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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Three
With a flick of my head, confident and aware of my sexuality as
never before, I stood naked before the general. He sat in a chair, a big,
high-backed, padded number that resembled a throne. He sat along the
side of the large room I now found myself standing in. Ranged on either
side of me were girls and young women, as nude as myself. A broad
swath of plush carpet stretched out before us, wall to wall carpeting.
Opposite the general, across the room from him, was a fireplace. It
roared, giving off generous doses of heat to keep even us bare girls
warm. Every effort had been made to provide for our comfort. We were
to go crawling across the carpet, and wore long, elegant leather boots
that topped out just above our knees in front. No rug burns would assail
our knee caps. Our hands were gloved in soft animal skins. But I knew
when I knelt there would be one part of me that might not be so well
favored. My hiney had not been offered any protection at all. I was to
be a horsey, as were the other girls. Already I spied several pony
lashes in the hands of the spectators. Fleetingly I wondered if I
shouldn't back out. But then what would I do, sit in my room, alone and
bored? The general had been a perfect gentleman so far.
We'd arrived at his chalet three days ago. He'd given us
sumptuous dinners, which he held every night for his assembled guests.
There were other girls there, as guests, almost as young and definitely
as pretty as I was. And there were some older women and men also.
And servants, of course; butlers, cooks, maids. Despite the sexual
goings-on in the rooms of the mansion the dinners were always polite,
restrained, as if the guests needed someplace where convention still
reigned, where morality was the norm, not the exception.
Every day we'd gone skiing. In clothes, of course, bundled up
against the cold, enjoying the purity of the snow and its overwhelming
whiteness. There'd been a party every evening, slightly risque, but still
with the Ôsafe havenÕ decency standard prevailing, though one could
easily slip off for more intimate adventures. I'd shared a hot tub with
two gentlemen the first night. They were young, randy, though older
than myself. College men. They seemed to like me for my affected
purity, blowing bubbles with my bubblegum to seem younger still.
They'd danced with me, then invited me to have a soak with them. We'd
stolen from the party and theyÕd led me to a tub where, after a
moment's hesitation, I'd undressed with them. We splashed about and
kissed. Then I had them both sit on the edge of the tub while I sucked
them off, weighing their testicles in my palms. That was all, nothing
more. They didn't seem to mind my hesitancy at going all the way. I
was young, after all. I could have been their little sister. They would
have wanted to ÔprotectÕ me if I was, driving off boyfriends their age,
making sure I only went out with my peers. But since, you know, I had
them by the balls, they let me play with them. It was acceptable for
me to date men their age, if they were the ones who would get to shoot
in my face. It was all relative. And my relativities were fast
coalescing in my womb.
We met again the next night and enjoyed a sauna together. Just
the three of us, hot and bothered, enjoying our agitations, our
perplexities. Amidst the billowing heat I sucked them off again.
Last night was perhaps the best, so far. We went swimming in a heated
pool, buck naked. Half of it was inside the chalet and half outside,
under the glittering stars. We'd had a snowball fight on the decking
next to the pool. I'd sucked them off at last, squeezing their balls and
pumping them with my little fists more furiously than I'd ever done
before. I wondered if I was turning into a little sexual tigress. A
virgin tigress still, to be sure. I amused my mates, I think, my non-
mating mates. They were veterans of frat parties, jaded; I was young,
sweetly hesitant, yet I gave them their reward each night. We enjoyed
each other. There were no commitments. They were both so strong,
they would have destroyed each other competing to see which of them
would pop my cherry. So instead they let me be in charge. And we
played together like children, on my terms, they enjoying my youth and
innocence even as I and they together set about corrupting it.
The general had not mentioned my reluctance again, seemed to
accept it. Or, rather, he accepted what I knew now was inevitable.
