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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LOVE CHILD
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Chapter Five
I knelt upon the deep pile carpet. It was soft. My legs were
spread, not excessively, but too wide for a girl who wore no panties.
My hips were thrust forward. I offered a luring view of my pussy. I
was unconscious, though, of my display. Mesmerized, I stared with
astonished eyes at the scene before me. Mandy was totally nude, as I
was. She was bent over a padded leather trestle. Her wrists and ankles
were bound to its legs. A gag restrained her cries, but her eyes stared
out, tears welling, the eyes of one suffering harm.
My hands were clapped to my asscheeks, gripping them, as I
watched Mandy suffer so exquisitely. Behind her stood mistress. I still
did not know her name. WeÕd met last night, explored each otherÕs
bodies, experienced the most intense emotions together. Yet I still
knew her only as Òmistress.Ó Names did not matter. Beauty mattered.
Perseverance mattered. Love mattered. But not names. She knew me
as Barbi, and she knew Mandy by her first name. All else was
irrelevant. All that mattered in the outside world did not matter here.
Mistress wore riding boots, plus blue jeans, but was naked from
the waist up. Her clothing below seemed only to accentuate the raw
charm of her upper body. Her buoyant breasts were free and without
restraint. She held a cane, and with every singing stroke of it upon
Mandy's butt her sumptuous breasts jiggled marvelously. Beyond stood
Arthur. A new player. He had spent his seed in Mandy's mouth but
already his cock was becoming elongated. Breathlessly I watched it.
Clutching my hiney, I knew what made him grow so quickly, so
excitedly. It was the sight of Mandy getting her poor bottom whacked.
It stimulated him. I knew that he would want to see me put over the
trestle next.
We were all volunteers here, though. Within this room, this
confining space. Arthur had been introduced to us at Senator ExonÕs.
We were there no longer. We were in another chateau. It was some
distance from the SenatorÕs. The generalÕs, I should call it, for Senator
Exon was never there. It was the wine at dinner last night that had
made me think it was him. He, the Senator, that is, was in Washington.
Meeting with Donna Rice Hughes on how to ÒprotectÓ me. Donna Rice,
formerly mistress to Senator Gary Hart. SheÕd had Enough now, but I
hadnÕt. She wanted to protect me from the Òlittle compromisesÓ sheÕd
been allowed to make in her life. IÕd make my own Òlittle
compromises,Ó I thought. I did not need her to tell me what to
compromise and what not to. She would compromise Liberty to keep me
from having fun.
"Is it wise?" I had asked mistress, watching Arthur put his penis
to Mandy's mouth. He had done it just before she was gagged. I had
wanted to stop him, but mistress insisted. Mandy had squirmed upon
the trestle. She did not want that big sausage rammed down her throat.
Mistress did, though, and her will held sway.
Watching, I had seen Mandy take ArthurÕs big cock. I felt
sophisticated, watching it. I was in a coffeehouse, in my mind. I
brushed a strand of hair from my eyes, felt the wetness of my own lips.
There was a hunger upon them. We were discussing the male appendage.
In my mind I sipped coffee. It was hot, musky. The steam from the cup
tickled my nose. Yes, I at 15 was commenting upon the male penis, and
asking questions, but as an equal, not a supplicant. Mistress answered.
She demonstrated. Mandy was stretched over a table, a trestle. We
were elegant, cultured. She was naked, helpless. She would suffer for
science. We would use her as our guinea pig. I admit, though, I was a
little jealous of Mandy. She was about to get what I longed for. I
glanced at Donna Rice, she glanced at me. I watched as ArthurÕs
gorgeous penis slid into MandyÕs moistly opened mouth. She took it
with wide eyes, fearing to gag on it. He thrust it in, guided by
mistress, me watching. ÒIs it wise?Ó I repeated.
"DonÕt worry," she replied. "HeÕs renowned for the prodigious
amount of sperm he makes. We will all be well provided for." She
spoke of him as a pet. A male animal. ÒOf course, he will have to be
properly stimulated,Ó mistress added. She whisked her cane lightly
across MandyÕs bottom. The girl flinched, eyes popping. Her breath
whooshed out the corners of her mouth as Arthur stuffed himself into
her. ÒMore,Ó mistress told Mandy. She pinched the girlÕs nostrils shut
to encourage her compliance. ÒTake more.Ó Mandy whimpered. She
tried to speak but her words gagged on ArthurÕs cock. He pushed
himself within her small mouth, speared her. She became a sword
swallower.
ÒNow shaft her,Ó mistress told Arthur. ÒBack and forth. Do it
until you spill.Ó Grimly, knowing he could not last long if he obeyed,
Arthur set about his task. Mandy squeaked. She looked like a little
mouse to me, stretched tight over the trestle. She was a baby mouse,
being force-fed warm, nourishing milk. Mistress patted ArthurÕs
bottom. She looked up at me. ÒHe can get out of control if you donÕt
cool him down a little. HeÕs like Hercules, and if you leave him randy
heÕll go wild.Ó She turned her eyes back to Arthur. ÒSpurt, big boy. Let
it come out. I wonÕt have you rampaging around in here like some bull.
We girls are delicate.Ó She looked at me again. ÒArthur and I have
played together before. Whenever you have a big man like him itÕs
necessary to do this. Our boys last night were young gentlemen. You
can tease those types to your heartÕs content. But Arthur is a sex
slave. A boy toy. He played football once, never made it to the pros. He
was more valuable for other things, hmmm Arthur?Ó He did not
respond. In and out he jerked his shaft, all swollen, the veins pulsing,
throbbing. It was slick and wet with MandyÕs sweet saliva. She looked
like some hapless sausage machine, expelling the newest knockwurst,
only to have it rammed back in again. ÒGo on, get it out of yourself,
Arthur!Ó mistress scolded. ÒCome in her mouth. Suck, girl!Ó she told
Mandy. She traced a finger up MandyÕs throat, stung her bottom with
the cane.
Suddenly, losing control of his prodigious member, Arthur
groaned. For a moment there was nothing, he hung at the edge, just
over, knowing he would lose his load, yet valiantly trying to prolong his
possession. Mistress glared at him. She would not tolerate leaving his
seed in his balls. ÒInto her mouth, boy!Ó she admonished. She slapped
his cleft ass. He surged forward. Mandy squawked, her cry muffled.
ArthurÕs last reserve of will gave way. Sperm jetted into MandyÕs
mouth, down her throat. Bulging-eyed she gargled on it. The stuff ran
from her lips, backing up, she could not swallow it fast enough.
Mistress singed her ass with the cane to give her encouragement.
ÒAhhh,Ó Arthur gritted. He let his loins have full play now.
