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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PRIVATE PLACES
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Chapter Five
The restaurant was opulent. Swans grazed on the front lawn,
unattended. Nobody seemed to fear that theyÕd run off. They looked well
fed. They stalked across the lawn, free of their pool, which wrapped
itself around the restaurant like a small lagoon. A valet helped us out of
the limo, Sam saw to the tip. We crossed a little drawbridge into the
restaurant. Passing through the crowd of ordinary diners, we were led to
a private room in back. Upon entering, I saw a host of models, all young
females like Jill, and assorted men. The men were almost uniformly
handsome, all dressed in sharp suits, with suave faces and a Òbad boyÓ
look about them that tantalized me even as it made me fearful. The
females, just slipping out of their vests or jackets or capes, wore dresses
as fetching as Jill and myself, their titties jiggling braless within the
scooped-out necklines of their gowns.
I was led to a chair. Jill untied my cape for me as Sam drew back
the chair at my place round the dinner table. It was a big, mahogany table,
with no table cloth, just perfect place settings of china cups and plates,
with elegantly folded linen napkins and golden silverware. Candles were
lit, my untied cape was draped over the back of my chair in case I needed
it later, for a quick trip through the restaurant to the bathroom. I slipped
my short dress under my thighs and sat down on my chair. It had a velvet
cushion. Sam scooted me in, then seated Jill beside me. A model named
Gwen, sitting down on my other side, introduced herself and did her best
to make small talk.
Two maids appeared, lighting our candles as we sat down and taking
orders from us for drinks. I admired their attire. They wore ruffled neck
collars, made of white lace, tied in back with a little black bow. Each had
on a bodice, tightly laced all the way up in front, but the bodice stopped
too soon, for it left each girlsÕ bosoms bare on top, with their nipples
sticking out like strawberries atop mounded creampuffs. The bodices
gripped the undersides of their perfect bosoms, distorting them, pushing
the flesh up and out where it could escape, making each girl look utterly
provocative, though each comported herself with utter decorum, as if it
was nothing that their breasts should show like this, and the guests,
politely, took little notice, though the men eyed them more than the
women did.
The maids each wore a white satin apron, short, tied in back, to
protect their panties, I guess, for they seemed to have forgotten their
skirts. In back their bottoms jiggled freely, their bodices stopping at
their waists to leave all below bare, save for the stockings which sleeked
up their legs, held in place by straps connected to their corset-like
bodices. They wore thong panties. Visually, they were helped in back by
the big bows that kept their aprons on, so that, with the swishing bows,
and the little thongs, they at least had some trifling protection for their
heinies. I saw that each guest at table had been given a single small birch
switch, placed delicately next to the knife. I wondered if the switch
might be used on a maidÕs bottom to urge her along, if she proved slow,
and guessed it might.
Fingerless white lace gloves completed the maidÕs outfits. They
flitted amongst us, filling our glasses, complimenting our gowns with shy
comments, and fiddling with the table decorations to make sure they were
just right. Vases of roses stood three abreast between us and the men
who sat across from us. Each thorned rose stem was loosely wrapped
with one or more colored condoms. The roses were fresh, still glistening
with drops of water.
ÒGirls, before we start, would you please show your acceptance of
tonightÕs activities by removing your panties?Ó a woman sitting at the
head of the table announced. I glanced at Jill, she at me.
ÒDo it,Ó she told me quietly. ÒIt must be done. This is no ordinary
dinner, as IÕm sure you can tell from the decorations and the way the
maids are dressed.Ó
ÒUh huh,Ó I answered. My voice was uncertain. I watched as Jill
reached beneath her dress, lifted her bottom, and pulled off her panties.
She laid them beside her plate. Sam watched approvingly, fingering his
birch switch, just in case, I guessed, she failed to obey.
I took my own panties off, laid them next to my silverware, feeling
very funny and wishing I didnÕt have my underwear right next to my eating
utensils!
