
down at himself, hands dropped to his sides, as she squeezed and palped
and felt him. I stood watching through the mirror, my bottom a ripened
tomato, radiating heat. A heat-seeking missile would have found me
and shot right up my ass. When at last my squirmings subsided (I
forced myself to stop dancing at last, wanting to appear ladylike), I
stood with my bare feet solidly planted upon the bed. Tears ran
silently down my cheeks. I was crying now, partly from pain, partly
from humiliation. Yet I seemed to hunger for humiliation, I told myself,
from that finger-wagging part of the brain that holds the conscience.
There was no hurry in the matter of John's upcoming ejaculation.
And there was no hurry in my punishment, either. Rebecca seemed to
want me to enjoy every minute of it. A little later, with John
trembling on the brink but not quite lost, his penis quavering, she
returned to me. She used a paddle next, swatting me hard, crushing my
bottomcheeks with the inswiping leather. It was a ping-pong paddle,
small, easily handled, covered in smooth rawhide.
SPLAT! She did not wish to mark me any more with specific
stripes, but rather to impart a generalized stinging to my bottom.
Every inch of my naughty ass must be made to burn. I high-stepped in
place upon the bed, lifting my knees now, seeming to march. I was not
quite the skittering nude of before. My suffering had become somewhat
routinized. I was tiring. She would strike me and I would lift a knee. I
must have marched half a mile before she finally tossed away the
paddle. She was careless, carefree, the exact opposite of me. I was a
tormented soul, all too mindful of my sin. She was a free spirit. Ariel
and Caliban.
John received Rebecca's mouth around his penis this time. She
sucked him dreamily, worshipfully, a divine aristocratic goddess
submitting herself willingly to the male organ. I yearned to be in her
place. Let her take mine! She could have his penis always. I could only
have him tonight.
"Please, mistress, I have to pee," I called out. I was a child in the
third grade. Her lovely mane of hair just kept bobbing, sucking. "Oooh, I
have to pee so badly!" I said. She ignored me. John looked up once,
smiled, said nothing.
I think my asking to relieve myself only worsened my position.
As I bulged within, feeling my need ever more keenly, Rebecca remained
unflappable. She sucked steadily. John groaned, thrust his hips
forward, but held himself. A man does not reach 40, in the great shape
he was in, without learning to discipline himself.
Much later, hours perhaps (or so it seemed, I'd gone dizzy with my
overwhelming urge to pee), Rebecca stood. She let go of John's organ,
revealing a saliva-coated piston of muscle. It throbbed mightily. He
jerked his hips, poking at the air, moaning. Yet he controlled himself.
There was no emission, had been none.
I was not so well trained. As Rebecca advanced upon me I
suddenly, sickeningly, felt urine run down my thighs. I was peeing on
the bed! Mortified, I gazed at Rebecca, all a-tremble with the
shuddering release of my urine. I tried to stop it, couldn't. Rebecca
came up next to me and placed a gloved hand in the small of my back,
stroked me there. I shivered and peed even more enthusiastically.
"Yes, dear, there's no point in stopping it now. You've messed your
bed already," Rebecca said. The relief I felt was overwhelming as my
bladder emptied. For a moment I forgot even the burning of my bottom!
"Of course, you will have to be punished most severely for this,"
Rebecca added. "And before you go home I'll make you wash the sheets
by hand. Somehow this last sentence relieved me. At least I knew
there'd be something left of me after this night was over!
Rebecca pulled off her gloves. Taking a perfumed phial from the
nightstand, Rebecca poured a stinging alcoholic solution over my
bottom. "Yeech!" I squawked. Her long, red-painted fingernails glinted
sharply in the light. With her palm she cupped my cheeks, each in turn.
She rubbed the scented oil into my scorched assflesh. I wriggled,
settled finally in her palm. She swept a finger up my bottomcrack,
sought my rose. I jerked suddenly as she sought within. Her nail
pricked me there. She laughed, sultry, husky, her big boobs juddering
atop her corset.
"I wish to do more to you than this room can afford," Rebecca told
me. "We shall go downtown and rent a dungeon for several hours." I
looked at her, shocked. "Don't worry, the ones on 9th street are
designed to offer complete privacy. Unless, that is, you'd rather be
watched?"
"I just want to go home," I said unconvincingly, though my voice
did have a very pleading tone to it. In the mirror John's cock stood out
from his hips, beckoning. I was hot, aroused. I knew I could not go back
from this state, only forward. Like when I was a girl in bed,
masturbating "just a little," until the rising ardor overwhelmed me and
I rubbed myself to frenzied orgasm.