Freely he injected his sperm into Mandy. She looked like she was
hooked up to some giant syringe, a cow getting her daily dose of
fertilizer. Sperm bubbled from her mouth. Her lovely breasts swung
beneath her. Arthur withdrew at last. Mandy gasped for air. Her tongue
lolled out, sperm-coated, dripping. Immediately mistress gagged her
with a cloth, to prevent her screaming. Not that anyone would hear. We
were in a soundproofed room. But it would be an annoyance, I guessed,
Mandy squawking and protesting. The female must be given freedom,
but only up to a point. This much I had learned already. After that she
must be encouraged by other, brisker means. Mandy, who had only had a
few little stingers of the cane to get her going, now turned her head
and looked frantically back at mistress. She raised the cane with a
determined look.
ÒNow that ArthurÕs been Ôtopped offÕ, he must be brought up
again,Ó mistress told Mandy. I guessed that she meant heÕd been
neutered a little, made a little less frantic, but now we girls wanted
his cock big and strong again for the nightÕs festivities. The cock we
needed, but too much sperm might set him off. Yes, that was about how
one might explain it, I thought. Mistress wanted him under our control.
Hard, but not so full of sperm that he was uncontrollable. We were,
after all, just girls. He was a man. He could dominate us at will. So
trickery was needed, and a little planning.
One might say that Arthur was our nominal master now, with
mistress his able lieutenant. Yet really her presence dominated us all.
He would not have denied her any wish, or disobeyed any of her
commands. It was because of her that we were here now, in this room.
Myself, clutching my ass. Mandy over the trestle, receiving the cane.
And Arthur, our new playmate, his cock leaping at every stroke of the
cane on MandyÕs peach.
After "opening night" at the generalÕs, as mistress now gaily
referred to it, Mandy and I had spent the night cuddled in her arms. I'd
lain beside her, pressed up against her glorious figure, sucking my
thumb like the spoiled little baby she wanted me to be. Next morning
she'd gotten us up, bathed us, and dressed us in bikinis and fur coats.
"Would you like to go on an adventure?" she'd asked us. There was
a note of breathlessness in her voice. She herself drew on blue jeans, a
thin blouse, a thick fur coat. We donned leather gloves, boots. We
nodded at her. "I mean," she said, "a sexual adventure."
Mandy and I looked puzzled. We'd just dressed, albeit fetchingly,
looked cute beneath our wraps, wearing our little bikinis.
"Come," she'd said, and had taken Mandy by the hand. The matter
had been settled by our hesitancy. A nun would have blanched, a tot
would have affrighted, but we had merely gazed back at her,
inquiringly, not speaking. Our silence was, with her, our consent.
The men were gone. The general and his two studly pals had left
us. Perhaps heÕd taken them out hunting, or skiing. WeÕd been used,
they were finished with us. I glanced down at my tummy. It was
smooth. Would I bulge with their seed in a few months? Would they
remember me? I felt a swaying in my hips. I did not care that theyÕd
departed. We were with mistress now. She would find new boyfriends
for us. She turned her head back to me. Tightly she held MandyÕs hand.
We walked on a wooden floor down a long hallway. ÒDonÕt fall behind,
dear,Ó mistress told me. ÒYouÕre open now, fair game for any man. If
you linger youÕll be caught alone. Everyone knows by now you spent the
night in the generalÕs bed. And he is absent, as you can see. TheyÕll pile
on you and fuck you with abandon, every man taking his share. He paid
for you to come here. He expects you to provide entertainment now,
with your cunt. Hurry, or I wonÕt be able to save you!Ó I quickened my
pace. She took us to the basement, down the long flight of steps Mandy
and I had so dreaded descending the day before. ÒWe must have a
protector. ThereÕs a little time to fetch him,Ó mistress told us. ÒI just
hope heÕs here!Ó We peered into the deep stone chamber.
ÒArthur!Ó mistress called. She cupped her hand to her mouth.
ÒArthur!Ó We walked across the stone floor. I saw the cages Mandy and
I had crouched in, rabbit-like. They were open now, but had fresh
pillows in them, with fresh rose petals sprinkled atop them. I sensed
new girls would be brought soon, entrapped in them. No matter. I had
met the test, passed through. They would have to manage on their own.
I lifted my chin, felt a little pride shiver down my spine. I had done
well, hadnÕt I? And Mandy too. I felt my breasts, high on my chest,
contained within my little bra. They moved easily, bouncing lightly. I
did not know where I was going, or who I would meet. But whoever he
was, I felt a little more confident than yesterday.
We passed into another room. And then another. The basement
ran all underneath the mansion, I guessed, as big as the house itself.
There were rooms within rooms. I wondered if weÕd meet a troll.
Would he wield an axe and hack us up? I shivered. In my fretfulness I
felt a little thrill. It ran down my spine to my tailbone, and up through
my newly opened cunt. A balloon of anxious pleasure welled somewhere
deep within me. I was aware of my little bikini, so stringy, no
protection at all for whatever might befall me. And in my fur wrap I
looked valuable, precious. He would want to steal me, whoever he was.
I would be his bauble, his ornament. I would adorn his secret cave and
bear him children by the river Styx. He would keep me with his
treasure, guard me like Smaug. Little hobbits would try to rescue me
but I would be doomed, captive. I would be a womb, nothing more, with
twin teats for giving milk. Trembling, I smoothed my hands across my
new fur coat. I heard a sound of dripping water. Cum-dripping, it
sounded to me, as if there was a man in here who could cum and cum,
never ceasing, always ready to give more. Indeed, if there were such a
man here he would be as valuable as me. A stud, fertile, kept for
fucking girls and wayward women. And then, emerging from the
shadows, he stepped into my vision. He was holding an axe, but was
much taller than a dwarf, six feet at least.
I stopped dead in my tracks. He looked like Hercules. Mandy too
came to a halt, startled, awestruck. He wiped his brow. He looked as if
heÕd just been chopping wood. He set aside his axe, leaned it up against
the wall.
ÒHi, Arthur!Ó mistress greeted him. Her voice was light, airy.
There was a note of expectation in it.
ÒGood morning, or is it evening?Ó Arthur replied. His voice was
thick with a German accent. Not German, no. Austrian. His muscles
rippled. He wore no clothes. Instead, a kind of uniform. I marvelled at
it. For a moment I swooned, I think. Then I regained my senses. When I
did, mistress was telling Arthur that it mattered not what time of day
it was. He agreed, said he rarely knew the day or date. The general
kept him busy. There were always new virgins to be deflowered, or
women to be entertained. I gazed at him lovingly. He certainly worked
for his money here.
