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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Eighteen
I thought then that Tiffany would do something awful with me. But
instead for the next hour or so we played about the hot tub or soaked in it.
Two men petted my breasts at once, milked them rather rudely I would
say, squeezing and sucking on them Ôtil they hurt. I actually worried that
my titties might sag when they were finally done with them. Standing
later, stark naked, before the flight kitchenÕs mirror, I leapt lightly up and
down, checking the resiliency of my boobies. Tiffany swept into the
kitchen, told me I looked as lovely as ever, and told me to get dressed too,
for she and all the other girls had long since gotten dressed. TheyÕd
bundled themselves back into their flight jackets as soon as theyÕd left
the dungeon, but I hadnÕt been able to find my black leather dress. Out of
spite, sexual tension, and perhaps a little mischievousness IÕd wandered
out of the dungeon naked, sucking one of my fingers. Not quite a thumb-
sucking baby, but looking pretty nearly so. By now the men were all
totally spent, even the two that had so lustily sucked at my titties,
finally making me waste them with my fast-rubbing hands. So I just
flirted around the planeÕs cabin as it made its approach, relishing my still
lingering sexuality in the presence of so many manly, yet suddenly unvirile
men. They groaned as I gave their loins one last pat, begging me to favor
their neighbor instead. But their eyes glinted warmly at me, admiring my
beauty and my coltish lustiness, wishing they could get themselves up and
give me one illegal poke before the plane actually touched down. None of
them could, though, alas for them. TheyÕd gotten their moneyÕs worth on
Elizabeth Airlines. SheÕd taken their coins and every drop of sperm they
could spare.
ÒDarling, you simply must get dressed!Ó Tiffany said, giving my bare
bottom a little pat. ÒAnd quit admiring your titties! YouÕll make me feel
jealous.Ó
ÒHow could you ever feel jealous of mine?Ó I asked, turning slightly,
still regarding myself in the mirror. Beyond the entrance to the flight
kitchen you could hear the passengers disembarking. Each received a
warm goodbye, got a last longing glimpse into a decollete jacket, before
he was pushed out by the file of men coming up behind him.
ÒWeÕll have to compare sometime,Ó Tiffany said. ÒHere, put these
on,Ó she added, drawing a little black panty from her purse. It turned out
to be made of lycra. A swimsuit bottom.
ÒWhat about my other clothes?Ó I asked.
ÒWe seem to have lost them,Ó Tiffany replied, her eyes a bit too
large, too innocent. ÒAnyway, youÕre on duty until I relieve you. Now hurry
up and get dressed because the airport inspectors will be aboard any
moment, to see that everything is in order. You know we get inspected
more than other airlines, and not just out of prudishness, either.Ó
Sure enough, almost as she finished speaking two men boarded,
dilettante bureaucrats. We were in Mexico. YouÕd think the men were
uniform inspectors, I thought, glancing from the flight kitchen as I pulled
on my black swim panties. Soon one of them had me standing at attention
in the flight kitchen, while the other pulled open the back of my bikini
panties, a human version of the Coppertone puppy. He gazed in at my
bottom and I thanked my lucky stars that it wasnÕt crisscrossed with whip
marks.
SNAP! He let go of the wide-pulled panties and I leapt as they
cracked in against my fanny.
ÒAlright, alright,Ó the man said, going on to the next girl, whoÕd just
come in from the flight kitchenÕs far entrance. It was Beverly. She asked
them if they needed, perchance, to use the toilet. When they said they
certainly did she took them to it and they both went in, and she went in
with them. A little later the two inspectors came out grinning. They
nodded to all the girls as Beverly trailed out of the bathroom behind them.
The men stepped out of the plane and having looked at nothing but us, they
were gone.
I knew little then of what other favors we girls would be forced to
give, including myself. We stayed together at a hotel that night, one of
the best near the airport, something with a Spanish name that I couldnÕt
pronounce. Of course IÕd made something of a sight of myself, walking
through the airport in bikini panties, my dress unzipped in back. WeÕd
hurried along, all the express passes arranged for us by the two inspectors
whoÕd gone on ahead. I suppose it was customary to expose the new Air
Baby to a little embarrassment as we stews disembarked. A final little
humiliation for me to brave before IÕd be allowed to become one of them.
Gathering in my bedroom at the hotel the stews shot the top off a
champagne bottle and sprayed me down with it. Then each one of them
kissed me on the cheek and wished me well. After their congratulations I
and my roommate, Sylvia, were left to ourselves. I was so exhausted that
I collapsed in my bed the moment the girls left. Sylvia tucked me in. She
said she wanted to go downstairs to the bar and party a little. But later,
when I awoke, I found her lying sleepily in her bed. I asked about her
partying and she said that theyÕd all settled down and decided not to go,
after all, because of what must happen in the morning. She said no more,
pretended to have fallen asleep when I tried to follow up my question with
another. So I slipped off to the bathroom, alone in an unpronounceable
hotel, with girls whoÕd paraded me through the airport that day in only an
unzippable dress and my panties on.
It turned out Tiffany had made a pact with the devil. Some of the
girls, including herself, had been dabbling in drugs. And, as luck would
have it, theyÕd run up a substantial bill. Short of cash but long on beauty,
Tiffany and the girls decided to let a drug lord have their bodies in
payment. TheyÕd agreed to be the manÕs love slaves. HeÕd insisted on 9
1/2 weeks of slavery. Tiff had gotten him down to five. And so, next
morning, when I thought we were boarding a van to go to the airport, we
were driven instead to a remote villa.
Not all the girls went. Not all of them owed money, and some had
never used drugs. But Tiffany had, and Amber, and Sylvia, and two others.
Beverly took charge of the girls who were going back to the airport. I was
supposed to go with her, of course, but Tiffany slipped me into her van. It
turned out one of the girls who owed hadnÕt shown up for our flight to
Mexico, and so Tiffany had been one girl short. And you can guess who she
finally decided to make up the count with.
As I saw the city draw away behind us I asked one of the girls, a girl
named Cheryl, why we seemed to be going away from the airport instead
of toward it.
ÒOh, donÕt you know, darling?Ó she asked. And with growing horror I
listened as she told me the entire story. She said sheÕd just assumed I
must owe something too, else why would I have gotten on this van?
Before she could finish telling me all the details a man sitting next to the
driver in the front of the van stood up.