A maid appeared beside me. ÒOh, I see youÕre trying to cheat!
Naughty, naughty!Ó she said. She had a can of compressed whipped cream
in her hand. She lifted up my panties, dangling them over my empty dinner
plate. ÒI can still manage to get some cream into these,Ó she winked at
me. She was about 14, as was the other maid. I wondered how many
parties like this sheÕd served at.
I watched open-mouthed as the maid squirted whipped cream into my
g-string panties. I had a little pouch where my pussy lips and delta might
fit, and she zestily squirted as much cream into the pouch as she could.
Then she gave me my panties, and told me to put them back on! I looked at
Jill. She nodded. I saw another maid filling up her panties which, nearly
cut like a g-string, still had a little pouch where cream might be put.
I accepted my panties back from the maid. The men sitting across
from me, like monks in a peep show booth, watched with eager eyes.
Carefully, so as not to get cream on my dress, I lowered my panties under
the table. Now I knew why the table did not have a tablecloth. Bending
low, feeling very embarrassed, I got my heeled feet back through the
legholes of my panties, and pulled them up my legs. I stopped at mid-
thigh, letting them hang there while I slipped up my dress for the
endgame. Before hiking up my dress I wiped my fingers on my napkin that
lay underneath my silverware. I didnÕt want to get cream on my dress!
Then, returning my hands to my panties, I pulled them up the rest of the
way. I lifted my bottom so the cream wouldnÕt smudge onto the velvet
cushion of my chair. I donÕt know if I quite succeeded. I was afraid to
look down. Finally I restored my dress. I felt utterly awful, cream
sticking to the lips of my pussy, making me all wet there, through no fault
of my own. I squirmed in my seat, watched as Jill did the same. Each girl
round the table was forced to watch as a maid squirted her panties full of
cream and then made her put them back on. When we were done, soup was
brought. I ate mine with little self-conscious gulps, feeling quite bad.
Salad followed the soup, and we were offered chilled salad forks, as
if none of us were sitting there with cream-filled panties, but instead
were dining in perfect modesty, at a church-sponsored dinner or some
Republican gala. When IÕd eaten my salad I told Jill I had to go to the
bathroom, for the liquor IÕd sipped in their apartment, together with some
celebratory champagne weÕd opened in the limo to pass the time, had gone
right through me.
ÒOkay, but donÕt be long,Ó she answered, not telling me what the
penalty would be if I dallied. ÒItÕs number one, I hope, isnÕt it?Ó she
asked.
ÒYes,Ó I answered. She called over a maid, who pulled back my chair
for me and let me get up. She saw there was a little cream on my
stockings and she wet my napkin in a glass of water beside my plate and
wiped them down. I stepped quickly from the room, feeling that all eyes
were upon me as I strove to walk normally in my cream-filled panties.
The maid offered me my cape from the back of my chair, running to
catch up with me, her bottom bounding nude and free behind her, heart-
shaped and firm as a polished apple. Nobody had used the switches yet.
The maids had been on their best behavior.
ÒHave her go without it,Ó the woman who was our hostess snapped
suddenly. She leaned from her chair and took her switch and struck the
helpful maid right across her fanny.
ÒYEEEOW!Ó the maid cried, alarmed.
ÒBut I want it!Ó I begged. My hair was pinned up and I knew,
somehow, it would not do for me to take it down. What was there to keep
everyone from seeing my boobies wiggling around in my painted-on gown?
I tugged at the straps of the gown, twin cords of nothingness that seemed
to me like they might rip at any moment, especially with my bosoms
jostling the front of my dress so. It was the lightest, most delicate
fabric, silk that had been stone-washed to make it utterly, completely
soft, like wearing cotton. I feared for it. There seemed to be nothing at
all keeping the dress itself and my straps which held it up together; a bit
of thread, perhaps, nothing more.