He was deliciously accoutered for sex fun. Arthur was not his
real name, but his slave name, down here in the basement. I donÕt know
if he even remembered his real name anymore. Mistress herself did not
seem to know it. Names did not matter, anyway.
He was a large man, muscular, tall, with genitalia that stole your
breath away. His hair was slicked back, he wore a leather collar,
gloves and boots. Otherwise he was naked, save for his balls, which
were bulging inside a pouch of leather from which his magnificent cock
extruded. He was not fully erect when we came upon him.
ÒWell girls, canÕt you at least show Arthur what youÕd look like if
he met you on the beach?Ó mistress chided us. I heard her voice only
dreamily, as if from a distance. I was still enthralled with Arthur, but
scared of him a little, too. He was so obviously made for one purpose,
and one purpose only. Fucking. Making girls get pregnant. Unless they
were very, very careful, and swallowed their pills religiously. Which,
of course, I hadnÕt been doing. I hadnÕt even fucked until last night. I
would have to talk to mistress about that. I was too young to have a
baby. And whoÕs baby would it be, anyway? Gazing at Arthur, I guessed
heÕd be the sort of guy who got you pregnant, regardless. He was the
one with the cock so huge it split the condom open, or overwhelmed all
the pills and precautions you might take. Yes, that was his function in
life. He was a walking cock. And, trembling, in my little bikini, I knew
what I was. Had I not been purchased too, paid for? The cunt was
meeting the cock. The tart had found the gigolo. Me, an ÔalmostÕ virgin
now, and him, so experienced. He probably wrote the manual on fucking
girls. If he could write, that is. Perhaps he dictated it.
Mandy, finding her courage, introduced herself, then me. Sensing
it was required, we smilingly flashed him a look at our bikinied bodies
beneath our coats. Instantly he responded. His cock went stretching
out to a point that seemed much too far from his body. It was
incredibly long and proportionally as thick as its length. Mandy and I
stared at it wide-eyed, not speaking, wanting it yet afraid of it.
Mistress giggled and assured us that we would not be safe from it as
long as we were with her.
Arthur was quiet. His cock spoke for him. I suppose a man of his
beauty need not say much in life. Women throw themselves at a guy
like him and he dutifully fucks them. Men who hunger for power, for
money, in the end all they want is to be loved. To be admired. To be
told what big cocks they have. Arthur already had, no doubt to excess,
what many men spend their entire lives trying to get. He was beset by
admiring mares at every turn. And little fillies like us. Girls, no doubt,
went out of their way to tell him what a big cock he had. Just by their
eyes they could tell him. Obediently, politely, he would greet them.
ÒOh sir, please come upstairs with me, I canÕt turn my oven on!Ó they
might say. Or, Òdear me, I just locked myself out of my car!Ó Then,
snaring him, theyÕd keep him for days on end, begging for more. Begging
to be filled and filled by him until they were drunk with his sperm. And
now the general had him. For women, or even gay games perhaps. For
children, or animals, whatever the general desired to see properly
fucked. Wherever Arthur went in the world, I guessed someone was
always at his heels, a woman most likely, hoping to trap him. He would
live his whole life this way. Chopping wood, lifting weights, being fed
fine food so that he could exercise himself upon his latest mistress all
night long. He was a stallion too beautiful to race, put out to stud from
the day his cock first began growing. At 12 or 13, I guessed, heÕd had
his first cunt, and heÕd been Ôat workÕ ever since.
Mandy and I shivered in his presence, despite our warm coats.
"Come, eager beavers, there is a chateau not far from here where
we can explore our new friend in private," mistress said. She led us
back upstairs, Arthur in tow. She got Arthur a coat, to hide his
nakedness. A trench coat. He would be 007. He had a secret weapon. If
a Russian agent met him, she was doomed.
Mistress took us out to a horse-drawn carriage. The coachman
nodded, was in collusion with her. We were escaping from the general.
We would labor no longer for him. We would attend no more of his
parties. I would play no longer with his guests. And I would not be
imprisoned in the basement, either. I would have sex on my own terms,
not for pay for his guests. HeÕd seen me lose my cherry, at both ends.
And Mandy too. That was enough. And Arthur, poor Arthur, he had
sweated for the general long enough. Yes, the general would miss us.
He would regret leaving us alone in his bedroom, abandoning us. He
would throw a fit when he returned, finding that his rented wombs had
slipped away. He would rave. He would want us much, now that we
were no longer his to have. He would look for us but not find us. We
would hide down in a rabbit-hole somewhere, breeding. He would range
across the snow but never see us.
I sat in the coach looking out at the snow, wondering at our new
destination. The horses galloped briskly. Arthur got an early start on
Mandy. He knew his role, had played it so many times he performed it
unthinkingly. He teased her.
ÒYou are too small to fuck, donÕt you think?Ó he asked her. His
voice was smooth, German. He was a Nazi inspector about to ÔturnÕ a
French maiden. She would divulge the resistance to him. She would not
resist. She would try, but he was an expert in such things. He seemed
to like her petite frame. She was a little shorter than me, with
orphan-like eyes. I had no idea how sheÕd wound up at the generalÕs.
Perhaps she was a street urchin from Rio, suddenly noticed for her
beauty, suddenly kidnapped. Now she was about to meet her unmaker.
ÒIÕm not small!Ó Mandy replied. She was piqued. Foolishly, she
drew back her coat so that he could admire her. Proudly she showed
him her bust. ÒTheyÕre big as any youÕve seen!Ó she said testily. Her
bosoms were gloriously large for such a young girl. Rightly, she was
proud of them. But he had never been referring to her bust size, as he
well knew. HeÕd only been kidding, teasing her about her age, not her
tits.
With the aplomb of a plumber, come to fix a leak, he drew open
the front of her panties. He ignored her tits, but he peered at her pussy
approvingly. ÒYou are wet, my dear,Ó he said. Whether she really was
or not I did not know, but she giggled shyly. She ran her tongue across
her lips.
"Come dear, do not hold your coat so tightly. It is for warmth
only, not privacy," mistress said to me. I let mine fall open, Arthur
surveyed me.
"Where do you find such awesome girls?" he asked mistress.
"Here and there," mistress replied with an elegant toss of her
head. "They just had their grand opening last night. You will have to be
gentle with them for they are still very tight." Arthur nodded. I felt a
nervousness in the pit of my stomach, yet a craving too. I could not
believe that Arthur, with all his experience, with so many girls in his
past, actually liked us. After all, I was just a high school girl, and
Mandy, I did not know from whence she came, but she had no more
training in love than I. How could he possibly be interested in us?