ÒAlright girls,Ó he said. ÒWeÕre far enough out of town now...I want
you to take off all your clothes. Everything. Hand them up to me when
youÕve got them off. And you may as well hand me your purses, too,
because you wonÕt be needing THEM for the next month, I can assure you!Ó
He laughed, a raucous, awful laugh, and waved an Uzi as he spoke, as if to
assure us that we wouldnÕt be needing our willpower for the next five
weeks either. I could tell at once that he was just some flunkie, a guard,
and surely wouldnÕt lay a hand on us if we obeyed, but there was an evil
glint in his eye, as if he was just waiting for one of us to give him an
excuse to rape us.
ÒTiffany!Ó I whispered harshly over my shoulder. She was already
undressing, like the other girls, stripping off her newly laundered flight
jacket, her blouse (which sheÕd worn this morning), her modest trousers.
ÒIÕm sorry dear,Ó she replied. ÒI had no choice.Ó She looked up at me
with eyes stricken with remorse, yet I knew if she had to choose right
now, again, sheÕd choose to throw my lot in with hers once more. ÒTake
off your jacket before he takes if off for you! DonÕt worry, IÕll do my best
to protect you!Ó
With trembling, inexpert fingers I undid my jacket and blouse. I was
so proud of my new flight jacket! I hated to see it crumpled, taken from
me, passed to the front. Within minutes I was sitting bare-assed on the
hot vinyl seat of the bus. Along with the other girls my titties wiggled
freely, the nipples pink and quite visible through the windows of the van.
We were in lush countryside now, passing palm-roofed huts, farmers
hoeing fields under a rising bright-balled sun. It was climbing swiftly
toward high noon and I wondered where IÕd be when that hour struck.
Our white shoulders flashed by the occasional motorist, the farm
lorry, the milk truck, heads turning as they saw a sight unaccustomed in
this country; blonde heads, with bright blue eyes, glancing out fearfully as
the dark eyed Mexicans stared inward. ÒGirls for the grandee,Ó I thought I
saw some of them whisper to each other.
To my stunning amazement the guard passed irons out then,
lightweight stainless steel ones, and we girls were to help each other into
them. My five companions obeyed, helping me into mine just as they
buckled each other into bondage. When I the shackles snapped shut we all
knew none of us in the van, not even the guard, had the key to unlock them
again. Only the grandee had that.
We were driven into a deep, lush jungle. Soon the asphalt underneath
our vanÕs tires had passed into a deeply rutted dirt road, more suitable for
donkeys than anything else. The guard up front laughed, watching us, as
we were treated to a tit jouncing ride. I tried to keep my arms covered
over my breasts but several times they just popped out, the van jolted
about so much. I glanced back once at Tiffany and she sat listlessly,
letting her boobs fly where they may, resigned to what lay before her.
Like me she wore a neck iron, with a less than flattering bracelet of iron
around each wrist. Below she had one around each leg, just above the
knew, and I knew her ankles were in shackles too. I call them iron but
they were stainless steel, actually, but they looked so much like irons one
couldnÕt help but think Òin irons,Ó when seeing us. Chains trailed off each
of TiffanyÕs wristlets over to the wrist bracelets of the girl next to her.
But our ankles were not chained, and I could guess why. It was so our legs
could be moved or spread as wide apart as our captors wished. They
wanted no hindrance to their ability to ravish us.
Who, I wondered, were we going to see? Was it one man, a grandee,
or a cabal of criminals, each to have each one of us in his own way. Five
and half weeks. I guess I had plenty of time to find out!
We passed into a villa. It was strong-walled, like some fortress.
Cheryl whispered that it was an ancient Mayan temple, converted to
modern, though no less primal, purposes. From the spookiness of the deep
jungle we seemed to slip into a kind of sun-drenched palisade. Suddenly
we were on a closely clipped lawn, with flowers in the distance, bordering
a giant house. It was adobe, or concrete painted to look like it, with a
red-tiled Mexican roof. All around us you could see the jungle canopy, but
inside this little oasis the sun flooded in, and I was glad to see it. The
van bumped to a halt, a final tit throwing jolt of the brakes by the driver,
and he looked in his rear-view mirror as he did it. Several dark-skinned
men, uniformed like our van guard, closed quickly around our vehicle. They
all carried guns. One of them slid open the vanÕs passenger door.
ÒStep lively!Ó our guard yelled as us as we filed out from the side of
the van. We were lined up outside it, told to fix our hands at our sides.
Presenting our titties, all our nipples anxiously erect, we shivered in the
sunlight as a senior guard stalked in front of us. White bodies trembling
before cruel, darkskinned men. He seemed eager to find fault with us,
glaring at our flawless bodies, something that would let him lay a hand on
us. Finally he addressed us.
ÒLadies, you will march up to the villa, lifting your knees high.Ó He
brandished a whip as he spoke. ÒMarch quickly, but keep your steps short.
Trim and neat. The main thing is to get your knees up properly with each
step, as this is how the grandee wishes to see you. He may be watching
from his window, and it will be my job to correct any of you who do not
march as IÕve told you. Every army has its special march, and you must
learn yours. The grandee will not have any slouching or sloppiness
amongst his female slaves. You need not worry about cutting sharp
corners, or twirling about to march to the rear, but you will march
crisply, lifting your knees high, demonstrating your obedience and your
willingness to obey. You may be dressed like a chain gang, but you will not
shuffle along, unwilling, sulky, as prisoners do. You will march proudly,
fillies of the grandee, going eagerly to him to be broken in or used as he
sees fit, always proud, chins lifted, arms at your sides, breasts naked and
ready to suckle his many children. Or to do anything else he requires of
you.Ó The guard seemed to want to say more, all in a thick Spanish accent.
I think he would have rambled on all day, gazing at us, but he could get
away with no more. We were to be delivered now, out of his hands and
into those of the grandee.
ÒMarch!Ó the guard hollered suddenly. Off we went, all squeamish
and huddling. Two of the girls were slow to get going, got swift-learning
cracks on their seats that got them marching properly. As for myself, I
got the hang of it right away, as did Tiffany. She was right in front of me,
Cheryl behind, Amber next and little Sylvia trailing, her legs smaller, so
that she had difficulty keeping up. Our titties jumped with our nervous
steps. Up and down and up again, each step firmly executed, but
hurryingly, for the guards frightened us terribly.
We marched single-file up the steps that fronted the mansion, then
into the cool shade inside. Down a broad hallway we went, passing a
brown-skinned maid, two more, they looking on at our white-skinned,
delicate bodies, tut-tutting in disapproval.
ÒDrugs, you know,Ó I thought I heard one whisper to another. Fat
women they were, all suited up in long frilly aprons and caps, women
whoÕd borne many children, gazing at girls whoÕd borne none. With our flat
bellies and big round titties we passed them, our bottoms still small,
with that compact heart shape that men cherish and that does not last
past the first child or, with luck, persists perhaps until the second comes.