That, coming a virgin, I would not leave one. My cherry would be added
to his trophy case, symbolically, of course. In his mind he knew that I
would give it up here, in his home. To somebody. And I could not deny
that he was almost certainly right. It scared me to think of it. I would
be changed. I would be different. I would not be a scampering little
girl anymore. I wondered if Helga knew I was here. Deep down, I
guessed she did. There were secrets between her and Kimberly. Now I
realized that theyÕd both been my age once, and theyÕd accepted the
challenge at last, theyÕd stepped through the door of no return. And
they cherished the result. I wanted to cherish it too, to love and be
loved in the deepest way.
Today I'd awoken to a fierce snowstorm. There would not be any
skiing today. We'd all huddled at breakfast, more guests than usual
present for the morning meal. Usually we did our daytime things in
little groups, even the skiing, gathering all together only for the
evening banquet and the party afterwards. But this morning we sat
gloomily as the wind whipped round the building, keening and
screeching and trying to reach through to us. Snow splattered the big
picture window in the dining room. It drifted up against the pane,
rising steadily. Icicles drooped from the top of the window, outside,
growing by the minute, it seemed, intent on mating with the snowbank
beneath.
The general had appeared, and proposed a day of indoor games.
We'd all thought this a great idea. Then someone, a woman no less,
suggested that the contestants compete as the ancient Greeks did in
sports, without clothes on. The general said he'd see if the heat could
be brought up enough to allow this. Sure enough, it was soon reported
by a butler that it could be. And that's how I wound up bare-assed,
booted, and gloved in a big room with a roaring fire.
A mature woman, about 40, with blazing red hair, strode out from
the group of spectators milling around the general's throne. I
recognized her as the woman whoÕd greeted us on our arrival, three
days ago. In her hand she carried a trio of birch rods, bound together
with a black bow. You would have thought she was a very attractive
secretary on her way to work, the way she was dressed. Perhaps sheÕd
cut the birch branches for a decorative item, one might muse, to spruce
up the office.
A blouse was stretched taut over the redheadÕs generous breasts.
An open vest complimented the blouse, as did a scarf tied fetchingly
round her neck. She wore a daringly short skirt and high heels. Yes, she
was just a very sexy secretary, one might assume, riding to work next
to you on the morning train, or passing you on the sidewalk on her way
to work. Admittedly, there were a few signs that something might be
amiss: the height of her skirt, the length of her heels, the way her
breasts moved freely beneath her blouse. Yet, perhaps, she merely
worked for a permissive boss, an admiring male might assume, hoping
one day to secure a treasure like that himself. Then I spied the short,
slender whip stuck through her dress' slim belt. No secretary of any
firm would be allowed this accessory. And, sure enough, no sooner did
the woman lay down her birch on a chair than she cast off her vest and,
shockingly, ripped open her blouse. She told us her name was Janet just
before unleashing her boobs. Then, tits bouncing, firm and high as those
of any 20-year-old, she said, "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
I gulped. I felt flocks of stiff-winged butterflies take off in my
tummy. I was stark naked before this woman, my blonde muff freely
displayed, itself no more or less special than the furred dells of all the
other females present. My boobs jiggled with my nervousness. I tried
to still them, tried to take slow, easy breaths. My nipples perked upon
my breasts like tiny Eiffel towers, red and stiff.
Janet glowered at each of us for a moment, ranging her eyes over
the line-up of nude, booted females that stood before her. Then she
matter-of-factly instructed us to kneel. I got down on all fours,
anxious and shivering. Janet was one hell of a no-nonsense woman! I
couldn't figure out whether I was trembling from the sexual thrill of
being naked, or of some arousal related to Janet herself. Or, perhaps,
the room was simply a bit too chilly. Of course. That was it. I could
hear the wind whistling in the rafters, let in through little chinks in
the walls where the joints had separated. My long hair hung down over
my eyes, hiding me. I would hide within it.
Through my locks, I glanced over at Kimber. She smiled back at
me. She was confident, demure, bare as myself and kneeling beside me,
a horsey just like me. She gave her lovely ass a quick waggle.