Were we not just children? Was he really excited by us, or just
pretending to be, to please mistress? Had he played the role of Atlas
Amore so often that he just conned girls naturally into opening their
bikinis for him, without even thinking? Was he even really seeing us,
or just responding, stiffening on command, as it were. ÔUp, Arthur. IÕve
brought you new babies to fuck,Õ mistress would say. ÔEntertain me by
spearing them with your massive rod. Make them weep upon it.Õ ÔYes,
mistress, I harden on command. It is no big thing to me, though I have a
big thing.Õ My thoughts swirled within me, resurfaced.
"I will want them warmed for it," Arthur said to mistress. I knew
not what he meant. Was I not warm? I closed my coat back over me.
Perhaps thatÕs what he meant, warmed in my coat, or by a fire or
something.
"Of course," mistress replied, deftly. She ran her fingers web-
like over the front of his coat, spider-like, seeking. She did not have to
search far. Within his coat there was a bulge, obvious even to the
coachman. She sleeked her fingertips down over it and squeezed. "Do I
not always warm them for you?" she asked him. He nodded. He smiled a
pleasant smile. But was he truly into this, or just an obedient steed?
Mistress would take him for a little trot, and introduce him to new
young fillies. They would neigh politely and he would mount them.
After they were Ôwarmed,Õ of course.
And now that was just what I was seeing as I knelt on the carpet.
I was neither tied nor gagged. I could get up, walk out, though mistress
had locked the door and I would have to find the key first. Instead I
stayed, watching, holding my bottom cheeks apprehensively. Could I
bear to see poor Mandy treated this way? I could not tear my eyes
away. Down came the cane again.
ÒYEEEOCH!Ó Mandy cried. I glanced at the sperm-tracks running
from the corners of her mouth. Beneath her face, on the carpet, there
was a pool of sperm, ArthurÕs sperm, slowly sinking into the rug.
Before her, wiggling, his cock grew anew, ready for more action, ready
to spurt again. She wriggled madly on the trestle. She wanted up, but
the gag kept her from asking. Again the cane whizzed down. Again
Mandy wrenched, her hair shaking, wreathing her lovely, haunted face.
She tried to kick her slender legs but the restraints held her ankles
fast. Her boobies were free, though, and they shook madly, temptingly.
Her nipples were stiff. I knew her clit ached too, hard beyond
reckoning, tiny in its stiffness, but taunting her, telling her she loved
this even as she hated it.
I bit my lip. I was as naked as Mandy. I knew I could not watch
without being made to take my own turn under mistressÕ hand. Mistress
relished the caning, yet her look was not vicious. She gazed at Mandy
tenderly. She seemed to feel for the girl, suffer with her, yet she was
unrelenting in her punishment. It was as if she were saying, ÔYou must
have this, darling. It is necessary. It is a rite of passage, part of
growing up. You are sprouting nicely and your time has come. Someday
you will be old, haggard, forgotten in suburbia, with only a pension and
an old folksÕ home to look forward to. With a young daughter strutting
her stuff out on the street, embarrassing you with her newly-formed
beauty, drawing all the menÕs attention away from you...forever. But
now you are the young strumpet, the daughter. This is your moment in
the sun. It is your bottom that is sought, your little mouth that begs to
be spermed, and spermed again. It is your waggling, wiggling titties
that charm menÕs eyes, and womenÕs too. You ARE the center of
attention. You are not like me, a helper, a mistress. You are better.
You are the ONE to whom all others look. It is you that their eyes rest
on. It is you who draws their attention and fixes it. Someday you will
be gracefully matured, a mistress, but then some new girl will lie
wiggling over the trestle. Your breasts will still be lovely, they will
still shake sweetly, freely, but then it will be the new girl whose
breasts finally pin the menÕs eyes and hold them. It will be her ass
they watch with the greatest ardor, and seek to fuck. But never mind
about tomorrow. Today is your hour, your moment in the sun. Enjoy it.Õ
Watching Mandy, I knew she did not hear the immortal soliloquy.
She would have given ANYTHING to get up. She would have paid any
price to be allowed to shoot from this room, feet flying, scuttling, to
run upstairs and hide somewhere and nurse her stinging bottom. That a
beauty like her would one day DELIVER the stinging cuts was impossible
for her to understand. I knew, though, and it scared me stiff. I
watched, my eyes rolling, saw each whizzing strike of the cane sweep
down, saw the result. I held my ass. I felt its whiteness, its purity,
its tender softness. I felt my breasts, too, not jostling around like
MandyÕs, but simply rising, falling, up and down with my breathless
breaths. How strange we all were, naked here, within this room from
which no sound could escape. Yet our arrival had been unremarkable, a
picture of perfect domesticity.
The chateau was conservative, precisely built, almost resembling
a salt-box house in its design. The wooden planks seemed to hide no
secrets. A pastor might have lived within its walls, preparing his
sermons. The roof, neatly decked with snow, shimmered in the morning
sunlight. Perhaps a bit of heaven dwelt there. Angels, liberated from a
pinhead, danced in uncounted numbers in the twinkling glare.
We disembarked from the coach and were let into the chateau by a
husband and wife. They were bright, cheerful, by all appearances an
ordinary couple. They had known we were coming. All had been
arranged, apparently, between themselves and mistress, privately.
They were friends of mistress, though not of the general. The husband
was a political rival of his of some sort. The politics of the place
eluded me.
Despite the conservative appearance of the house, no time was
wasted. Our coats were taken at once. The wife did not ask if she
could, she simply assumed, and unwrapped us. Mandy first, then me.
Mistress shed her own coat and gave it to the man of the house. They
exchanged smiles. His eyes admired her figure, then drifted to mine,
MandyÕs. Our bikinis were duly admired. The husband was young,
handsome. The wife showed as much interest in me as he did.
I felt naked under their eyes and, thinking back, I suppose we
could have arrived naked. Just from their glances I could tell we would
be sharing some secret with them, perhaps ourselves, perhaps
something about ourselves. Something you didnÕt just let anyone in on.
But they would know. They would know all. Manners, I guess, dictated
some little show of modesty at first. Even if that modesty was no
more than a pair of trifling bikinis. One must not be too obvious,
though in our circumstances the mannerly part was not destined to last
long.