ÒWalk to the toilet and do your business and then come back quickly,
girl!Ó our hostess said to me sternly. Somebody had told me that she ran
her own modeling agency with an iron hand, allowing no disobedience on
the part of her girls. Well, I wasnÕt one of her girls, was I? Sam nodded
to me, slightly amused. I tugged at the hem of my dress. Alright, for him
I would obey, if it pleased him. I had a crush on Sam and I knew it, finally
admitting as much to myself as I stood there. Did Jill know? I gazed at
her. She smiled, her eyes half-lidded, enjoying her obedience to her
husbandÕs wishes at this most elegant of restaurants.
With a little gulp I left the room. I felt eyes staring at me as I
crossed through the restaurant, past the ordinary guests, to the ladiesÕ
room. Inside a maitre d' nodded politely, a man, whose function was to
serve us girls hot steaming towels from a silver tray when we were done
with our business. He was a small man, dressed in a trim uniform, with
fringed epaulets, almost like a monkey that might accompany an organ
grinder on the street.
I could hear girls talking as they sat in the stalls which ran along
one wall of the restroom. It was large, with cushiony benches opposite
the stalls, where girls might talk, with only the monkey-man hearing. I
heard a girl fart. Another complained aloud that her husband had whipped
her before dinner and her bottom hurt. Doing my best to suppress my
surprise at being in the ladiesÕ room with a man, I passed him and found an
empty stall. I slipped inside. Carefully I papered the toilet seat with
toilet paper. Then I sat, hiking up my dress and lowering my panties. I
wanted to clean the cream out of them but a vision of Sam flashed in my
mind, and somehow, I felt I would get in trouble if I tampered with my
panties. I peed, hearing a girl pull toilet paper from the roll in her stall
as she finished, then flushing, and leaving, and speaking politely to the
towel-man on her way out, as if it were the most natural thing for there
to be a male attendant in a ladiesÕ bathroom!
When I was done peeing I wiped, taking as much cream off as I could.
Then I pulled my cream-filled panties back up, not touching them, not
wiping the cream out of them as I had from myself after my peeing was
done. I exited my stall, accepted a towel from the uniformed man, and
returned to our party.
The main course was just beginning. It was mongolian barbeque, a
fresh tasty sampling of oriental veggies, topped with a heap of steaming
pasta in the form of spaghetti-shaped noodles.
Playfully, as I sat down prepared to eat, Jill plucked a noodle from
her plate. With her gloved fingers she gently draped it around my throat.
ÒHereÕs a little collar for you!Ó she announced. I started, sitting erect,
watching wide-eyed as she gave me a collar of food. It was a single
strand of spaghetti, nothing more, feeling a little greasy, making me the
momentary center of attention at the dinnertable. I glanced to my right
and saw that Gwen already had a similar collar. What was going on here?
I decided to strike back, to forestall any further mischief to my
body, and because I suddenly felt a primal urge to do so. I picked up a
handful of my own spaghetti, untouched so far by my lips, and opened the
front of JillÕs gown. Into her lovely top, heedless of the fact that I might
singe her nipples with the hot noodles, I dropped my spaghetti. The gloves
I wore protected my fingers. Jill shouted. Those noodles were hot! Not
too hot to actually burn her, I think, but the hottest at our table, for I
hadnÕt been served until IÕd returned from the toilet.
Gwen laughed. ÒServes you right for assaulting her,Ó Gwen teased
Jill.
ÒEat, girls! Quit playing with your food!Ó our hostess announced. We
dug into our spaghetti then, eating each strand by itself, slurping it up
between pursed lips to tantalize the men. I wore my little spaghetti
collar proudly, as did the other girls who had them, while several,
including Jill, whoÕd gotten spaghetti dumped down the front of their
gowns had to eat with the sliding, slimy strands slipping lower and lower,
finally wiggling down within their dresses to their laps. How icky it must
feel! I thought, to have spaghetti inside your dress.