Janet came along the line of kneeling girls and stuck a silver
spoon into each of our mouths, the handle between our lips. It felt like
a long, thin dick in my mouth, this silver handle, and I sucked on it,
thinking of my college men that IÕd partied with on the previous nights.
Where were they now? I did not see them. Perhaps they were watching
me. I cast my head about, gazing at the faces that gazed at me, that
gazed at the other girls. Some of the eyes were open in their
admiration, others more clinical, doctors observing deviant behavior,
perhaps, or cynical, Òbeen there, done that,Ó eyes. Who cares what
happens to those females, anyway? TheyÕre just meat. Meat in the
slaughterhouse, their cunnies tingling, their boobies swaying, waiting
to be slain and fucked by the general. They would barbecue me
afterward, and eat me at dinner. ÒWould you like a leg or a breast?Ó I
could see myself, carried between mighty guards to the spit over the
fire, tied to it and turned, roasted, given an indoor suntan until I was
crispy, golden brown.
Janet deftly placed a ripe lemon in my spoon. She favored each of
the other girls with the same fruit, weighing down our spoons as if
with heavy weights of testicles, though I could still keep my spoon up
properly. ÒChin up, old girl,Ó Admiral Halsey might say. ÒChin up.Ó I
shook my hair from my eyes to better see the long expanse of carpeting
stretching away from me.
Janet told us we must crawl as fast as we could to the other end
of the room, where we must each tip our lemon into a bucket. Each of
us had our own special bucket, I saw; mine was waiting all the way at
the other end of the room, ranged in a line with the buckets of the other
girls.
ÒDrop your spoon outside your bucket.Ó Janet instructed us.
Simple enough, I thought. The lemon in the bucket, the spoon outside.
ÒAnd,Ó Janet continued, as if instructing children in a recess game at
school, ÒGive a blow job to the man waiting for you at the other end.Ó
A gasp went up from the girls at this. Sure enough, a line of men began
arranging themselves at the far end of the room and stripping totally
naked. Soon I was witness to the spectacle of a dozen wangling
schlongs swinging lazily or, in some cases, standing stiffly at the
other end. It was like a sausage factory! And I was the official
sausage taster, at least for the man assigned to me! A big blonde hunk,
fresh from surfing along the coast from the looks of his tan, spread his
stance out at the far end of the room from me. He was at least six feet
in height, with a dong to match. He stood casually, as if a lifeguard,
patrolling the beach for drowning girls. I imagined his radio playing
somewhere in the background, grinding out hit after hit as he whiled
away the hours of his duty. Well, I would be drowning soon enough on
his sperm if the game were to go as planned! His balls were huge! His
dick stood out at attention, a soldier on stiff duty, even if his
shoulders and biceps had a relaxed, ÔwhatÕs happeninÕ look to them.
ÒYou may NOT use your hands,Ó Janet admonished us. ÒFor that
would take all the fun out of it, wouldnÕt it? Just your mouths girls,
such pretty mouths...Ó Her voice trailed off momentarily. A woman,
naked and beautiful as Janet, came down the line and touched up our
lips with lipstick. She asked which color I preferred, I chose to keep
my gloss, she matched it to a stick she had and brightened my lips with
it. Kimber smiled sexily at me. Her lips were a delicious red. They
would mark a manÕs cock soon, ring him just as the scar from his
circumcision did, right around the shaft, a memento of her services
(perhaps her winning services?) upon him.
The blow job, Janet explained, actually served a wonderful
purpose. Each of us had to suck for thirty seconds on our partner's
penis, at the other end of the room. If I could make my hunk cum in
those 30 seconds, he would have to take my place! Otherwise he would
replace the spoon and lemon in my lips after 30 seconds and send me
scampering back across the room. There a second man would now be
waiting, and I must perform orally on him too.
Instinctively, I turned and looked behind me. I think all of us did.
There, waiting behind me with my tushy lofted up to him, was a man!