ÒCome,Ó the wife smiled. Her hair was pretty, I thought. Her
hands, beckoning, were graceful. I might have been at the beach, in my
bikini, Mandy too, except there was snow outside. I tossed my head. I
tried to be casual. Perhaps we would go swimming together in a heated
swimming pool. The couple would slip out of their clothes, be found to
have swimsuits beneath. We would play innocent games in the pool and
shower afterward. We would spend the evening reciting prayers to
Jesus. Chastely, we would retire to separate beds. Then, watching the
wife open what looked to be a closet door, I gulped. Closets did not
lead to swimming pools. Closets led to hidden places, and forbidden
games. Mistress, following, pushed me forward. Her hands rested on
my bare waist. The husband squeezed into the closet with her and they
shared a kiss, I think, even as the wife led the way deeper into the
closet. The floor gave way to stairs and we descended. Mandy almost
tripped; reaching out, I caught her, even as mistress kept hold of my
waist. It was that quick, our arrival, and our immediate descent into
the sort of place Dante might have liked, all flesh and curdling screams
and bared desires. An opened door, a rustle of clothing pushed back, a
forward moving of my feet, MandyÕs, urged by mistress.
The wife led us downstairs. She and her husband had a private
dungeon of their own. There was no preliminary chit-chat, no tour of
their home. Just a nod, an exchange of glances with mistress. And a
moment later we were downstairs, in a little rec room, at the doorway
to their dungeon. Beside us was a pool table, a t.v., as if the couple
kept them handy as a useful facade. As a last attempt to keep out
unwanted intruders. ÔOh,Õ a building inspector might say, ÔI see this is
nothing but a little game room, down here. I wondered, you know...Õ And
then he would sign the permit. Never knowing, never guessing. But I
knew. For the door just beyond was open, and I was gazing into the
hidden chamber beyond. A dungeon, carpeted, with pastel-colored
walls, innocent looking, just like the rec room. Except it was furnished
with a trestle, with restraints lying about the legs, loose, waiting for
wrists and ankles. Not a medieval dungeon, this, but still unmistakable
in its purpose. Gazing in at the trestle, and other things besides, I was
not fooled. We wouldnÕt be going swimming. We might make water, but
we wouldnÕt be in water. I sleeked my hands over the front of my lycra
panties. I let my eyes glance down, around. There was myself, Mandy,
mistress and Arthur. We would be the ones in the dungeon, I guessed.
Just us, not the couple. Us in our bikinis. Arthur stripped down to his
Italian Stallion costume, wearing nothing but his gloves and his
testicle pouch, plus his very necessary boots and collar.
For the moment, Arthur still wore his trench coat. Mistress still
wore her shirt and jeans. The husband and wife were clothed. The
couple would not be playing with us, though, they said. They spoke
matter-of-factly, as if there were no dispute as to what we were here
for.
ÒYouÕre welcome to the use of our room,Ó the wife told mistress.
She meant their dungeon, of course. They were giving us the use of it
as a favor.
"My, this is all new since I last visited!" mistress said. Mandy and
I stood mesmerized. There was no bed in the dungeon but plenty of
strange looking "furniture," if it could be called that. I did not want to
go inside but could not help myself, so strange and fascinating did it all
appear. I found MandyÕs hand, squeezed it tight. She squeezed mine
back, reassuringly. With hesitant steps we stepped into the dungeon.
The others followed.
"It's specially designed for sexual activity, with complete
privacy," the young wife told us. "Bob and I built much of it ourselves."
"Quite a job," mistress replied.
"You should have seen me," the wife laughed. "I was naked except
for my work belt, hammering and sawing and sweating away down here.
I could hardly ever get anything done, Bob kept saying how absolutely
sexy I looked and insisting we take a break." She clasped her husband's
hand and they exchanged loving glances. "Anyway, itÕs totally
soundproofed, so you needn't worry about bothering us. There's plenty
of food in the little fridge, so you can stay down here for several days
if you like. There's a real bathroom in here too in case you get tired of
washing each other with buckets and peeing into chamberpots."
"You seem to have thought of everything," mistress replied,
admiring the place, sizing it up.
"Well, there's no bed," the wife replied. "When you get really tired
you'll have to come upstairs to sleep. But then, I've known people
who've stayed down here for over 40 hours before even thinking of
sleeping."
"Then they're so worn out they sleep for days," her husband
laughed.
"Not exactly the perfect guests, I suppose," mistress observed.
"Oh, they're quite delightful when they finally do come round," the
wife said. "You find them topless at the breakfast table, absolutely
glowing, wolfing down food and chatting merrily. Of course they
sometimes have a few extra cushions under their tushies."
"Everything has a price," mistress said philosophically.
"Well, you need not worry about paying one here," the wife said.
"Save that which you extract from each other for your mutual pleasure.
Use the room as long as you like. There's a key in the dresser so you
can lock the door for absolute privacy." She departed then, hand in hand
with her husband, leaving us to ourselves. Mistress got the key and
shut the door, locked it. She turned and looked at us. By her eyes I
could see there would not be any waiting, any interval in which one
might weigh possibilities. Did I wish for there to be? I did not know.
Arthur put his hands to his hips. He surveyed the room, us, letting
his coat fall open. He looked like a general sizing up the battlefield,
the soldiers, just before commencement of the war. He tried no longer
to hide his beauty. His hairy chest showed, his hairy legs. He was
erect, his balls achingly, bulgingly full. I squeezed MandyÕs hand hard,
seeing him expose himself so casually. I realized that my nipples were
stiff, stiffer than theyÕd ever felt in my life. They protruded
noticeably into my bra. MandyÕs too, stood upright, as did mistressÕ,
tenting her blouse.
"Take all your things off," mistress said to Mandy and I. We
looked at each other. There was no going back now, was there? We
were too hot, too excited. We stood unsteadily, still holding hands,
Mandy a bit fearful, me scared. And then I let go of her hand. She
seemed even more frightened as she saw my hand slip away, leaving her
own her own, bereft. She would have to make her own decisions now.
She would have to be a big girl. And then, she smiled. Just like that.
She accepted the challenge, as did I. My gloved fingers slid along the
waistband of my panties, testing them, reproving them for being there.
Mandy reached up, behind herself, caught the back of her bra with her
hands. She pulled at the bow that held her bra tight. It loosened. Her
tits sticking out, she watched as they shuddered free of her bra. I bit
my lip and lowered my panties. My pussy showed. I did not stop, but
kept on pushing my undies down, letting all be seen. And then they
were somewhere around my ankles, and I was stepping out of them,
gracefully as I could.
We slipped out of our bikinis, sat down and yanked off our boots.
Then, reluctantly, we untied the little laces at the back of our gloves. I
slipped mine off, ladylike. I placed them on the bench beside me. It
was hard wood, polished. All the floor was soft, carpeted, but this
bench, the only chair of worth that I could see, was made of oak. Not
the most comfy place for a girl to rest her bare bottom. No bed, no
chairs, how curious this place was! What were people to do in here? I
gulped, glancing at the trestle. Mandy plopped her gloves beside me.