I was happily enjoying my meal when Gwen, a blonde from Sweden,
opened the front of my dress between mouthfuls of my inslurping
spaghetti. I watched dumbfounded as she poured her drink right down the
front of my dress, inside it though, coating my bosoms with the liquid as
if they were needing to be bathed.
ÒOh! Here I am washing you down and you havenÕt even gotten
spaghetti inside your dress yet!Ó Gwen apologized. ÒSomehow I guess I
thought Jill must have...Ó
ÒI have now,Ó Jill offered, and before I could stop her she took hold
of the front of my dress, taking possession of it from Gwen, and dumped a
big handful of spaghetti right over my boobies!
ÒVery well,Ó Gwen said. She picked up a glass of sherry that
belonged to the girl beside her, and, with the girl squealing in protest,
used it to rinse off my breasts. ÒItÕs for a good cause,Ó Gwen told her
seatmate. I watched as the sherry was poured over my bosoms, into my
expensive gown. When Gwen let go of my gown she returned to her meal,
as if nothing had happened.
ÒWell, I donÕt like this!Ó I said. I reached over and yanked down the
straps of GwenÕs gown. She screeched as her bosoms were bared to the
entire table. Her gown settled at her waist, showing all she had in the
cleavage department, and I picked up spaghetti from my plate and threw it
onto her bosoms. It hit, slithered down, hung on her nipples, fell to her
lap.
ÒShe will have her nipples tattooed,Ó a man across from us said to
Sam.
ÒWhat? They are perfect!Ó Sam protested.
ÒI want them darker,Ó the man replied. ÒI do not like pink nipples. I
want them to look as if theyÕve been rouged, permanently.Ó
ÒGet your cocks out, you two,Ó our headmistress declared from her
post at the head of our table. ÒIÕll decide who gets tattooed, and where.
Maids! Pour some cold champagne on these menÕs penises to cool them
down. They seem to have lost their manners, discussing such things as
girlÕs nipples when I am still trying to eat! Girls, do behave yourselves,
donÕt just play with your food, try to eat it!Ó
Doing our best to settle down, we returned to our healthy veggie
mongolian meals. They really were quite tasty! I poked through my
spaghetti and found slices of celery, artichokes, water chestnuts, and bits
of spinach, everything a real model would expect to eat if she were to
stay slim.
One of the maids, blushing a little, drawing in her bottom cheeks,
approached our hostess at the head of the table and asked to be excused.
ÒWhy, whatever for?Ó our hostess replied.
The maid, despite her nude tushy, leaned forward and whispered
something confidentially in our hostessÕ ear.
ÒTo pee?Ó our hostess asked. ÒIÕm tired of having you girls run to
the toilet. First one, now another. Take off your panties, miss! YouÕll pee
right here, where you can get back to work the instant youÕre done!Ó The
maid looked at her woefully. Perhaps it was her first meal, I realized.
She did seem shy, after all, though she managed to move with a
gracefulness, while serving us, that had fooled me, at least, into thinking
she was used to all this.
ÒNo, you wonÕt wet your stockings, not if you keep your legs spread,Ó
our hostess told my favorite of the two maids. She was a blonde, like me,
with her hair tied up in a pink ribbon. She tugged at her collar and then,
seeing hostess reach for the switch, she nervously began pulling her
panties down. A moment later and they were off. At hostessÕ insistence
she handed them to the woman. ÒQuit being so shy!Ó hostess scolded the
maid, whom I later learned was named Candi. ÒJust to show you how
necessary it is not to be shy IÕm going to pass your panties around the
table. I hope you didnÕt wet them or anything, out of excitement at seeing
all these men, hmmm?Ó
To the utter mortification of Candi, hostess passed her panties to
the nearest male and urged him to sniff them. ÒTo see if she meets your
approval, sir,Ó mistress encouraged.