He was some distance back, as if in deference to the fact that our game
together had yet to begin. There was a man for each girl. Mine was a
tall, darkhaired guy. He looked like a student from law school, too long
behind the books, a little skinny, a little pale. But he had broad
shoulders and a penis throbbing with desire. His eyes met mine. He
seemed awestruck. I smiled sweetly back at him, liking him despite
his obvious eagerness, perhaps because of it. Yes, I will suck your
cock, you libraryboy, fresh from your studies. DonÕt worry, IÕm
experienced, IÕve sucked cock every night for three nights now, and the
night before that too, at a special party, a ÒcomingÓ party, where I had
my coming out. You will be between expert lips, sir, I assure you.
Janet continued her lewd explanations, a dozen men before us, a
dozen more behind, their cocks fully bared and waiting for our
attention. We were like racehorses, all lined up and ready to go, but
with boobies hanging down, cows perhaps, but sleek and firm, with only
our udder-like titties likening us to milk-producing heifers. Back and
forth I would go between my two men until one of them finally
ejaculated. Having lost his load, he would have to take my place. The
first girl to get herself excused from the race this way would be
declared the winner, the last girl the loser. (And, Janet told us, a
special series of punishments awaited the losing girl, at the hands of
the general himself.)
"A small incentive," Janet smiled, "to keep your bottoms rushing
right along." We giggled, nervously, I at least not knowing quite what
to make of the awful fate promised to the losing filly. I was here,
though, in the room. I had chosen to participate. I flicked my hair from
my eyes and glanced at the general. He saw me, staring at him through
my veil of blondness. He grinned. I quickly looked away. I needed a
cowbell, that was all, to be his complete pet, his chattel. I would
scurry along the rug with the other girls, my cowbell clanging, my big
nippled boobs swaying beneath me, heavy with arousal. His men would
pump me until I brimmed with their milk. Nine months later I would
bear for him, and he would suck at my teats until they hurt. ÒFresh
milk for breakfast, from our special cow,Ó he would announce to his
guests. They would celebrate. I would lie on fresh straw in the barn,
cared for, attended to, mooing for my lover, a bit in my mouth, properly
shoed with fresh leather boots and kid gloves. He would come to me at
night and give me my evening fuck, to keep me healthy and with child. I
would have all his children, each healthy and bouncy. My breasts would
squirt out milk until I was old and grey and they had to send for the
doctor to give me a hysterectomy.
Janet fastened a broad leather belt around each of our waists. I
felt her hot breath on my hiney as she did me. So kinky, yet so real, so
perfectly in accord with my daydreams. Janet told me I had a sweet
bottom and she looked forward to seeing it in action. I glanced down
my smooth belly at my newly acquired Ôclothing,Õ so little, yet so
significant. Before IÕd been as slick and free as an otter, my boots and
gloves my only clothing; now I had a halter, something a man (the
general, perhaps?) could grab on to. Big brass loops hung from my belt.
I glanced about, saw the other girls were similarly encumbered. I
wondered what the belts, the loops, were for, asked Kimber.
"Chains," she replied casually, sexily. Apparently someone had
clued her in on what the general had in mind. Or perhaps she had asked
him herself. Boldly, freely, sure of her allure, her hold on him, perhaps
she had asked him, at breakfast, maybe. ÒWhat game shall we play,
general?Ó ÒOh, I will chain you, I think, bind you with a belt and chain
you up in it.Ó ÒIf it pleases you, general,Ó she might reply, with a bat
of her eyelashes that warned him he might find her too appealing. Her
beauty would overpower him. He would spurt, lose his virility, sign
away his lands and his life to her. ÒHalf my kingdom for one such as
you, my dear! And every drop of sperm I can ever from henceforth
produce!Ó ÒOf course, sir, I hope youÕre up to it. If not, I might have to
replace you with the stable boy, such a fine young king he would make
in your place, with his balls swinging and bouncing with his every step,
off to the woodpile to cut us wood...I will rendezvous with him there
and he will bear my children, he will wear your crown.Ó
I wished to be like Kimber. I would wrap men around my fingers
like colored ribbons, putting them on, loosing them, wearing them
always, or only sometimes. I was a little like her now, wasnÕt I? I
could claim a little credit, couldnÕt I? Playing nighttime games with
my secret college boyfriends, my two male sperm-men, making them
cum in my mouth, sucking and squeezing them dry. Yes, I had risen up a
little, after all. I was still sweetly virgin but I knew now how to
please a man, how to make him beg. I felt wicked. My heinie wiggled an
invitation to whomever might be behind me to see. Come, student boy,
loose yourself in me and take my place in the race. Spare me from
whatever naughtiness they had in mind and serve valiantly in my stead,
my white knight, down on your knees. Would he have to suck the blonde
surfer dude if I was excused? The thought revolted, excited me.