Virgins we were to the true labors of love, the labors of the delivery
room, which these women had no doubt been forced to repair to as young
as 15, or 12 perhaps, losing quickly the beauty of their youth as they
faithfully brought forth young for their husbands. Skinny legged and slim-
limbed we passed, our ribs still sticking out, barely fleshed, our hip bones
still alluringly revealed, thin white girls with only flesh on their bosoms
and bottoms, charmingly placed.
ÒThe grandee will fix them,Ó a woman whispered. ÒTheyÕll leave
big-bellied.Ó And then weÕd passed beyond, further down the hall, and I
couldnÕt remember whether IÕd just interpreted Spanish words theyÕd
spoken, knowing the language not, or actually heard them whisper in
English what I thought theyÕd said.
With panicky, high-stepped steps we went finally into a large
chamber. There a man sat, on a chair, at the head of a table. But the table
ran along the far wall and his chair was turned toward the near wall,
toward us, we having just passed beneath an archway to come through it.
ÒGreetings, girls,Ó a guard standing beside the seated man thundered.
ÒPlease kneel and bow to your new master, the grandee Solanos!Ó There
were soft little mats on the floor, pastel colored, some light yellow and
others of other shades. Smooth, finely spun cotton for our knees and
faces. We bent down, our chains clattering noisily. Onto my knees I went
with the other girls. Then, squeamishly, we pressed our faces to the mats
and lifted our bottoms high.
ÒVery good, girls. But you must do it the other way,Ó the guard
laughed. Mortified we looked up at him. Our long lovely hair spilled round
our heads, onto or over our shoulders. We looked alternately pensive,
penitent, shocked, humiliated. With a crack of the guardÕs whip upon his
thigh (alas! he had one just like the other!) we jumped up. Round we filed,
turning our backs to the grandee. Then we knelt again, and offered him our
bottoms.
ÒHigher, girls! Spread your knees! Let your cunts be seen, for that is
what you are here for!Ó the guard yelled lustily, happily, his thigh foreign
voice coming from deep within his chest. I jutted my peach out like the
other girls, showing my pouch as best I could. Then the guard came to us
and passed behind each of us, tapping us each on the cunt lightly with his
whip handle. I shivered as he touched me, visibly, and he whistled softly
in admiration.
When our bottoms had been duly admired, approved of, we were
ordered up again. I thought perhaps we could face away then, hiding our
breasts at least, but no, we were commanded to turn around again, and all
stiff-nippled and trembling we faced our master once more.
He had gray hair, swept back off his high forehead. His chin was
long, jutting. He wore a fine suit, as if heÕd dressed up specially just for
us. His eyes were piercing but not hard. I felt myself falling under his
sway as he looked specially at me, examining each of us in turn with his
eyes.
ÒYou have done well, Tiffany,Ó he said at last. ÒI see you are one
short but you have more than made her up with the substitute youÕve
brought.Ó He told us to sit down then, to fold our legs underneath us and
sit on our heels. Smoothing the little towel reflexively with my hands I
knelt down upon it, like the other girls. We stared at him, our eyes
unknowing, frightened still.
ÒI enjoy your apprehension but I want you to take something to help
you settle down,Ó the grandee said. ÒNo use wasting your energy on being
nervous. YouÕll need all you can muster later. This will make you a little
high, and it may act as a slight anesthesia also, to help you through your
first day. I wonÕt force you to take it but I highly recommend it.Ó The
guard walked over to us as he spoke. Before each of us, onto the mat, the
guard threw a syringe and a band of rubber tubing. With hesitant eyes the
girls glanced at each other. Then Tiffany, by way perhaps of example,
picked up the syringe and tied off her arm with the rubber cord. She held
the syringe elegantly as she knotted the cord, as one might a cigarette.
Then she depressed the syringe slightly, playfully aiming it in my
direction. With a renewed earnestness she put it to her arm. She flinched
slightly as the needle went in, her mouth opening in a little surprised O.
Then, her sleek fingertips driving the drug home, she injected the entire
load. She blew softly through pursed lips as she withdrew the needle.
ÒWould you like help, dear,Ó she asked, turning to me. With my tits
trembling nakedly, feeling very exposed, I fumbled with the syringe, not
sure whether I wanted it or not. If it would help me forget this awful
place, not know what horrid things they did to me, but then... ÒCome dear,
you must,Ó Tiffany said. She tied my band onto me, knotting it firmly. She
told me to make a fist and flex my arm. Then, taking my syringe, she
aimed it carefully at one of my little blue veins in the crook of my arm.
ÒThere!Ó she said, giving me a little jab. ÒIt will make you hot and horny
and youÕll want whatever they do to you, instead of feeling sad and sorry
for yourself.Ó
I felt a warm glow begin to well up from my belly as the guard
passed back in front of us, picking up our syringes. Playfully two girls
shot their used rubber cords at him, but he didnÕt mind. I felt an itching in
my cunt, subtle at first, then more, becoming like a kind of small fire
wavering over my clitty.
ÒOooh! I can feel it already,Ó Cheryl said, putting her hand to her
cunt and rubbing it.
ÒDo not touch yourself,Ó the grandee snapped in a loud voice.
Bashfully she withdrew her hand. SheÕd done it without even thinking,
suddenly, impulsively. Like some naked little girl, untutored, unmannered,
kneeling with the other girls in a kind of nude playtime before the sultan.
No doubt we would have all been rubbing ourselves, just like her, if he
hadnÕt reminded us of our manners. I could feel the drug working within
me already, shaping my observations. I delighted in my nudity. I wanted
to be with these girls, and in front of Him, looking at him as he looked at
me. Then the drug subsided a little and I regained some of my mental
composure. We were in trouble now, nude and drugged and far away from
any help. What would he do to us? I clenched my fists, unclenched them. I
was afraid once more, but fires danced on my titties, on my clit. I wanted
to run but I had the awful knowledge that I was too aroused to.
The guard came over to Tiffany, tossed her a silver key. ÒThe
grandee thinks its safe for you to unlock yourself and the others now,
Tiffany,Ó he said.
ÒYes, unlock yourselves!Ó the grandee called to us. ÒI want to see
you girls without anything on at all.Ó Tiffany undid our chains then,
kneeing her way from girl to girl and unlocking us each in turn. When the
cuffs fell away I stretched happily. Beside me Cheryl sprawled out on her
mat like a cat.