Rebecca untied me. I rubbed my arms. The joints ached. They had
gone to sleep, strung up like they'd been. Carefully I made my way down
the steps from the bed. My head was addled, my bottom so very sore. I
could only think of John's cock, my desire for it.
Underpants. Rebecca handed John a white cotton pair of Jockey's.
Anything in the skimpy nylon variety would have been impossible to
wear. Eyeing his cock, Rebecca ordered John to stuff himself into the
Jockey's, somehow. "We are going downtown," she said. "You must
dress." Woefully John looked at her. Was he enjoying this? Had it all
been agreed to beforehand? Or did he just let her lead sometimes,
wherever she might? Couples, their relationships, were still an
unknown thing to me.
As John struggled into his shorts, Rebecca handed me panties.
They were teensy. They would fit very snugly upon my burning ass, I
knew, accentuating my hurt. "Put these on," Rebecca said. "You and I
will wear fur coats. Yours, perhaps for the best, only goes as far as the
waist." I spied a short mink coat hanging in an open clothes closet,
next to a full-length one. "But I cannot have you waggling your bare ass
around on the streets of London, much as you might like to. You must
wear panties at least."
"But," I protested, eyeing the panties ruefully. I didn't want
anything touching my flaming ass.
"This is a civilized country, not Africa, or Argentina, or
wherever you're from," Rebecca said. She gave me a scornful look.
Gingerly I put on the panties, drawing them up my legs, crying out as
they touched my scorched bottom. "Pull them up properly!" Rebecca
said. I'd tried to only cover myself a little with them. She yanked them
up so that they molded themselves completely to my fanny. I whistled
through parted lips at the pain, gave a little sob. "There. You'll keep
those on until I tell you to take them off!" Rebecca said. She went to a
closet, returned with a fur wrap. Gratefully I put it on. My nipples felt
warm and comforted inside it as I closed it around me. But it only just
grazed my bottom. My outswelling asscheeks, properly pantied now,
remained fully exposed. Below that stretched my bare legs. Rebecca
gave me boots and as she held them for me I stepped into them. They
came up to my knees. They were of fine black leather. Then she gave
me fur mittens, and I put these on and drew the hood of my cloak up
over my head. I felt strange, clothed and unclothed. I looked at myself
in the mirror. I postured, just a little, posing myself in my new attire.
Rebecca donned a coat, mittens, and boots. Her coat closed over
her bare legs. They remained sheathed in stockings, secured by tightly
fastened garters. Unlike me, she wore no panties. Rebecca wet a linen
handkerchief and wiped the insides of my thighs. "There," she said. "It
wouldn't do for you to arrive smelling of pee." She touched up my
makeup for me and then did her own, quickly, before the mirror. Behind
us John dressed most reluctantly in a tuxedo. He would be our
chaperone, our guide. Only in the dungeon would it be revealed that he
was really just Rebecca's pet.
At last John regained his manly composure. His face was still
flushed, though. There was a lump in the groin of his expensive
trousers. From his face you could see that he ached, for what? one
might ask. Only we knew the truth, though others might guess. He
yearned to ejaculate, to spill his seed immediately, at once, in his
pants if allowed to. Yet he contained himself, struggled down his need.
Commandingly he beckoned us. "We shall to the limo!" he said in clipped
British.
With quick steps we hurried across the sidewalk upon our arrival
in town. Pedestrians turned, looked. This section of the street was
dimly lit but there was no denying the flashing of my bare white legs.
No doubt they thought me a specially expensive whore. John strode
with all the authority of a british gentleman, though ladies might have
detected an awkwardness in his stride. Rebecca did not want to make
too much of a scene, though she delighted in my embarrassment. Into a
modest brownstone we dashed, leaving the spectators behind.
The quaint interior, with a narrow hall and victorian lamps,
belied the true purpose of this building. We were met by an Asian
woman. She was lovely, her hair piled loosely atop her head, golden
hoop earrings dangling from her ears. She wore a long flowing dress,
modestly covering whatever she might have on beneath.
The Asian mistress of the building saw our need and hurried us to
a room. We walked past doors within which I could only guess what
obscenities were transpiring. Arriving at our own chamber, she
unlocked its heavy wooden door, pulled it open with some effort.
"Candles or electric?" the Asian asked sweetly.
