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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PARTY PUSSIES
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Chapter One
I was young and I felt restless. I liked wearing black pullover
sweaters that hugged my newly grown breasts. With my sweater on, IÕd
put a medallion around my neck. It said ÒBlack SabbathÓ on it and it hung
from a long chain down between my bosoms. The weight of the chainÕs
links cutting between my tits made my breasts stand out even more. The
medallion wasnÕt as shiny as I would have liked (it was old) but it was
heavy and it kept the chain tight between my tits so that they were
perfectly delineated as twin mounds of flesh under my sweater.
One night I was fooling around at the grocery with my friend Beth
Ann. Everyone calls her ÒBethany.Ó She has nice breasts but sheÕs only 12
and IÕm 13 and a half so I like teasing her about how my boobs are bigger
than hers.
ÒLook, Bethany!Ó I said with a half-suppressed giggle. I jumped from
one black-tiled square to the next across the grocery store floor, like we
used to do as little girls. Of course I wasnÕt wearing any bra, just my
black pullover with my medallion. As I jumped from square to square my
bosoms juddered under my blouse like large mounds of jello.
Bethany laughed and tried it herself. SheÕd quit wearing bras too and
her bosoms bobbed like perfectly formed spheres under her blouse. A
balding man, walking by with his cart, saw us. Unfortunately for him he
didnÕt look where he was going anymore, once he saw us. He rammed his
cart into a display of bottles of vinegar and they all tumbled down and
went smashing across the floor.
ÒHarold! What in GodÕs name -- canÕt you even drive a grocery cart
properly?Ó I heard his wife say to him.
ÒIÕm sorry Maude I--Ó the man began, and then his wife spied
Bethany and me jumping from square to square, seeing how much we could
make our tits bounce.
ÒThatÕs the last time we have the Girl Scouts meeting at our house,
Harold!Ó his wife said to him.
As Bethany and I were tootling around the store, looking for other
things we could do, we met a guy. He looked about 16. Later I found out he
was 16, which shows how good I am at evaluating guys and their ages and
stuff. He was tall and he obviously worked out, although he looked a little
bedraggled and I got the feeling that maybe he hadnÕt been home for
awhile.
I felt bold. I knew I looked good in my black sweater and IÕm a
blonde. I could feel my blonde mane hanging down past both sides of my
face and overlapping my shoulders. I have a small frame, shoulders so
narrow youÕd think you could snap me in two just by picking me up. ThatÕs
why I was glad when my breasts grew. TheyÕre big and full and round.
Rising like cantaloupes off my chest, they give me a nice healthy look.
Before they popped out I was so slim-looking, like a matchstick girl, but
with them I look okay. Fortunately as my breasts grew my hips and
bottom started swelling and filling out too, though my waist remained
wasp-thin, with that ÔdonÕt touch me IÕll breakÕ thinness to it that had
plagued me in childhood. So I felt a little ambivalent as I approached the
cool, 16-year-old dude with the messy, slightly greasy hair and the
bulging biceps. But I felt bold too, because I knew heÕd like my breasts
and I had my medallion between them to show them off to best advantage.
ÒHi,Ó I said. As he lifted his eyes I stuck out my chest at him.
ÒWatchÕa reading?Ó He looked at my tits and then, lifting his eyes, at my
face. Bethany crept up behind me, as impressed, I think, as I was by this
guy, but she was only 12 and her breasts werenÕt as big as mine so she
felt a little shy.
The guy looked at me with a knotting of his eyebrows. They were
kind of heavy across his eyes, matching perfectly his face, which was
starting to grow a beard and needed (I thought) a shave.
ÒWhat makes you think IÕm reading?Ó he asked me indignantly.
ÒYouÕre holding a magazine, stupid,Ó I answered. If IÕd been younger I
would have yanked it out of his hands and run away, but I knew IÕd look
foolish doing that with my big breasts bouncing on my chest, running
through the grocery and probably out past the lanes of checkers. So I
stood my ground. But I was feeling kind of awkward now, like a show-off
maybe, though deep down I wanted to show off to someone, and be admired
by him. I didnÕt just want to jump between squares in the groceryÕs empty
food aisles anymore. I wanted someone more than Bethany to admire my
boobs. (But not a bunch of sour old clerks at the front of the grocery!)
ÒIÕm not reading,Ó the guy answered. ÒIÕm thinking. Do you want to
know what IÕm thinking about?Ó
ÒYes, I guess....Ó I said. By now he was gazing at me with a little
more interest, though I still got the feeling that his thoughts were deep
within him, or far away, not really concentrating on me but willing, for
the sake of my boobs, to give me a pennyÕs worth of his thoughts.
He looked at me and and then glanced at Bethany. She was only 12
and she looked at him with big, moony eyes, like twin saucers. ÒIs she
with you?Ó the guy asked me. He indicated her with a nod of his head, in
her direction.