Mistress took hers off too, dropped them atop MandyÕs. I smiled up at
her, she gazed at me with a superior look. Arthur shed his coat. He
wanted to take off his testicle pouch, but mistress told him Ôno.Õ Just
like that. Like one might instruct a dog. ÒNo, Arthur,Ó she said. And in
his strength, his chest rippling, his biceps flexing, he relented. He let
go of the little leather tie back between his legs that would have
unbound his balls. But he frowned at her, unhappy. She smiled. She
checked his pouch to see that it was not squeezing his balls too tightly.
ÒPoor thing,Ó she chided. ÒAre you too full?Ó
ÒYou know this damn thing kills me,Ó he answered. ÒItÕs okay
when IÕm empty, I guess, but IÕm not empty now.Ó
ÒI can see that, dear,Ó mistress answered. She stroked the
underside of his ball pouch. ÒThatÕs what weÕre here for. YouÕve got
three cunts to fill, three mouths, three tiny little buttholes, and a dumb
blonde like me canÕt even count how many hands youÕve got. Not
including your own, of course,Ó she smirked. ÒYouÕd best be able to
fulfill your duties.Ó
ÒIÕm not called a one-man gang bang for nothing,Ó Arthur
answered. He was clearly annoyed at her teasing, though he still let
her fondle him as freely as she might. ÒI killed a girl once, fucking her
too hard.Ó
ÒAh, so thatÕs why you must hide out in dreary dungeons,Ó
mistress smiled. ÒI learn a little more about you each time we meet.Ó
She took his cock and yanked it way down, then let go. TWANNNG! I
heard in my mind, as I watched ArthurÕs cock spring up and down like
some elongated yo-yo. Mistress burst out laughing. I giggled too, as
did Mandy, clapping a hand to her mouth for fear of offending Arthur. He
did not look amused. But, interestingly, mistress was the one wearing
pants. He had to content himself with a ball pouch. I smiled at him,
trying to soften the sense of abuse he must have felt. He was truly a
rare and wonderful animal. I felt like some maiden must have, just
before being kidnapped and taken away by Zeus. Except here Hera ruled,
and perhaps us also, if she permitted it. I let my eyes soak in his form,
wondering if IÕd ever sit before such a glorious man again. Slowly,
knowing where my eyes really wanted to fixate, to salivate, I trained
my vision on his groin. I looked unabashedly and, reaching out again for
MandyÕs hand, I think she did too. He gazed back at us, taking us in as
freely and unashamedly as we took in him. I let my legs remain open. I
did not try to close or cross them. My pussy showed between, I was
naked, as bare as a newborn now. Mandy too did not bother closing her
legs. All the lessons mommies and teachers had taught us were
forgotten, sitting before Arthur. He did not want us to close our legs, I
could see, and we complied. Our little cunts lay bare before him, soft
and inviting. 15-year-old cunts, ÒchildrenÕs cunts,Ó as the feminists
would certainly insist, but Arthur drank them in as willingly as if
theyÕd been the cunts of women, Oprah WinfreyÕs, perhaps, or Andrea
DworkinÕs. Unembarrassedly we stared at him, and I sized up his
equipment.
His cock stuck out like a prong. There was no other way to
explain it. Out it came at you, like something from Aliens, all fat and
fleshy, with only one purpose in the world. As for his balls, he looked
like he was just about bursting, so wonderfully full was he with seed.
His balls, constrained in the tight leather, nonetheless hung with
visible weight between his thighs, looking like some brown-clad
wrecking ball hanging there. He was with seed and we would be with
child if precautions werenÕt taken, I knew. Which is why mistress' next
step, after removing her blouse, still leaving her pants on, was to get
us each a glass of water and a birth control pill. I watched her walking
to the bathroom, her back naked, slim, her hair swaying mane-like
across it. I listened as she filled glasses for Mandy and I. Arthur
smiled, smugly. He knew he held the very thing we had to guard against.
It was in his body, and it would soon be in ours. I shivered. I guessed
the Ògrand openingÓ night had to be done without pills, for purity. I
was kind of glad IÕd done it naturally, though I feared being pregnant.
Hopefully a good girl like me didnÕt get pregnant with her first fuck.
Hopefully. Now, though, I wished to be more careful. I was glad for the
pills, and I could see little Mandy was too. Fortunately our hosts had
thought to supply such. I glanced around at the ÒfurnitureÓ again. The
trestle, a nightstand busy with lubricants, a flower vase stuffed with
condoms. The room had indeed been designed exclusively for sexual
labors. But not to any productive end. The Pope would be most
displeased. All our exertions would be for pleasure only.
ÒHurry up, bitch! Or IÕll break your arm again!Ó Arthur yelled. He
was growing impatient. I felt my throat constrict.
ÒOhhh, donÕt I know it!Ó mistress answered, running out from the
bathroom. She held a glass of water for myself and Mandy. Its contents
sloshed about. Above the tightness of her jeans her lovely breasts
bounced lewdly. Her nipples were sharp peaks.
ÒHe broke your arm?Ó Mandy asked mistress.
ÒShhh, dear, swallow your pill,Ó mistress answered. Her words
seemed reassuring. I dismissed ArthurÕs threat as manly hubris. Mandy
took a pale pink pill from mistressÕ open palm, took a second, offered it
to me. I accepted. A third remained, for mistress. Even with her sexy
jeans on, she was still female, a womb. She might wear the pants here,
but an emission from Arthur would make her five sizes too big for
them, perhaps forever. Mistress popped her own pill in her mouth and
swallowed it down with a swish from her glass. Her lipstick stained
the side of the glass, I did not mind. Mandy seemed not to either. We
were all together in this. We would share more intimacies than a glass
of water, I knew, even as we had the night before.
Mandy and I dutifully swallowed our pills. We trembled a little,
still obviously unsure of ourselves. It seemed so sinful, yet so
tempting, to be here. A part of me wanted to flee, but my devilish side
kept winning round after round with my guardian angel.
And now Mandy looked like she was bereft of her angel's
protection entirely. She gritted her teeth over her gag, whining, eyes
weeping.
Swick! Mistress' cane zinged her awful tormented bottom once
more, making the girl flinch and Arthur grow. I watched it all with my
heart pounding beneath my frail ribs. Could I go through with it?