ÒSit up, girls! Sit up!Ó the grandee called, and we hastily arranged
ourselves as before. ÒNow, I am not entirely unfamiliar with the female
body. ArenÕt you girls forgetting something?Ó We stared at him. ÒDonÕt
any of you have to go to the bathroom?Ó
The thought rippled through us. Of course! Why, yes! WeÕd been so
distracted by everything, and now by the drug, that weÕd completely
forgotten about our bladders. Like some patient awaking from a dream, or
sleep, I realized I had to go quite badly. But where was the bathroom?
And would we be allowed to use it? My face took on a baleful look. Not a
few of the other girls looked equally distressed. The grandee surveyed us
serenely. Now he had us right where he wanted us. ÒI want you to pledge
to me that youÕll be totally obedient to my wishes,Ó he said. We nodded
hastily. He motioned to his guard. The man told us to raise our right
hands.
Our titties hanging delicately from our ribs, upthrust and plump, our
bottoms wobbling with our anxiousness and our full bladders, we repeated
the pledge of eternal love to the grandee:
ÒI promise to always obey Grandee Solanos,
ÒTo offer him my breasts,
ÒTo offer him my hole,
ÒTo love his cock,
ÒAnd to thank him when he corrects me.Ó
The fact that our minds did not exist to the grandee bothered me a
little. I wondered if it bothered the other girls too. I mean, I was an
accomplished student. Tiffany had just graduated from college. We were
professional women. Well, not in that sense, hopefully. But certainly we
American women must be respected for our intelligence too, mustnÕt we?
Unfortunately my urge to pee kept me from raising these objections.
When we finished we sort of glanced at each other. We were all
feeling quite naked and vulnerable, more so than even before. It was like
weÕd just been led unwittingly past some barrier, and none of us knew
what lay beyond. We were in the grandeeÕs hands now.
A mexican woman came out, her face and hands broad and swarthy.
She wore starched clothes of white muslin. Before each of us she dropped
a broad, shallow golden bowl. It reminded me of an offering plate at
church. When weÕd each been given a plate the woman, standing off to one
side of us, crossed her arms and looked at us.
ÒPee!Ó she said. At first we all just looked at her. ÒPee!Ó she said
again. We realized with horror what she wanted us to do. ÒPee!Ó she said
it again. Obviously this woman would have benefitted from a vocabulary
enlargement course. With fumbling hands we took the plates. We spread
our knees wide and wedged the plates between them. I myself didnÕt want
to open myself up any wider than I had to for this woman. It felt like I
was completely bared to her, though, even more than I was. Like I was
about to offer my very soul to her. And, indeed, it must be the last shred
of dignity that is torn away when a girl is forced to urinate like this, in
public, in front of strangers. Particularly people from strange lands who
seemed to exude a kind of self-righteous holiness. As if we white girls
deserved what we were suffering.
I put my fingers to my cunt, even as the other girls did the same.
And then a period of waiting ensued. Awful waiting. Having to go and not
being able to. Right at the outset the grandee warned us that any of us
who failed to pee right away would be considered baulky and punished for
it. This was hardly helpful. Gulping nervously, shivering, we waited.
The woman circled round behind us.
ÒAAAH!Ó Tiffany cried suddenly, and fell to all fours, her hands
slapping loudly onto the floor. The woman had drawn forth a whip from
somewhere within her mighty garments and given Tiffany a stinger right
across her naked bottom with it. Fearfully I gulped, looking over my
shoulder at the woman, as she approached me. My bulbing cheeks stuck out
at her, all pinkly white and shivery. Suddenly I peed.
Thankfully I looked down at myself, unbelieving. I thrust my cunt
forward helpfully, watching the golden, luxurious stream as it arced into
the bowl between my knees. Behind me the woman, just missing her
opportunity, glared and went on to the next girl.
But now Cheryl peed to! And Amber and lastly little Sylvia, all four
of us peeing at once and loving and relishing it. Hastily Tiffany got back
on her knees and began peeing with us. The grandee laughed. The guard
laughed. Only the woman, stern faced, did not laugh.
When we were finished guards came in and took away our bowls.
They sloshed with our essence. The grandee warned the guards not to spill
any of it. Another woman came in as the guards left, heavy and
unattractive like her sister, and dressed similarly. She had a pile of soft
white towels on a tray. They steamed. She handed one to each of us and
we took it gratefully. The grandeeÕs principal guard, standing beside his
master, told us to wipe ourselves. I cleaned the smattering of pee
splashings from the insides of my thighs. Then I rubbed my cunt with the
hot towel. The other girls too held their hot towels to their pussies,
massaging themselves, and it quickly became apparent that although we
were quite clean down there we were going to make extra, extra, extra
sure.
ÒEnough!Ó the grandee said. He motioned to his foremost guard to
take away our towels from us. WeÕd been told not to play with ourselves
but had tried to trick him anyway. With anxious hands I gave up my towel,
worrying that IÕd earned some special punishment.
ÒNow,Ó the grandee announced. ÒI must not keep you girls to myself.
My people would be jealous. I must present you at the village, so all my
people can enjoy you just as I do.Ó With that, guards came in and
reshackled us. As we remained erectly on our knees they pulled our wrists
behind us and fixed them together. I looked down at my breasts, so large
and defenseless, the cherry nipples hopelessly erect.
We were forced to stand. The grandee told us heÕd see us again soon
and we were filed out, taken out into the drafty, summer hall, the smell of
palm fronds on the breeze. Down the hall we went, and then off into a side
room. There we were made to sit on stools. Our feet dangling, we were
shod in sharp-heeled pumps. Then spectacular diamonds were brought
forth and clipped to our ears. We gasped, amazed.
ÒDonÕt worry, you wonÕt be able to keep them,Ó a spanish woman said
to us in broken english. ÒThey are for temporary decoration only.Ó
Beauticians came and did up our faces and our hair as we sat,
breasts outthrust, our hands still helplessly bound behind us. Then each of
the beauticians went behind us and did our nails, drawing out our fingers
one by one but never unlocking our iron cuffs. Our bottoms shivered
nakedly just inches from their eyes. I farted once, apologized. The
beautician said something back to me in Spanish.
Out across the lawn we trooped at last, more beautiful I think than
ever before, but utterly naked also. We were loaded into the van by the
guards. Off we went then, without seatbelts on but with our hands bound
unhelpfully behind us. Our bosoms bounced as the van left the fine-clipped
grounds of the grandee and lurched down a pitted country road.