"You can just flip on the lights, we aren't feeling terribly
romantic this evening," Rebecca said. Indeed not. On the trip into town
she had put me over her knee, to keep my bottom warm, as she said, and
spanked me. The Asian saw my tear-stained cheeks and smiled. My
walk was not the most graceful, though I tried to make it so. Bottom
wiggling, I stepped with Rebecca and John into our new abode.
For a moment I stood in shocked silence as I saw what awaited
me. Exercise machines, modified, waited to receive my little body,
with straps to tie me down. It seemed I could be transfixed into all
sorts of positions. The room was pure wickedness. There was, indeed,
no romance here.
"May I take your coat?" the Asian woman asked me brightly. I
stood unsure, unsteady. Assuming the initiative she drew my coat off
me, standing behind me, and my boobs spilled nakedly into view. My
titties were as stiffly pointed as ever, excited with the dread of my
new surroundings.
Her own sharp tips upstanding, Rebecca let John take off her coat.
John and the Asian hung our coats in closet. It was a big, walk-in
closet, running the entire length of one side of the room. Obviously,
this room had not always been for sex play. At one time the closet had
no doubt held an entire wardrobe, but now it was mostly bare. Sex
partiers had taken over what, I guessed, must once have been an
apartment for a dignified English lady, a spinster perhaps, with racks
and racks of dowdy dresses. Or a gentleman maybe, with endless
varieties of dull dark suits, all lined up in the closet like soldiers.
Rebecca ordered me to keep my boots on but take my panties off.
I whisked them down off my blazing posterior, like some child eager to
jump into her bath. But I had to bend and struggle to get them over the
tops of my boots. It felt silly, sinful, taking off my panties but leaving
my shoes on. When I'd got the panties off me, dropping them to the
floor, I stood and stretched impulsively. I still had my mittens at
least. Sheathed in them, and in my boots, I felt curiously exposed, more
naked than if I'd not been wearing anything.
And this was not the place to be naked, that was for sure, from
the looks of the equipment they'd installed in here. I shrank back
suddenly, feeling very vulnerable. John reached out and grabbed me by
the arm.
"And just where might you be going, in the altogether?" the Asian
asked me sweetly. "Would you like to inspect our other rooms also?"
"N-No," I replied.
"She is such a darling little toy, one of the prettiest I've ever
seen brought in," the Asian said, complimenting me to Rebecca. "And I
see she's not above being a little naughty," she added with a glance at
my reddened bottom. "Just call for refreshments when you desire them.
We aim to please in all aspects. If you should require sleep there are
beds upstairs, where you can snuggle up with others or enjoy a room by
yourselves."
"You are so very helpful," Rebecca replied courteously. And then I
seemed to sense a flashing between their eyes, a quickening passion.
They were birds of a feather, those two, and suddenly they wished to
flock together.
"May I play with you?" the Asian asked Rebecca. She seemed to
reach back for the zipper of her dress even as she spoke, as if
permission had already been given, silently.
"Please do," Rebecca replied. "I need all the help I can get with
this little dickens." She gave me a meaningful glance. I felt small and
vulnerable. Not one mistress, but TWO? The thought was unbearable.
And a master to boot!
The Asian's dress dropped to her ankles. She stepped out of it, in
naught but a garter belt and stockings. They were black, fishnet, and I
realized for the first time that the flowing sleeves of her gown had
modestly concealed fishnet mittens on her hands. They were
fingerless, which is why I hadn't noticed them before. Thrust through
her garter belt, ready for use, was a short-tailed, short-handled pony
whip. It was tilted at a jaunty angle.
John disrobed quickly, eager to get his cock free of his clothes.
The women stood admiring him, along with myself, as he undressed.
Before we could even help him he was already naked. We closed in on
him, our hands eagerly seeking his febrile rod, his taut balls, his tight
ass. For a moment John stood there just relishing our attention, letting
his head tilt back. Then he lifted his hands and palmed our bottoms. I
had to squirm out of the way of his roving hand. My bottom was too
sensitive. We introduced ourselves to each other, standing there,
enjoying the closeness.
"You have made Barbi marvelously aware of her bottom," the
Asian, Danielle, said to Rebecca and John. "But what about her
nipples?" I shuddered. "I have little clamps, with bells. May I put them
on her?"
"Why not?" Rebecca replied.
A moment later I stood watching with great trepidation as
Danielle lifted a small clamp to my nipple. My buds were already
sticking out, deliciously stiff, but Danielle tickled them up anyway, her
fingertips light, feathery. Then she squeezed the peak of my right
breast, extruding the tip through her clamping fingers. I winced, cried
out. A moment later and a bell was affixed to the tip of my tit.