Would I? I longed for the woman of the house and her husband to come
back down and interrupt us, to take the decision from me. Perhaps they
could evict us for not paying our rent. Surely such a room should be
rented, not merely given away for free, even to friends. I prayed, but
they did not knock, did not play Landlord. Instead, Arthur stood calmly
greasing his cock. He held a jar of vaseline, applied its contents with
smooth strokes. HeÕd found it on the nighttable. There were all sorts
of exotic lubricants there, but heÕd settled on old reliable. ÔGrease Ôem
up, boys, weÕre going in. Nothing fancy,Õ I heard a drill-sergeant bark
into my imagination. I saw platoons of Marines dropping their pants,
lubing their dongs. They would parachute in without pants and fuck
maidens like me behind enemy lines. Milkmaids, and flower girls at
corner stalls, and the girl in the candy store, wondering at the length of
the candy canes until the soldiers burst in and showed her sweeter
treats. ÔOh, sir!Õ she would protest. ÔThe sausage store is down the
street! You need to make your deliveries there!Õ They would hold her
then, and make her take their big things. Up her cunt, in her ass, all
greased and lubed and ready to go, no introductions necessary. She
would squeal and find that sausages in a candy store were not so bad
after all.
Earlier Arthur had asked Mandy and me to suck his dick, to get
things started. I suppose you had to start a party somehow in a room
like this, and to Arthur, at least, bluntly asking two girls to suck him
was just about the best way you could do it. I'd coyly declined. Mandy
wished to also, but mistress would not let her. She taught Mandy how
to suck properly then, me watching, the two of them down on their
knees taking turns with his member. I'd stood just off to the side,
watching intently, a little girl afraid to go meet Santa.
Arthur had ignored me since then, perhaps thinking me silly and
immature. I'd watched as he'd almost come in Mandy's mouth, drooling
pre-cum over her licking tongue. Then IÕd watched as he and mistress
had lovingly strapped her over the trestle. She did not look to be so
well loved now, getting her bottom stung. She began bawling.
"Shush, darling, you can take a few more," mistress admonished.
"You would not want me to cut short your training, would you?" Mandy,
sobbing loudly, finally shook her head no. I was amazed. Despite her
pain, despite the awful hurting in her bottom, she had shaken her head
ÔnoÕ to the prospect of being released. Why, after such antics? SheÕd
been straining mightily at her bonds, pleading through her gag. Yet,
when finally asked, she somehow found the courage to say Ôno.Õ I
admired her bravery, even as my hands clung to my own silken
asscheeks, wondering if I would be so brave. Perhaps it was the
imminent prospect of ArthurÕs dick going up her that emboldened her.
It was fully greased now, gleaming like hard steel before her. Perhaps
she feared that I would be put over the trestle and receive him instead.
The girl understood now, didnÕt she? She was the center of attention,
not me. Were we to trade places, she would be left in a corner, sobbing,
without her reward, while Arthur loved me instead. No, she would go
the full course. She would remain over the trestle for however long
mistress wished, provided she got that big cock as her prize in the end.
Ah, sex was strange, I thought. Girls with pussies thought of nothing
but cocks, boys with cocks thought of nothing but pussies. How could
God have created such a world? I still believed in him, I did, even if I
didnÕt obey him too well. Someday IÕd become a mom and reform
myself. Then IÕd join the PTA and worry about the virtue of little girls,
and demand more police to protect them. But now, here, such matters
were Ôoutside the scope,Õ as one might say. Not irrelevant, no, just
beyond where my mind was at the moment. I was going to get mine, and
Mandy hers, and she was going to make damn sure she was first. I
should not have refused to suck. I should have knelt and laved ArthurÕs
cock with my tongue, told him how big it was, how much I loved it. And
I truly loved it. As much as my poor teddy bear, more, I guess, since IÕd
left teddy at the generalÕs. Perhaps some other girl was hugging teddy
now, telling him sheÕd never give in, sheÕd remain a virgin forever. ÔIÕll
be Mother Theresa,Õ sheÕd assure her teddy, once my teddy. ÔYes, Mother
Theresa! No Missionary Position for me!Õ Teddy would smile his
inimitable smile. His coal black eyes would twinkle. And then some
boyfriend would knock at the door, and sheÕd toss teddy down,
forgetting him instantly. Not meaning to, you know, just doing it,
unthinkingly. HeÕd wait, and eventually another girl would find him.
Another wannabe for the nunnery, except sheÕd wind up leaving teddy
behind, just as I had. I opened my ass with my fingers. I felt the air
caress it, cool my little sphincter. Why, oh why was I being such a bad,
bad girl? I squished my bottomcheeks shut. Naughty! And then I
realized what a naughty girl like me needed. Alas, Mandy was already
getting it. A good spanking.
"Good, then, for I know you are a big girl and you have a nice big
bottom which was made just for this,Ó mistress was saying to Mandy.
She patted MandyÕs bottom, a welcome relief from the stinging cane.
Mandy jerked just the same, not expecting a light pat, an admiring pat.
She shuddered in her bonds, letting her tears flow freely down her
cheeks. They blushed, her bottom blushed even more, all cut up now
with pink and red stripes. ÒWait until Arthur gets himself into you,
which I hope he isn't too enormous to do,Ó mistress teased Mandy. ÒFor
you will truly bloom from the warmth of the cane and his hot seed.Ó
She laughed, a pretty laugh, not one youÕd expect to find in a horrid
dungeon like this. She was strange, mistress, haughty one minute, kind
the next. Yet she was always firm. There was no escaping her wishes.
She would make you want what she wanted. She would make you nod
the way she wished for you to nod. Mistress stroked along the sides of
MandyÕs belly, pressed as it was to the leather pad, as if to prevent
pregnancy. ÒYou would bless us with quintuplets nine months from now
were it not for the pill,Ó mistress concluded, with a glance at ArthurÕs
tool. He was such a Man, cock-ready, his ass flexing with each strike
of the cane, as if he himself knew its bite. Perhaps he did. We all
would, I feared, before the night was through. Mistress seemed to be
enjoying herself most excellently with it.
Swoosh! and Swish! came the cane again, making Mandy's
beleaguered bottom lurch uncontrollably. Only her bonds kept her from
flying off the trestle. Her cheeks clenched, squeezed tight, like living
things hunched against some acid rain, then bounded out, as if to throw
off the burning pain. Of course it was at this opportune moment that
mistress laid in her next stroke, claiming that the bottom was offering
itself up for more. Sometimes she waited though, to be unpredictable.
There was no need to hurry. Only the bottom and the cane were
important, the cane and the bottom, their interaction, nothing else.
Each stroke could be savored, its effects left to linger for minutes
afterward. The pain, so biting and severe (though it could have been
worse, mistress wished to go relatively easy on a newcomer like
Mandy); the tensing of sexual desire within us all at the sight of so
helpless a figure, naked and quivering, her breasts drooping in their
fullness, jaggling about at every bite, stiff nippled, the legs so long,
sleek, wide-spread, her fig displayed neatly, tightly beneath her wobbly
bottom.