The van pulled to a stop in the square of a little village. Small
houses with adobe walls and dusty red-tiled roofs slept in the afternoon
sun. The inside of the van was uncomfortably cool, the air blowing on our
white skin from chilled air conditioning vents. But outside you could see
that the air was heavy, thick with centuries of unremitting heat. Dogs
lounged by a dead fountain in front of a grocery with a sign that needed
paint. Two horses, looking sad, their tails flipping futilely at several
buzzing flies (more interested no doubt in the fresh turds at the horses
feet than in the horses themselves), were tied to a hitching post.
From the buildings lining the town square people began to emerge.
The men, short and fat and bald, or with shaggy black locks coming down
to their eyes, stepped out with their hats still in their hands, fanning
themselves a little more before being forced to cover themselves from the
sunÕs glare. Women emerged too, and little children, scuttling amidst the
adults. And then the grandee pulled in, riding in a Rolls Royce, coming
apparently from the same road weÕd travelled, though far enough behind us
so as not to catch any of the dust our van had churned up in its passing.
And then I saw them. We all saw them at once, I think, for a hushed
gasp passed over all of us in the van. Five pairs of iron shackles, fixed to
a brick wall, across from the church. The shadow of the church steeple
fell across the town square, pointing at the wall. And at one end of the
wall there was a bucket. Dried salt clung in rivulets to its sides. And
standing in the bucket was a clutch of rods, birch rods I think, bound
together with a black rope.
ÒNo!Ó one of the girls sobbed. I felt myself fighting to hold back
tears. Did the grandee really intend such a horrid fate for us? It looked
awful and unmerciful and utterly demeaning. I could see slaves whipped
there, or heretics, but not college girls, not a high school freshman like
myself! Did he expect to put little Sylvia against such an implacable wall,
with her skinny coltish legs and her unformed, unfinished body, to squash
her newly grown tits up against those awful bricks? And Tiffany? Did he
wish to place her chic, smooth-bodied form, with her sleek long legs and
her inviting bottom, so deeply cleft and properly if sparingly fatted, up
against that wall? Must sensitive, shy Amber be thrown up against that
wall? Or lovely Cheryl?
And then I saw a spanish woman walk up to the wall with an armful
of thick shawls. They were fringed, with subtle earth hues spun into them
in Spanish and Incan designs. She hung one shawl right beneath each pair
of shackles, right under the cuffs of the shackles, actually, but beneath
the place where their dangling chains sprouted from the wall. There were
little hooks provided in the wall for the hanging of the shawls, one for
either of the shawlÕs topmost corners. The van driver told us the shawls
were provided as a favor by the grandee himself, that criminals and
heretics whipped against the wall had no such comfort provided them.
The door to the van was yanked open with a harsh, grating sound.
The sheriff of the town stepped aboard. He was a dandified gentleman,
with a swarthy look and a slim curled mustache. He introduced himself to
us politely, tipping his broad hat to us. He wore a military uniform, stiff
and unyielding, hesitating it seemed even to crinkle when he bent toward
us in greeting.
ÒLadies, IÕm afraid drug usage is a criminal offense, and I shall have
to punish you for it,Ó he explained with utmost gentility. ÒIf you will
please proceed across the square to the wall we can amend your sins with
the least difficulty for you and the exemplary justice it deserves.Ó Little
Sylvia broke into tears. I felt myself shimmering with fright, my skin all
prickled up in the cool air, scared out of my wits. I hunched my shoulders
but my titties stuck out resolutely, my nipples like thorns.
ÒWe--canÕt,Ó Tiffany gasped.
ÒIÕm afraid you must, young lady,Ó the Sheriff replied simply. ÒWith
exaggerated deference he took her by her lovely silky hair and pulled her
to her feet. TiffanyÕs mouth opened wide, speechless. Chained to her,
watching her drawn by her hair, we could not help but rise as she was led
from the van.
The women from America, so delicate, with lovely hair and smooth
fine bodies, from genteel upper class neighborhoods up north or leafy
small towns, stepped across the square. A long carpet had been hastily
unrolled for us, by order of the grandee, so that our feet would not be
soiled by the dust. Trippingly, wearing only spiked stiletto heels and
diamond earrings jangling from our ears, we were taken across the square
to the wall. One by one we were put to the wall and our hands quickly
unbound and re-bound above our heads.
With silk-sheened bottoms we stood in the hot sun now, still feeling
the lingering effects of the vanÕs air conditioning upon our skin. Our hair
glistened in the sunlight. Our earrings sparkled. A spanish woman began
putting up my hair. The grandee stopped her, saying only our bottoms were
to Òhave it,Ó as he put it. Slim legged we stood there, our hair cascading
down our backs, with all eyes now fixed on our shivering asses.
A man was selected from the crowd. He swaggered forth, young and
strong. He took the rods from the bucket. The grandee told him to pull one
forth from the bunch, to save the rest in case they were needed later. He
took the stoutest, longest one. He played with it in the air a moment,
sweeping it out before himself. Our gently curving backs, half-hidden by
our manes of hair (though some had less protection than the others),
presented themselves sweetly, our ribs showing with our every indrawn
breath, our waists narrow, our bottoms sticking out below.
The man took up position before Sylvia. She looked back at him
fearfully. She began to sob openly now, big suffering sobs that belched
from her small lungs.
ÒNo! Give me hers!Ó Tiffany begged. She turned her head wildly to
the grandee.
ÒYou are generous, my dear,Ó the grandee said. But you are all
equally sinful. Except your newest friend, that is. She I will punish just
for the erotic pleasure of it. I am a generous man, but a wicked one too,
and my people have so little to entertain them. ÒBegin!Ó he shouted to the
young man at our rear.
WHACK! The first slicing thud of the birch sounded against SylvieÕs
bottom. She screamed aloud, her shriek rustling the pigeons from atop the
church steeple. Then, as she bent her head forth and cried into her shawl,
the whipmaster sauntered casually over to the next girl. Sylvie would be
left to feel her punishment until it was her turn again. Tremblingly Amber
begged to be let off. The master just looked at her, ignorant and uncaring.
He had not gone to her protected suburb up in America to punish her. She
had come to him. Why would she now ask him for mercy? He had lived in
the same small town all his life. For a white Anglo girl to get all the way
down here, well she must have done SOMETHING. And what would her
people have done to him if heÕd gone up north to where she lived? Why, the
American sheriff would not be as polite to him as his sheriff had been to
her.
The man drew back his hand, and AmberÕs shy eyes blinked wide as
the birch swooped in and struck her hard on the tushy.