Danielle decorated my other nipple with a twin of the first device.
The ornaments weighted my uptilted breasts, pulling on them, yet
my bust remained as out-thrust as ever, the fleshy spheres jutting
forth. I drew in my breath deeply, glad at least that I'd survived this
latest torment, and the bells tinkled softly. I looked down at them,
surprised. My hosts laughed quietly. I shook myself, trying to shake
them loose, but they remained firmly upon my teats.
"I think we have our own cow, dear, and I don't doubt she'd like to
milk you," Rebecca said merrily to John.
"Now she is even a sweeter ornament than before," Danielle
smiled.
I did not know quite what to do with myself. My every movement
made my titties ring as if they were welcoming Christmas, or New
Year's. "She shall ring quite loudly when we whip her, I'll bet!" Rebecca
said. I shivered, sending the bells pealing forth again. "Come, dear,"
Danielle said, a welcoming smile pasted on her lips. "I think its time
we introduced the machines to your cunt!"
I allowed myself to be drawn foot-draggingly towards the closest
machine. It had a small saddle for a seat. Drilled through it, both near
the front and the back, were two holes, penis-sized. Danielle plopped
me down on the saddle and I saw, fearfully, that I was ideally
positioned to receive something through those holes right up my pussy
and ass!
"There was a girl who, when she delivered her first baby, had her
pelvic bone split apart by the baby's head," Danielle cooed. She drew my
thighs gently apart. Jutting out along either side of my saddle were
twin horizontal posts, covered in leather. When my thighs were quite
wide Danielle hoisted each of them, in turn, over one of the posts.
Reaching under the post, she drew a strap over each of my white thighs
and buckled it securely. I gazed down at myself, spread-legged, but
with my knees still bent and my feet hanging towards the floor, no
longer able to touch it. I felt like a little girl sitting in a chair that
was too big for her, feet dangling idly, aimlessly.
"I always thought it was such a shame for that girl to go through
such pain, such misery, with her childbirth, when a goodly amount of
fucking beforehand would have opened her right up. That's why my
dungeon is well equipped with big dildoes, to get a girl opened up
properly so she can have a very easy childbirth. I hear you were
pregnant for a little while, hmmm?" Danielle asked me with glowing
eyes. I gulped, nodded. "But I'm told that you're still very tight,"
Danielle said. She wet her finger in her mouth and inserted it with
clinical detachment right into my dell. I shifted uneasily, felt flames
lick up my injured bottom cheeks and squirmed even more.
Danielle fitted a dog's collar around my neck and drew me back.
Somewhere behind me she found something to fasten it to. I could no
longer move my head. I could only swivel it back and forth like some
bodiless creature whose head was kept in a box. Below the collar,
beneath my softly tinkling boobies the swell of my flat tummy curved
outward. My back was arched, offering my belly, as if it were begging
to be swollen with a man's impregnating seed.
"You won't be so tight after this, darling," Rebecca said to me
solicitously, patting my stomach. It hollowed with each of my indrawn
breaths, letting my ribs show. "Ah, how I'd love to see you with a big
belly, nine month's pregnant, with your tits swollen, ready to give
milk!" Rebecca added.
Danielle, who had slipped off for a moment, reappeared with a
silver serving tray. On it stood a range of dildos, like mighty missiles,
and to my shock and horror I saw that the biggest among them were as
huge as deli sausages! "It's for your own good, darling," Danielle
assured my stricken eyes. Delicately she set down the tray. "Do you
wish her opened both fore and aft?" she asked Rebecca.
"Why yes, some men are probably too big for her bottom right now.
What a shame that the very finest men should be denied any part of her
lovely body. She must be able to receive everyone," Rebecca said.
Carefully she was stroking John's penis, not wishing to make him come
but obviously preparing him for some impending duty. An
uncontrollable tremor washed over me, jangling the bells on my
breasts, sending shivers of pain through my scorched bottom.
"John," Danielle said sweetly, turning to him, her eyes admiring
his fine erection. "Barbi must be lubricated. I think you can fit in her
in front. Would you be so kind as to fuck her until you spend, so that I
have a nice juicy twat to work in?" Poor John, who had been fighting
back a release of his sperm since the bedroom, walked quickly over to
where I sat. Without even acknowledging me, he seized my thighs with
his hands. Brandishing his penis as if it were a spear, he thrust it
boldly up me.