Mistress stopped, relishing her handiwork on Mandy's backside.
She traced several freshly sewn weals with her fingertip, making
Mandy shudder uncontrollably. The girl's face, so pretty, was a mask of
agony now, eyes clouded with tears, lips pouting and sad. Yet despite
her newly damaged bottom and grief stricken face, Mandy seemed more
beautiful than ever, some erotic girl-goddess laid out for inspection
before Zeus. Arthur indeed strode forward at this moment, his cock
ready, his face openly admiring the girl's sleek form. Only the
immodest cheeks of her bottom were defiled, all else was as sleek and
smooth and flawless as ever. At the beach no one would have noticed
her hurt in ordinary panties.
Arthur grasped her thighs; holding them manfully he pulled her
even higher, her bonds straining, stretching, he spread her yet wider.
For a moment his cock shimmered on the air, then he thrust his hips
forward and lodged himself in her ass.
"Aaaack!" Mandy cried at the sudden invasion. She was so tight he
could barely get the plum of his cockhead inside. He gave another
thrust, another, finally lodging just the head fully within. The rest
stuck startlingly out of her. It was like some fleshy post connected
them, one end in her ass and the other connected, ingrown, just above
his balls. Mistress squeezed his pouch, putting yet more pressure on
his already constricted balls.
"Sperm her, darling," mistress cooed. Perhaps she wished to
protect Mandy from being utterly impaled upon him. Indeed it looked as
if he would split her ass right apart if he tried to get himself up her
more.
Arthur was an old hand at fucking, though, born to the sport and
not easily induced to cum. He seemed almost bored as he wriggled his
hips to gain a better purchase in little Mandy's hole. I'd thought of how
he'd looked when she'd sucked him off. He'd been casual, impressed
with her beauty (which was extraordinary), but nonplussed all the
same. It was almost, in a sense, as if he'd been going to the bathroom
in her mouth. He made sperm in his testicles and girls drew it out from
him, just like that, a sort of regular thing, like milking a cow. Now
poor Mandy was enduring the most extreme and intense moment of her
entire young life, yet to him she was just another girl, another
beautiful female upon which he performed his daily chores.
Mandy, popeyed and snorting, seemed to beg through her gag for
him not to go any deeper. But her head was far from her bottom and
mistress ignored her, preferring instead to helpfully pry her bottom
cheeks wider. I gulped, realizing she had given up sperming him, would
let him stick that awful living tree of a cock right up MandyÕs butt!
ÒNoooo!Ó I cried, softly. Surprised at myself, I blushed. Mistress
glanced up at me. She said nothing, but I could see it all in her eyes.
ÔYouÕre next, darling. YouÕre next. ThatÕs why youÕre here. And IÕm
going to enjoy every minute of it.Õ There was a smile posted on her
lips. She was my chaperone. My chaperone into the world of love. Oh
sure, I might have met a boy on my own, let him get my panties down in
the backseat of a car. But would I ever have wound up in such a place
as this, without her? No, I would not have. Even at my school there
were not stallions like Arthur. I loved every rippling movement of his
body, and yet I so desperately feared him. Especially now, watching
Mandy.
Arthur thrust his hips in quick jerks. Mistress used her hands to
helpfully spread MandyÕs asscheeks. They must be as far apart as
possible, mustnÕt they? Hands still on my own butt, I watched, mouth
agape, horrified yet fascinated at how animalistic it all seemed. A
stallion rutting in a stable, an unwilling filly, a helpful midwife
assisting not at the birth but at the insemination.
"In, in!" I found myself urging, silently at first, then audibly. The
pressure must have been too much for me. I cracked. I wanted Mandy to
have it now. It must be done. It must be finished. The tension must be
relieved. Mistress, eyes on MandyÕs butt, biting her lip, prying, heard
me. She smiled, glanced up at me, then back at Mandy's bottom. I
moved my hips back and forth even as I watched Arthur do so to get
himself up her. I wanted to bring my hands round to my front, touch
myself, but knew it was forbidden. My loins, my nipples were for them
to touch, and theirs for me. A party where one gets naked is a party for
the mutual stimulation of each other. Only by stimulating others are
you permitted to enjoy stimulation yourself.
Arthur drove himself in, almost ruthlessly, as MandyÕs head flew
up, aghast at this new violation. She squawked in horror. Her lips
compressed themselves over her gag, opened, mewling a furious
dissent. She was shaking her head vigorously "no" now, but everyone,
including myself, ignored her. We were mesmerized by the sight of her
bottom being pillaged. How deep would Arthur go? How much of him
could she take? Outside the snow I knew must still be falling, but in
here we were raw and steaming. I was naked, yet almost on the brink
of sweating profusely, though I knew the room's thermometer was set
at a cool 72 degrees.
"A little more, perhaps," mistress advised Arthur, and he gave
another shove. That seemed about as far as he could go, though a
quarter at least of his cock still remained without. He held himself
then, and mistress released Mandy's cheeks so that she might squeeze
him. She did just that, hoping to expel him. Any ordinary male would
have lost himself within such sweet clenchings. Arthur held fast
though, began stroking her thighs, letting them close as much as her
bonds would allow (which was very little). When he had savored his
predicament to the full he looked over at mistress.
"In and out now," she said. "But gently. She is very new and
tender." In gentlemanly fashion he withdrew himself partway, then
ploughed up her again, Mandy bleating anew at the new invasion. Back
again he went, then up her, each stroke sending me shivering into a near
dreamworld of desperate bliss as I watched. I moved my hips in time
with his. We fucked Mandy together, he and I, him with his big penis
and me with my little clitoris, his comfortably embedded in her rear,
mine woefully buzzing unattended.
Mistress walked over to me, knelt down beside me, put a hand on
my shoulder and stroked my inner thighs. Yet she did not touch me
where I wanted her to. She had bigger plans.
"You will be next," she smiled at me. I sensed her heat, her own
growing need. I gazed at her with pale eyes and suddenly pressed my
mouth to hers. We kissed wildly then, swooning, our hands feverishly
rubbing each other everywhere but where we needed it most. Arthur
saw us, grunted his approval, then turned his eyes back to Mandy's butt
and gave her twelve of his finest strokes with his cock. At last he
spurted anew, up her ass this time instead of in her mouth, one selfish
little girl getting all of his sperm.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
-----Back issues (and stories): http://www.dejanews.com/
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Change ÒstandardÓ archive to ÒcompleteÓ archive.
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Click on ÒFindÓ (the button to the right of the box).
-----Other providers:
Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated
Or via the Web:
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-----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