ÒYEEEOWL!Ó Amber yelped. Her naked legs danced about, first her
left foot lifting, then her right, rapidly, desperately. The townspeople
laughed heartily. Sylvie in her sadness, and perhaps receiving a lesser
blow than her sister (though you couldnÕt have told it by her cry), had
stiffened her legs. Even now they still were frozen in some kind of rictus,
as if still refusing to believe that her tender bottom had been struck by
the birch. But Amber, shy and ever-so-concerned with justice and fair
play, put on a venerable show, letting the whole world know sheÕd been
wrongly struck, in her opinion.
Cheryl was next. With flinching, hesitant eyes she watched as the
master drew himself up before her.
ÒPlease sir, not on my hams,Ó Cheryl peeped. ÒDo my thighs, or my
back, but not my bottom.Ó The master simply drew back his hand and let
loose his stroke.
ÒNOOOO!Ó Cheryl cried. She sobbed and danced, though not so
explicitly as Amber or with the morose attitude of Sylvie.
I was next. Gazing at my master, I knew he would not spare me
either. I tried to bend my knees, to somehow lower the profile of my
bottom, present less of a target with it. But it was impossible. WeÕd all
been stretched high until only our toes touched the ground. The balls of
our feet, actually. Bending my knees only brought me up onto my tippie
toes. And that is when master struck.
ÒYEEEOCH!Ó I shouted. A fairly aimed stroke split my white peach,
leaving a blazing red line of heat right across the summits. I dangled from
my manacles, twisting about, flexing my bottom hard as I tried to throw
off the sting. The crowd laughed again, delighted, amused by these Anglo
girls with their white bottoms that the grandee had provided for their
pleasure. It was how he stayed in power, providing these simple
entertainments. In the city you could not find such as this. There was
only smog and prostitution, corrupt priests and churches that prayed only
for the government. But out here, deep in the jungled countryside, here
life was simple and direct. Pain was sharp, simple. It was delivered upon
penitent bottoms owned by rich white Anglo girls, who no doubt went
home then with tales of the remorsefulness of using drugs in their
country, warning their little sisters to beware of waywardness, to follow
the straight and narrow of church and farm and home. Bill Bennett, had he
known, would no doubt have joined the Mexicans and applauded. And how
many Anglos had applauded the caning of the boy in Singapore? Yes, there
was justice to be found in Mexico, at least out here in the countryside.
Here even the whitest girls could find justice, while the simple peasant
was protected by the grandee. All these tumultuous thoughts raced
haphazardly through my mind as I twisted from my manacles. These
people would not help me. They would not offer any assistance. Any pity
we received would come from the grandee, and him alone.
Tiffany did not turn her head to look at the whipmaster. Instead she
looked once at the grandee. He returned her gaze, wearing an ice cream
white suit of vanilla, twin spanish women fanning him as he watched her.
Tiffany stuck out her tongue at him. Then she turned her blonde head
away, toward the wall. The crowd gasped, realizing what sheÕd done to
their grandee. Impudently Tiffany stuck out her bottom, offering it. When
the master arrived, his weapon ready, she bent her knees wide and farted.
Curses erupted from the crowd. Fists shook. Yet TiffanyÕs bottom
remained boldly displayed, defiant. It did not tremble as ours had, but
jutted out bold and brave. The master looked at the grandee. He bade him
wait. And then slowly, gradually, TiffanyÕs bottom began to tremble. Just
a little, but showing that she too felt fear. Perhaps more than the rest of
us now. Still she held it out at the Mexicans, proud of her white seat and
making them look at it, forcing them to gaze at her mooning ass.
ÒTwo for her for every one for the others,Ó the grandee told the
whipmaster.
Quickly the master delivered two solid strokes upon TiffanyÕs
pumpkin. She bit her lip and shook like a doggie, her long blonde hair
thrashing from side to side. But she did not cry out. With trembling legs
she bore the cuts and remained silent.
ÒYou do well, Tiffany,Ó the grandee complimented her. ÒBut you are
older than the others and I expect it from you.Ó Alas, she had set a
standard for herself now, one the grandee would expect her to uphold.
Could she do it? I wondered. She was only a year older than Amber, only a
few years older than the rest of us.
And now the master returned to little Sylvie. He gave her another
juicy swat, and she cried the loudest of all of us again, though I wondered
if he wasnÕt actually going easy on her, for he seemed to smile at her and
slow his hand a little when he delivered the stroke. Out of compassion or
because of some wicked hope that heÕd get to treasure her bottom all by
himself later on I knew not. Perhaps he was hoping for some reward for
his work. He could be saving her for later, when he might give her a more
thorough swatting in his own bedroom, tied to his own bedpost. But Sylvie
bawled away, certain that she was suffering the cruelest cuts on her
heinie. And then Amber was struck again, sending the girl into more self-
righteous displays of the pain inflicted on her bottom, letting all of us
know by her dancings that she felt every last bit of it. Perhaps she hoped
the man who filmed Rodney King would film her, and she could show the
world what she had suffered, and sue the grandee for his estate. In any
event her antics brought the most laughter from the crowd, while
TiffanyÕs bold display brought the most scorn.
Cheryl offered her peach this time, softly though, humbly, sticking it
out in offering rather than defiance. Perhaps she hoped to earn some
compassion from the master, but it did not help her. He struck her just as
firmly as before. She broke into tears then, remorseful over her bottom,
not wanting it marked.
I did not look at the master this time. I hung my head and waited,
bit my lip. In came the stroke. Hot, hard, extorting a quick shrill cry from
me. I took my punishment and danced about a little, then quieted. My
nether cheeks squeezed shut, opened, squeezed again, trying to rid away
the pain.
Tiffany was not so wanton this time. She held her bottom aloft but
did not try to make some rude presentation with it. The master gave her
two, well-placed, sparing her a hit on skin already marked, but striking
her hard nonetheless. Tiffany barely suppressed her ululation. I knew
next time sheÕd offer it up, pierce the sky with it, for I could see her
trembling beside me. Her will was cracking. The whipping was so slow,
one could not maintain oneÕs composure for long. The tension was
overwhelming as you waited for the master to return.
Back to Sylvia he went. He struck her harder this time, making her
dance like Amber. She was almost out of tears now, sheÕd cried so much
already. But she shouted as loudly as before. Perhaps she thought she was
on the playground, tussling with boys. Amber next again, a regular go-go
girl by now, jumping about with her white legs flashing and her bare hips
revolving. Who says only New York City has such girls? And then Cheryl,
her poor bottom given another fiery stripe, sending her cringing into self-
absorbed tears. And then me! How awful the birch felt, striking my heinie
in some new spot, bringing flaring heat to some new area of my bottom. I
wriggled atop my upstanding toes, cried a little, bit my lip. Lastly Tiffany
bore her two in turn, her ass quite red now, suffering more than the rest
of us because sheÕd rudely insulted the grandee and his simple village folk.