ÒYes, thatÕs Bethany,Ó I answered. I looked at my feet (or tried to,
my bosoms in the way) and said, Òand IÕm Lisa.Ó
ÒWell, Lisa,Ó the guy said. ÒIÕm Steve.Ó He cocked his eyebrow and
seemed suddenly to relish the thought of telling me something he knew
would scare me, like boys did right before they showed me toads or
roaches when I was little, holding their hands up quite politely and then
suddenly opening them and letting out their dirty little secret. ÔEeek!Õ IÕd
scream and run away, as a croaking frog or a flitting cockroach came
flying after me.
ÒIÕm thinking, Lisa,Ó Steve said gravely to me, lowering his voice but
keeping it loud enough so he could scare Bethany too with his revelation,
ÒIÕm thinking of becoming a sex slave.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó I think Bethany yelled it first but my voice was right
behind hers. Hers was higher-pitched, though, and I think people
throughout the store heard it, a big, loud, shrieky ÒWAAAHT?!Ó blurted in a
little-girlÕs frightened, revolted voice across the aisles.
Steve grinned to himself and returned to reading his magazine.
Normally I would have dashed away from him then, but like I said, I was
feeling restless and I was bored too. So I stood my ground. I kept my eyes
trained on him until, much to my satisfaction, he was forced to lift his
head and acknowledge the fact that I was still standing there. Bethany,
meanwhile, had retreated up the aisle, yet I saw that she was staring up
at some coin-shaped condom packets hanging off the highest shelf in the
aisle. I think she was trying to look innocuous but I laughed a little, for
anybody could see she was pretending not to be up to anything in
particular while all the while her eyes were staring, quite mesmerized, at
these cool gold-shaped condoms that looked like golden coins from some
PirateÕs treasure chest.
Steve thought I was laughing at him.
ÒI am thinking of being a sex slave,Ó he told me. ÒIn Mexico. I got an
offer today, hitchhiking along the road. The womanÕs waiting outside in
her car for me. I told her I had to think it over, you know? She was polite
enough to let me. So thatÕs why IÕm standing here, pretending to read this
magazine. But IÕm not really reading it, IÕm thinking instead about having
sex in Mexico.Ó
That made me shiver. I wondered if Bethany had heard him. I think
she had, for her eyes darted down from the condoms and looked quite
alarmingly at him.
ÒYouÕre kidding me,Ó I said to Steve.
He looked at me with a surly gaze. But a little respectfully too, I
think, because I was still standing there, while most girls, I think, would
have long since dashed away.
ÒIÕm not kidding you,Ó he said. ÒIÕll take you outside and show you
the woman if you like. IÕll even introduce you to her. She asked me if I
knew any girls.Ó
I gritted my teeth. I was beginning to sense an opportunity to get
revenge on my parents, and my old boyfriend too. IÕd had a fight with him
this afternoon. HeÕd told me he liked another girl better. One that didnÕt
look (in my opinion) nearly as good as me. But he said she would ÔserviceÕ
him, whereas I wouldnÕt. And then IÕd fought with my parents, because in
fighting with my boyfriend IÕd been late for dinner. TheyÕd found us
necking the day before and now they were on ÔRed Alert,Õ thinking me and
him were having sex every afternoon at his house while they were out
working at their jobs.
ÒYouÕre late!Ó my parents had howled at me when I walked in for
dinner this evening. Of course my hair was mussed from having a big
argument with my boyfriend, and heÕd pulled on my blouse that IÕd worn to
school and one of the buttons had popped off. Seeing me that way, my dad
and mom instantly blamed me for having sex with him in the afternoon
(although they werenÕt exactly totally direct in how they phrased it, but it
was obvious what they were thinking). My mom called me a ÔstrumpetÕ and
my dad called the boyÕs dad, telling him over the phone that he should mind
his son better. After dinner my little sister went out to play and told all
her friends that I was a ÔtrumpetÕ now, and boys could blow on me if they
wished.
So after dinner, after taking a long hot bath and feeling quite
misunderstood by everybody (which I was), I put on my favorite clothes
and my old ÒBlack SabbathÓ medallion that IÕd bought at a rummage sale
from a hippie. And I went to the grocery with my best friend Bethany, who
was having problems with her parents too, because she liked copying me in
not wearing a bra. (Of course that was a whole additional argument with
my parents. But IÕd found a picture in a photo album of my mom publicly
burning her bra out on the street in the 60Õs. So they were forced to let
me not wear a bra if I wanted to, though I still had to wear a bra every day
to school.)
Anyway, not wearing our bras, me and Bethany (whoÕs mom never
burned her bra in the 1960Õs, apparently) went to the grocery after dinner.
She was pissed at her parents and I was pissed at my parents and my
boyfriend too, and now, with Steve, I suddenly saw an opportunity to put a
great deal of the Fear of God into my parents.