I yelped, nearly split apart by the sudden intrusion. John rodded
me as if I were some inflated doll. With glistening eyes I looked up at
him, hoping to find some tenderness in his face, some appreciation of
all I was offering him. My boobs, sexily clamped, my slim, concave
belly, my girlishly narrow hips, my tight twat. But, sadly, he treated
me as if I were just his latest fuck, one girl among a whole line of
girls over the years that his wife had provided for his pleasure...and her
own. I was furniture, like the stool on which I sat, nothing more.
Wincing at my tightness, he nonetheless got himself fully up me,
needing only several preliminary, probing strokes to do it. They were
hot strokes, lusty, borne solely of his need. Deeply he burrowed into
me. And then, quickly, he came. His seed flooded my womb. He held
himself within me for a moment, relief showing on his features. He
flexed his hips, making sure he'd gotten every drop of boiling sperm out
of his desperate cock. Then, deflating, he withdrew himself. I hoped
for a kiss but he turned away.
"Poor girl, you didn't have much of an orgasm, did you?" Danielle
asked me mischievously, patting my head. Like some swimmer gasping
for breath my open cunt gaped, unsatisfied. My eyes, wide, hopeful,
gazed back at her. She knew I could not deny her dildoes now. I needed
them. I had to have them. Even if they seemed big enough to split me in
two.
Selecting one of the larger members, though, thankfully, not the
biggest (not yet!), Danielle spread the lips of my twat. Rebecca stroked
my hair and uttered soothing, nonsense words.
"There, there, baby, you're about to receive your first one,"
Rebecca whispered, as if consoling a virgin on the bridal bed. Danielle
managed to lodge the head of the big thing within me. Then she began
pushing, mercilessly. Wordlessly, mouth agape, I screamed silently as
the giant organ made its way up my tight passage. I felt like Tarzan
himself or, worse, one of his Apes was fucking me. Danielle twirled
the dildo, drilling me with it. Coaxingly Rebecca put both her hands to
my pussy and pulled me wider. Danielle pushed. Hard. Women are
always unsympathetic, IÕve found, to other females, despite their many
utterances of Òpoor babyÓ and Òlet me kiss it for you.Ó The words are
almost taunts, it seems, given how little pity they show when actually
inflicting the pain or watching it inflicted.
Rebecca ran her hands over me, as if assessing my physical well-
being. She slid her hands along the insides of my thighs. My legs were
fixed in place but she stretched my smooth, soft skin with the flat of
her palms, as if dragging her hands over my sleek body would open me
more.
The thing was jammed up higher. I bucked in my straps, wishing I
could dislodge the sturdy intruder. But the ladies weren't about to see
me walk around in the dungeon with a pussy tighter than theirs was, I
told myself. Danielle pulled back a little, to my vast relief, then began
hammering at me as if drilling the street with a jackhammer.
ÒAack!Ó I cried, tears springing from my eyes, streaming down my
cheeks. All my little girl fantasies about being fucked by huge men
with giant pricks, men youÕd see alongside the cement walk with
hardhats on and mustaches...it was all coming true at the determined
hands of two ladies! Were they trying to ruin me? Destroy me? Was
my cunt to be turned into a giant tunnel for the Tokyo subway to glide
through? Yet nature kept me from pleading for mercy, washing me
again and again with waves of pleasure. Bouncing, bucking in my little
saddle, I unwittingly played jingle bells on my boobies.
To my horror the ladies found themselves so stimulated by my
ordeal that they began masturbating. Danielle tucked a finger within
the lips of her cunt and began rubbing herself, even as she continued to
impale me on her hand-held sausage. Unlovingly Rebecca gripped my
breasts, stilling their music so she could squeeze and palp them with
selfish, sex-crazed hands. Danielle ran her tongue over her lips. She
looked intense now, self-absorbed, hardly thinking of me as she
concentrated on her own pleasure. I was merely an object for their own
delight. I mattered not, only the pleasure in their cunts mattered now.
Rebecca pulled my chin back and welded her lips to mine. My eyes
gazed up at the ceiling, glazed, unseeing. There was only the physical
world now, no thoughts or ideas, no emotions save those teetering back
and forth between pain and pleasure, need and greater need.
I swooned, I passed out. All was darkness, sweet darkness, my
snatch spread as wide as possible, a phallus filling me, breaking me
open. My tits squeezed, nipples endlessly sucked by clamping infant
mouths of steel. Amidst the aroma of love I passed away to a softer,
kinder, unknowing world, a place of regained childhood innocence, of
night.
Later I felt them lifting me. I did not open my eyes. Mercifully
the jangling bells were removed from my boobs. Someone carried me.
Someone with strong, manly hands. A bed received me and I slept.
30
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