She was regretting it now, I knew, for she wept openly this time, and
howled like a werewolf. Even Sylvie looked over at her. The grandee
laughed, tossed a large glimmering coin to the master. The people
applauded.
In the distance a jeep drove up. The crowd turned. The grandee
looked over his shoulder, the women on either side of him still fanning
him dutifully even as they looked also. The jeep came closer. Turning my
head back, straining my bottom back even as I turned, my wrists still
caught in the cuffs, I watched as the jeep drove up. In the distance
thunderclouds were building. I saw a flash of summer lightning upon the
far mountains.
The jeep parked by the van. After the dust settled, a woman stepped
out, followed by a man. He was dressed in a smart blazer. With my nude
bottom poking out I felt utterly ridiculous. I felt the other girls rustling
in their bonds, admiring the handsome man even as they felt utterly,
completely embarrassed.
ÒOh, how luscious!Ó the woman gasped, approaching, gazing at us.
She was a cultured woman, finely dressed, though her skirts looked just a
little rumpled now, as if sheÕd been dallying in the jeep with her lover.
Dallying as they drove through the jungle and admired the monkeys and
macaws.
She was a Spanish woman from the city, I learned, guessing at her
dialogue as she and her lover spoke to the grandee. He was very gracious
to her, to him. The woman, hot blooded, kept turning toward us. She
seemed overwhelmed by our display, in thrall to our suffering. Hot
bottomed we wiggled before her, five tushies arranged against a wall.
Once American girls, now just white flesh with bottoms the color of ripe
tomatoes. Glancing over my shoulder at her well-coiffed face, her fine
spun black Spanish hair drawn up in a loose bun, I wondered how she would
bear up under similar treatment.
The grandee nodded to the whipmaster to continue. He strode back
toward Sylvie, cocky before this gorgeous new female admirer. To my
shocked amazement the woman cast up her skirts and began rubbing
herself as she watched the master take up position behind poor little
Sylvia. She seemed shocked too, incredulous, and then she was suddenly
howling, screeching her lungs out at a very nasty cut right across the base
of her cheeks.
The woman turned to her lover as our master strode over to Amber.
She unzipped her gentleman and fished out his cock. It was huge,
glistening in the sunlight with precum drooling from the tip even as she
drew it forth. My guess about their dallying had been right. And it was
then, amidst all this horridness, that this sudden intrusion provoked my
thoughts into remembering the drug weÕd taken earlier, the stimulant for
our loins. No sooner had I thought of it than I knew that my companions
had thought of it too, for they emitted soft moans, watching as the lady
began to service her gentleman.
Prior to this weÕd been so dazed and astounded by our ordeal in the
square, so outraged and scandalized by it all, that the effects of the drug
had been forgotten. But now it came flooding back, overriding our fear and
making our cunnies throb. Heedlessly I squashed my breasts to the shawl
and began rubbing them against it. The master delivered a swifter, harder
cut than ever to Amber, then Cheryl, yet I kept pressing myself to the
shawl and digging into it with my stiff nipples. In back my bottom began
to move, my cheeks rolling in a brazen display.
WHACK! In came the admonitory stroke. I screeched, howled, ringing
the church bells almost with my voice, but I did not stop waggling my
bottom. Even Tiffany was moving hers, though she was about to get two
licks to our one. Behind us the young man shuddered, straining to hold
himself back as his lusty bride fingered and sucked him.
ÒOOOOOOOCH!Ó Tiffany screamed, her voice a ululation, a white
woman imitating some African tribal maiden at the stake, suffering under
the witch doctor. Two of them were wrenched from her, one right after
the other. Our master was clinical, precise, each cut delivered in a new
spot, though with Tiffany he was running out of spots. He was like a
doctor practising surgery on a patient. The wall was his upright operating
table.
The woman said something to the grandee and he smiled broadly,
nodded. He called to the master to halt his proceedings, threw him
another coin. I breathed a sigh of profound relief. We all did. And then
almost at once we let out a little dismayed cry. The woman was taking all
of her clothes off! She was saying something to the whipmaster. Was she
going to join us? Would there be six of us? She tore off the last of her
undergarments, a tight girdle, a bra, stockings. Boldly she strode forth
naked to the wall. And then the whipmaster handed her the birch! She
turned to us. She smiled. It was a smile of expectation. Of triumphant
expectation. She yanked her hair down in back and let it fall loosely over
her shoulders. Glittering earrings danced from her ears as she advanced
upon Sylvia, the nearest of us. With swift strokes she cut the air with her
birch, practising. Sylvia screamed, deathly afraid, as we all were. Yet we
could not stop the lewd gyrating of our bottoms! We kept wiggling away,
hungry for relief and utterly unable to obtain any, chained as we were to
this awful wall.
The woman gave Sylvia a lifting stroke, catching her under her
bottom and shooting the girl up onto the tops of her toes.
ÒYEEHOOOOCH!Ó Sylvia hooted, her whole body quavering. The woman
passed her, spoke aloud in a refined english accent:
ÒIÕve whipped cows before, many times, driving them in from the
field,Ó she said. ÒBut never had I thought to try it on people!Ó I saw then
that she was young, perhaps only 17, had looked older because of her
elaborate courting clothes. ÒAnd such fine young American girls,Ó she
said. ÒLost little girls far from home, where their mommies and daddies
canÕt see what theyÕre up to.Ó She was laughing, as if reciting words from
some play sheÕd learned in school. Something about Americans, obviously,
perhaps wayward Catholic schoolgirls doing what they knew they werenÕt
supposed to.
This oddly mature, oddly innocent young woman gave Amber a cut
then, expertly delivered, even better than the masterÕs, sweeping right
into the crack of her fanny even as the girl wobbled it around, hoping for
love. Amber straightened, stilled her bottom a moment, screeched loudly.
Then CherylÕs orb was next, and then mine, finally Tiffany received two on
hers, as amorously churning as ours were.
ÒAh! They are becoming so cut up!Ó the young woman said, regarding
us. She turned to her lover, threw down the stick. ÒRamone! Give me your
belt!Ó she called, her bosoms wobbling on her chest as she put her hand to
her mouth and shouted. Up he came, bounding, his cock tossing about
erectly. He cast off his trousers as he approached, they hindered his
stride. Wearing only his shirt he delivered the belt from his pants to his
wife.