ÒMmmm, smell fine to me,Ó the man answered. ÒWhat about you,
Jake? What do you think of our maid? Has she kept her panties in proper
order?Ó
ÒThong panties, my favorite,Ó Jake said, taking them. He sniffed
them and passed them around. Even we girls had to pass CandiÕs panties
under our nose, smelling her feminine odor. What an odd dinner this was!
Hostess made Candi stand before the nearest man and put her foot up
on the arm of his chair. At hostessÕ instruction, she was required to lift
the bib of her apron. Trembling with her need to pee, she waited whilst
her companion maid brought the man Òa pee pot,Ó as hostess called it
(actually an empty sugar bowl). To our amazed surprise, with mistress
threatening her bare bottom with a birch, Candi was made to pee, her leg
uplifted onto the chair arm, into the sugar bowl. She missed a little, but
did her best, hitting the manÕs suit with her squirting pee and making him
laugh at her. Candi herself was not amused, but she could not refuse, lest
her bare bottom be warmed with hostessÕ handy switch.
When Candi was done she quickly retreated from both the man and
hostess, biting her lip, certain that her wiggly bottom would be struck
with a switch. We were each armed with one. I felt a sizzling somewhere
within me. To strut around, so pretty, yet so obviously naked, and to fear...
yes to FEAR that a very tender, vulnerable part of me, (yet not one that
could truly be hurt, absent some real brutality) might be zinged right
across its bouncy hemispheres at any moment. Did I want that? To be
admired, as I strutted about, so bare, trying so hard to be poised and
perfect, yet with my pretty ass on display and switches all about me? I
did not know. I did not... Yet despite our beauty, all of us models (well,
me maybe in the future, I was sure I could do it), the eyes of every man
watched precious Candi as she skipped away from her peeing at the table,
sure sheÕd be hit yet somehow escaping it.
ÒCandi,Ó hostess intoned. I felt a strange desire...to see her
smacked. To see her cry out and blurt protestations. Would hostess do it?
ÒCandi, please bring forth the tomatoes. The girls are ready now,Ó hostess
instructed.
ÒYes,m,Ó Candi said neatly, primly, as if at church, instructed to go
light the candles. She scurried away. I fingered my birch. Could I whack
her? Little me? I suppose anyone could. We had all been given them. But
did I need hostessÕ permission first? Oh, I was a naughty girl. I should
have been home, watching Barney, or learning my algebraic counting, or my
Greek letters, but instead I was here, my undies creamy, spaghetti and
sherry in my ever-so flimsy gown.
Candi, her confidence returned, pranced round the table laying out
little squares of gold foil, which she carried upon a large silver tray.
Within each square of foil was a cherry tomato. Before actually setting
the tomato down before someone, she would briefly remove it from its
foil patch and dip it in vaseline, then offer it upon the foil to its intended
recipient. I gazed down at my oddly glossy tomato. It looked specially
polished, thanks to the vaseline, as if it were about to be featured in some
T.V. commercial. Each of us girls received one. None of the men did.
ÒWhat is this for?Ó I asked.
ÒYou must stick it up your butt,Ó Gwen replied. Her fine Swedish
cheeks smiled at me as she plucked her own tomato from its foil and
elevated her bottom slightly off her chair. She squished up her face a
moment, uncertain, reaching within her panties to locate her hole, and
suddenly there was a pursing of lips, a kind of little Òoh!Ó expression, and
the act was done. The tomato was within her. She sat back down,
gingerly. ÒNow you do it,Ó she told me.
ÒI- What?!Ó I turned wildly to Jill.
ÒItÕs why we all have switches, dear,Ó Jill said warningly, even as I
saw her place her hand under her own butt and gulpingly receive a tomato.