Janet clipped steel manacles to each of our wrists. More attire,
but only just to imprison us, to make our nudity all the more apparent.
A loose chain ran between the pair of manacles, connecting them. I
wanted to protest but couldn't find the courage to. After all, the same
was being done to all the other girl contestants. Manacles were put
around my thighs then, right above the knees, with a loose chain
connecting them also. Finally a chain was run from one manacle on one
of my knees, to the other manacle on my other knee, but through the
brass loop hanging down from my belt on the way from my one knee to
my other knee. The purpose of this, I learned, was to keep any of us
from standing up. Still kneeling, I tried erecting my back and found
that I'd only got partway up when the chain running from knee to knee,
through my belt, became taut.
I had to admit to myself that the general was possessed of quite
an imagination. Naked games were as common among couples and
lovers as sex itself. Even a virgin like me knew that. But chains?
Manacles? Lemons? Surely not everyone played games like this. I
found myself wondering, in a serious way, what sort of punishments
the general had in mind for the losing girl. Certainly if I lost, there
was no escape now. I was chained to myself, unable to stand. I could
not count on my fleet feet to carry me away, as they had from boys at
school. If the general wanted me, he would have me. In my spiked
boots, belted, weighed down with manacles, I could do little more than
show off my naked bottom to him.
Janet's languid, slow shackling of us had one final effect, no
doubt intended by the general. We were all beginning to have to go to
the bathroom. He'd urged us to drink a lot at breakfast, orange juice in
particular, which he shipped in fresh-squeezed from the lower
elevations, the little villages which dotted the foothills of the great
Andean range atop which we were now cavorting. I'd unthinkingly
heeded his call to benefit my health, downing several glassfuls of
juice. Now my bladder was full, and I couldn't even stand up! A girl, no
doubt less prone to embarrassment than the rest of us (or having to go
even worse), asked if she could be let up to pee. Janet replied that as
soon as she'd freed herself from the race (according to the rules, with a
man replacing her), she could pee. But not before then. It was another
incentive to fire up our tushies...and our tongues, to make us really
RACE across the carpeted floor. My bladder tingling, I found myself
wishing I knew more about how to give a man a really good blow job. A
professional blow job. I turned to Kimber. She rimmed her lips with
her tongue.
ÒYouÕve been practicing, havenÕt you?Ó Kimberly asked me.
ÒNot enough,Ó I replied, blushing. She knew my secrets. It was
hard to keep a secret in a place where everyone specialized in getting
naked.
Janet strolled behind us, inspecting her handiwork, as we waited
tensely for the race to begin (and end!) She gave each of our bottoms a
teasing flick with her pony lash. I flinched as she saluted my heinie.
She openly admired it by saying aloud that she thought it the prettiest
in the room. Except, she called me ÒLisa,Ó instead of ÒBarbi.Ó She
didnÕt even know my name, yet already sheÕd gotten an intimate look at
my fundament. Below it my cunny pouted, waiting for Mr. Right to
shove his lance in and undo me once and for all.
The general asked us if we were ready. We nodded, growing more
desperate each minute for the race to begin, our bladders complaining
inside us. I shifted my hips back and forth with my need, uncaring now
of the rudeness of my display, wishing I'd never agreed to participate in
this silly sport.