Or lover, or whatever she was to him. With eager eyes she turned
once more to us. Lovingly she drew her manÕs broad belt through her hand.
It looked supple, strong. I knew we would suffer under it tremendously.
ÒOh do me sir, please?Ó Little Sylvia said suddenly to the womanÕs
lover. Perhaps she hoped to put his hips between her and the whip, was
willing to suffer his knob up her cunt for it, or up her ass. The woman
glowered, then laughed.
ÒYes! You must all have my Ramone, but only after I am satisfied,Ó
the woman said. He said something to her, called her Alicia. It was that
which told me her name.
The first broad-swatting stroke came slamming into SylviaÕs heinie.
She screamed anew, sending the pigeons all the way to the equator, I
thought. Truly the belt was safer than the birch, for it did not slice up the
skin, yet it could be delivered with butt-thudding force.
And that is just how Amber received her first wallop, like some
naughty little girl being disciplined by her father. Yet it was mother who
wielded fatherÕs belt. Amber sobbed loudly, was soon joined by Cheryl. A
moment more and I was coughing forth my own boo-hoos, then Tiffany!
Wailingly we received more blows from the belt. It basted us,
turned our seats into veritable hot tamales.
ÒOh, I canÕt stand it!Ó the woman cried suddenly. SheÕd been rubbing
herself now and then as she hit us. Now she turned to the grandee and
begged to be put beside us. He motioned to his people and at once shackles
were hung from a bare iron ring poking from the wall. It was on the far
side of Tiffany. I had not noticed it earlier. A shawl was hung for her and
then she grasped the manacles with her fingers and rubbed her bosoms
against the shawl, even as we were lustily rubbing ours. Her lover gently
prised her hands from the manacles and then buckled her firmly into them.
He stepped back, took up the belt, massaging his still-hard cock all the
while. He had not come yet. Perhaps now he would, I feared, with his
young girlfriend so alluringly displayed before him, her courting clothes
gone, her cunt peeping back at him twixt her thighs, available for his
pleasure.
ÒTHWACK! THWACK! THWACK!Ó He gave her several blows to get her
going, delivered right across her white heart-shaped bottom. She groaned,
tasting for the first time in her life, I guessed, the feel of a belt. Tossing
her head she savored the hurt as best she could, though I saw she was
having some difficulty with it. Later I learned that amongst us I was the
only one to have been whipped on a prior occasion. Tiffany and all the rest
had only played amongst the items of dungeon airlines, never actually
using any of it. It was for the guestÕs pleasure only...on other guests. Of
course that had not stopped Tiffany from slapping my bottom on the
airplane, and theyÕd slapped each other before, but none had tasted belt or
birch.
ÒHow are you holding up?Ó Tiffany asked, bravely turning to me
whilst Alicia begged for and got more strokes of the belt on her bottom.
ÒTerribly,Ó I sniffled. ÒAnd you?Ó
ÒMy butt hurts like hell,Ó Tiffany sobbed. She bowed her head and
joggled her ass about and then, still wiggling it, raised her face again to
me. It was stained with tears and she looked absolutely miserable. I
gazed at her. Then I stuck my head as far towards her as I could, offering
her a kiss, and she met me halfway and we kissed there, under the hot sun
with our bottoms blazing.
Ramone and Alicia began rutting. He cast the belt aside and fucked
her right there, heedless of the crowd, consummating their relationship, I
guessed. There was a thunderclap as they orgasmed and a light rain began
to fall. I turned my head, looked over my shoulder with immense relief.
The rain was soft, cooling. We all stuck our bottoms out at once, as far as
we could, and enjoyed the light stinging rain as it soothed our tushies.
The rain began falling harder. The crowd began to disperse.
Brazenly we held our asses out at them, the rain striking us as if in
retribution. It bathed our hot naked heinies with cold, delicious, fluid,
washing us down with a care and constancy no human would have shown.
Soon the water was running into our butt cracks, down our thighs,
streaking our calves and puddling around our toes. We shook our
bedraggling locks like horses in a field, whinnying, loving every drop that
hit us.
Tender hands took us down, caressed us. Young spanish girls from
the village escorted us across the soaked welcoming carpet back to the
van. Dazed, happy in some strange way, we boarded the van and tried to
sit down.
ÒOooch!Ó Sylvie was the first to cry out.
ÒAh! I cannot sit!Ó Tiffany said, her composure back. Daintily she
knelt on the floor, squatting, wrapped her arms round her legs and rested
her face sideways upon her knees. She sniffled.
Huddling ourselves or one another, staying off the seats, we rode
back to the grandeeÕs estate. Mercifully the driver did not turn the air
conditioning on. We were soaked to the bone, our hair messed and
dripping, our makeup shot. With sensitive hands we inspected each otherÕs
bottoms, reassuring each other that the marks would fade eventually (and
dearly hoping it was true!)
We drove onto the grandeeÕs lawn. The grandee himself came in
behind us. The guards let us out. The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle.
The grandee came up to us, his head protected by an umbrella held aloft by
a spanish girl. She looked at us with dark, wondering eyes. A girl from
the village. A girl who drove goats at home in the evening with a stick.
The grandee lined us up and walked behind us, inspecting our newly
scarred bottoms. We were his property still, and he cared for us just as
intently, I saw, as he did for himself. We shivered as he passed, holding
ourselves, still hot from the drug yet chilly from the passing rain. My
bottom felt raw, as if all the skin had been flayed from it. The grandee
made me bend forward. With probing fingers he inspected my heinie. His
touch made me cry out. I almost fell over from his touch. I jerked as his
thumb drove up my asshole. It was moist from the rain.
Each girl in turn he scrutinized, doing Tiffany last. He found her and
Sylvia too tight to get his thumb up. He promised them theyÕd be widened
later. Then, miserable and sobbing anew, we were marched up to the
house. As I did my best to accomplish the mandatory strutting step, biting
my lip as my scored bottom screamed at me, I felt happy. IÕd found a
demanding master at last, but not a cruel one. He promised to use my body
to the fullest extent one could without ruining it. I knew he would hurt
me sometimes, but he would love me passionately also, bringing me big
men who would fuck me as I knew I needed to be fucked.
30
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http://www.eroticstories.com
http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/
-----Great books by David Hamilton: The Age of Innocence, A Place
in the Sun, Twenty Five Years of an Artist. By Jock Sturges:
Radiant Identities Need a book? http://www.amazon.com
-----Great sites:
http://www.nambla.org
http://www.AlessandraSmile.com
-Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1998 and a trademark of Andrew Roller. Work by others
copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF story EMISSION