ÒOkay,Ó I said to Steve. I edged closer to him and let my bosoms bob
closer to his face. ÒShow me this lady. SheÕs probably your mommie.Ó
To my surprise, Steve reached out and took my hand. He didnÕt ask,
he just took it. He pulled me quite abruptly toward him and then turned
and walked up the aisle. As we passed Bethany, I grabbed out and took her
hand so IÕd have her with me for protection. She gave a look at me and
then a last look at the gold Pirate condoms and then we were out of the
aisle and walking past the clerks and out the front of the store. The
manager eyed us, thinking perhaps we were stealing something, since weÕd
bypassed the clerks.
Out in the parking lot there was a stiff breeze. It blew back my
blonde hair and it caught SteveÕs too, for he had long hair, like Kurt
Russell. Bethany trailed behind me, looking slightly lost, for IÕd not asked
her if she wanted to come along, simply grabbed her. She trailed behind
my hand and almost had to run to keep up, for Steve was walking quite
rapidly. Perhaps he was afraid that the manager would come after us and
try to detain us and make us empty our pockets. Or maybe heÕd simply
made a decision and, having made it, wanted to go through with it before
he changed his mind. My bosoms bounced with quiet abandon on my chest
as Steve pulled me across the parking lot. Little BethanyÕs tits wobbled
beneath her blouse.
I saw a black limosine. It was parked as discreetly as one can park a
limo, taking up two parking stalls. It was black and I felt a sudden urge to
ride in it, for IÕd never ridden in a limo before. Then I realized Steve was
drawing me straight towards it.
A driver opened the door of the limo and stepped out. He was
dressed in a starched uniform and looked rather nerdy, I thought, in his
neat uniform. Hardly anyone to be afraid of. Then he opened the back door
of the limo. Steve brought me straight up to the open door.
ÒGet in, IÕll introduce you,Ó Steve said to me. I wouldnÕt have let
him put me in the limo but he was a weightlifter and he handled my body
quite expertly, turning me and then easing me into the limo. Before I could
even think about what was happening I was already inside it. Little
Bethany, with a slight squeal, was popped in right behind me. Then Steve
himself got in.
Inside the limo was quite luxurious. I found myself seated next to a
dark-haired woman in a slinky black evening gown. She was thin and had
just the lightest of suntans, as if she were perhaps a little afraid of the
sun, like it might give her cancer or something. Yet her skin was perfect,
and she had twin dark eyes like pools you come upon in the dark, where
mosquitoes live and breed, out in the woods. Her black evening gown
circled her neck like a collar but was obviously without a back to it, not
crossing behind her until it had to in order to put something behind her
bottom. Then, just as it surrounded her completely, where her hips were,
to cover her front and in back too, it was sliced up each side with long
slits that almost defeated the gownÕs ability to hide her figure, for the
slits ran from her ankles all the way up to her hips. She obviously wore no
bra, because her gown was so narrow in front, crossing down over her
chest, that it left the sides of her breasts almost completely exposed.
I think I liked that about her. She was without a bra, just like me.
Just like Bethany, in fact, who leaned foward as we sat on a leather
bench-type seat in the limo and looked with wide eyes at the woman. She
smiled, the dark-haired woman, at myself and Bethany, then at Steve,
whoÕd brought us. Her bosoms, large and looking quite vulnerable with her
gown barely able to cover them, jiggled as she moved. I felt a tender
feeling toward her, looking so sweetly accessible in her gown, which some
wicked man had obviously chosen for her, or sheÕd felt the need to wear to
impress him, because she loved him so much. And I felt too a wish to be
classy and elegant like her, and to be admired in a gown like she wore.
ÒSteve,Ó the woman said, leaning forward, her breasts moving under
her rustling gown, hanging quite freely, like twin gourds of fruit being
offered at a feast. ÒI see youÕve made up your mind.Ó
ÒYes,Ó Steve answered. ÒBut drive fast, before I change it.Ó
ÒAnd the girls?Ó the woman asked. She gazed with light, carefree
eyes at myself and Bethany.
ÒI-- I donÕt know...Ó I answered. I let my voice trail off. Bethany
found my hand and squeezed it tight. Was she hoping IÕd rescue her, pull
her from the limo before we were swept away? Or was she hoping IÕd say
ÔyesÕ for the both of us, because she was too shy to say it for herself?
ÒHave you ever been to Mexico?Ó the woman with the dark hair asked
me with the same light, playful look in her eyes.
ÒNo...Ó I answered. My eyes admired her dress as I spoke.
ÒThen letÕs be off,Ó she said. She reached out and pressed a small
button. It lay in the panelled wood of a wet bar that stood in front of us.
The button, I think, buzzed the driver up in the front part of the limo. She
smiled at me again as the limo started up and rolled forward. ÒMy nameÕs
Eveline,Ó she said in a small, delicate voice. Then, looking past me at
Steve, she said, ÒSteve, dearest, would you serve the three of us drinks?Ó
30
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