And then the starting gun went off, fired by the general. At once I
leapt forward, kneeing my way frantically across the carpet, the other
girls neck and neck with me. With clenched teeth I hung on for dear life
to the lemon perched in my spoon. Janet ranged along behind us, birch
rod at the ready, to admonish any girl who spilled her fruit. Volleys of
whipped cream streamed into the air as we crossed the middle of the
room. The shock of this unexpected tribute nearly lost me my lemon.
Spectators on either side of the race course, I saw, were firing
randomly up at the rafters, letting the shooting cream settle where it
may upon us scuttling girls. Cream landed on my back, leaving a white
trail across it.
On I raced, eyeing now the man who waited for me. His cock was
stiff as a pole and shockingly large. I wondered if I could even fit it in
my mouth! This again nearly lost me my lemon. A girl somewhere
behind me squealed as Janet fustigated her for dropping her fruit.
Kimber beat me to her man and neatly tipped her lemon into an
iced bucket, then spat out her spoon. Rising up, like a stallion rearing,
she grabbed her paramour's penis with her mouth. It was one of my
college boyfriends, one of the two IÕd played with just last night!
Immediately she began bobbing her head upon his shaft, swallowing him
deeply, sucking ferociously, possessively. She would have his seed
tonight, not me. Did he like her better? He looked at me, grinned a
twisted, crooked grin. His eyes seemed to challenge me to do better.
Or to say, Ôbegone, little girl, I have a REAL woman now.Õ I looked again
at Kimber. So perfect, so self-possessed, obedient to him yet
undeniably in control of his most precious possession. One bite would
seriously impair his future performance. I felt vengeance, wanted to
claw her, but could not. She was a goddess, my idol. Her lovely blonde
hair streamed out behind her, swaying and loose. Her breasts jiggled
heavily. The nipples at their tips were like thorns, as dangerous as the
teeth she used to lightly graze his cock, tease him with her power.
A bee stung my bottom. I bucked.
ÒLisa!Ó Janet yelled. She was right behind me. She did not know
my name, only my figure, my lips, my bottom. A tear welled in my eye.
I tried to rub away the sting of her pony lash, found my chains
prevented it. ÒThis is not a spectator sport for you dear,Ó Janet said.
ÒPerhaps when you are older,Ó she added thoughtfully. ÒNow SUCK
COCK!Ó She gave my ass another nip, more lightly, as if admiring my
bottom too much to strike it as deeply as she might. She was in awe of
my ass, I realized. I lived in a crazy upside-down world now, more wild
than any wonderland Alice had ever slipped into.
I plopped my lemon into the bucket reserved just for me. My
valuable lemon, which spared my fanny from a whipping so long as I
kept it aloft. I dropped my spoon on the floor beside the bucket. I
hoped the floor was clean. It looked clean. I gazed up at the cock which
loomed over me. My new boyfriend grinned down at me. My lifeguard.
What was his name? Would I ever know? My hands pressed to the
carpet between my knees, I lifted up as best I could and enclosed him
with my lips.
"Mmm," I said, sucking on his cockhead, hoping to inspire him to
cum. I was mindful of Janet right behind me, watching my every move,
judging my performance. The lifeguard just kept grinning, as cool and
calm as any suntanned god guarding the beach. He was seemingly
unaffected by my ministrations. Janet passed back and forth behind
me, impatient, her pony lash aimlessly flicking the air. Vigorously I
began blow-jobbing the man. I imitated Kimber as best I could.
Silently I prayed for him to release his seed.
"Thirty seconds!" a woman keeping time behind my boyfriend
yelled. There was a woman for each man, serving as judge, like at a
swim meet. Reluctantly I let go of the lifeguard. His cock quavered
wetly before me. I looked at his balls. They were tight, but he was
contained. He would not cum on this round. He helped me get my spoon
and lemon back into my mouth. I turned around and once more raced
back across the room. More whipped cream assailed me as I passed
through the middle. The partiers were aiming more directly now, even
stepping out into the racecourse to hit each girl squarely. I had to
dodge one of them who stood in my way. He was spraying another girl.
I'm sure they weren't supposed to block our path but, with all the
people involved, there were bound to be a few mishaps. I raced on,
whipped cream splotching my bottom, fired from somewhere behind me.
I reached my second eager boyfriend, also a stranger to me, and began
suckling away.
My second paramour proved as sturdy as my first, able to
withhold himself despite my best efforts. Back across the room I
went, and this time the guests were to give each of us a lash across the
bottom. I howled and nearly lost my spoon as a woman struck me quite
smartly right across my seat, a perfect hit for a girl who was proving
to have a less than perfect record in the blow job department. Some
men were already filling in as replacements now, and they got the same
treatment as we girls. I shot an admiring glance at their dangling
pricks and balls, which no doubt would hurt even more than my bottom
if they met with a whip.
The job of each man in the race, each horsey man, was to eat the
pussy of the woman at either end who had kept time, there being one
woman keeping time for each man. When he finally made one of the
timekeepers orgasm, the man could leave. The man himself had to keep
time of his own efforts. Janet, though, was never far off, making sure
that no cheating took place. Armed with a birch and a whip, she was
not to be messed with.
Suddenly I dropped my lemon. I was out in the middle of the rug,
not near the ice bucket that calmly waited for me at the other end.
Janet was upon me instantly, giving my poor tushy two brisk swats
with her birch rod. Ah! That was cruel. Those little buds were much
worse than her whip, stinging me all across my bare seat. Tears burst
from me as I fumbled my spoon and lemon back into my mouth. My
chains clinked, my manacled wrists were heavy. With trembling hands I
restored my spoon and lemon. Then I scurried off again, my bottom
flaming. I sniffled, wet cheeked. An unexpected sense of eroticism
washed over me. My clitty budded in my cunt. My breasts felt
deliciously alive, full and ripe and dangling down from my chest. My
bottom felt enormous, my every movement seemed to flex my hot hind
cheeks in sensual new ways. I reached my lifeguard and sucked him
passionately. I was aware as never before of my nakedness, stiff
nippled, my clitty burning. I wanted to rub myself there but was too
shy.
Back across the room I went, still sniffling from my brush with
JanetÕs birch. A whip stung me twice on the way back, wielded by yet
another avaricious woman. Two swift cracks through the air, bringing
just the tip of the whip into contact with my hiney, yet they impelled
me ever faster toward the safety of the far side, the waiting cock of
the law student.
As luck would have it, I eventually found myself the second to
last girl in the race. A petite brunette, about my age, still struggled
on, all the other females were gone. By now I'd been hit in the face
with whipped cream, and my hair was sodden with the stuff. My bottom
burned from being swatted and stung by the gleeful partiers. I hurried
between my men, milking each in turn, but neither would come. All of a
sudden the petite brunette began crying loudly. I looked over and saw
her peeing in the middle of the room, right on the carpet! Janet was
livid with rage, lifting her birch rod, about to strike as never before.
And then, just as suddenly, I was aware of a sprinkling between my own
legs as well. I looked down between my heavy breasts, saw a stream of
urine gushing forth from my own dell! Before Janet could castigate
either of us the general called a halt to the contest and said he'd take
care of us naughty girls himself.
Men with freely displayed cocks and balls came to us and lifted us
and carried us bodily from the room, our pee still spritzing out all over
the place. We were taken, just the two of us, down a long hall.
Paintings on the wall stared out at us as we passed. Ancient relatives,
smug in eighteenth-century attire. They would not approve of buck-
naked girls scampering about in front of their son, the noble general. I
felt like a trollop, disgraced. I wanted to hide my eyes from the
haunting portraits and call 911.
30
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copyright 1998 by the respective copyright holder.
-END OF story EMISSION