Her own fingers did it, popping the thing within herself. She settled back
into her chair. ÒDonÕt disobey, or weÕll cut you to ribbons, or any of us
who doesnÕt do it.Ó
ÒMy husbandÕs a surgeon,Ó Gwen said, casting a meaningful glance at
the hubby of hers who would have her tattooed. ÒHe has his instruments
with him, in a little bag, beside his chair. HeÕs very good. DonÕt worry, he
can get it back out of you if it gets stuck.Ó She reached over, lifted my
tomato with her perfect, long-nailed fingertips. ÒWould you like me to do
it? I know it can be hard, the first time.Ó
ÒNo!Ó I said. Possessively I reached out and grabbed my tomato back
from her. The last thing I wanted at this moment was to be upended in
front of all these strange women and men, with their strange table
manners, and be made to receive a tomato while they all watched. If the
thing was to be done, IÕd do it myself, however awful it might be. ÒIÕll do
it,Ó I assured her.
ÒRight up,Ó Gwen warned. ÒThe punishment is worse for those who
cheat and just leave it in their panties.
I swallowed hard. Alright. I put my hand, armed with the tomato,
down behind myself. I lifted my dress a little, in back. The whole table
watched as I bit my lip, scared, feeling within my ass cheeks. I tightened
my hole even as I sought to intrude within it.
ÒThatÕs it, right in,Ó Gwen said. She leaned over my backside,
watching. Lightly she placed a hand on my trembling shoulder. Her
mittened hand on my bare shoulder. There was something wrong in that, I
was sure, feeling my bare flesh against her softly caressing hand. Her
hand should be bare, and my shoulder clothed!
I felt the tomato graze my anus. I worked it in a little, fighting my
clenching cheeks. ÒDonÕt be afraid,Ó Gwen said soothingly. ÒWe all must
obey. It is hostessÕ wish. Let your cheeks relax. It will go in easier that
way. Just get it right where it should be and then bear down, it should go
right in!Ó
And it did. Just like that. One moment it was touching my hole, then
next it was halfway in, like a turd unable to come out. And then, greasy
with its sheen of vaseline, my fingers gripping it delicately but with some
difficulty, afraid I might lose it to the floor, I did lose it... but right up my
rectum!
ÒOoooWhoooo!Ó I blurted, my breath whooshing out of me. IÕd just
goosed myself! I could feel that terrible tomato urging itself up me. My
hole closed over it and it was gone, gone, bulging up inside me but gone
from my poking fingers, perhaps never to come out again! For a moment I
almost fainted. Gwen stroked my hair, whispering, ÒItÕs alright, itÕs
alright, dear. DonÕt be afraid.Ó At last I regained control of myself. I
returned my mittened hand to the table. There was no tomato any more. It
was somewhere up my butthole. I sat at table with both my hands placed
neatly at my table setting, contemplating my fate. Everyone watched me.
No eyes were on Candi anymore, despite her proud shimmying bottom, so
rudely displayed. They watched as I gulped and sat introspectively,
feeling my new condition.
ÒThere. In a little while youÕll give birth to a baby tomato,Ó Jill
smiled. She kissed me consolingly, as did Gwen. I was one of them now, a
tomato girl. We would run naked in fields of daisies and poop out our
tomatoes, while male hawks circled overhead, hoping for a meal.
ÒCandi, you seem to have forgotten something,Ó hostess said to our
nubile maid. The other one attended silently to our more mundane needs,
refilling glasses, taking away dishes as they were reduced to platefuls of
crumbs. She was forgotten, for the moment. But not Candi, who, perhaps,
was our Ômain maidÕ tonight, Ôon displayÕ as one might say, or in charge of
our more bodily needs and aspirations. I trembled at what I had gotten
myself into. This was so inexorably decadent. Abandon Gardens had been
secluded, as if a separate place. But now I was in downtown Rio, with the
city humming all around, secretaries going home from work, or staying
late, mothers cooking dinner for their children, or even bringing them to
eat here, in the main dining room, while we partied in this private room.
ÒMaÕam?Ó Candi answered, putting a finger to her lips. Feigned
innocence, or real, I could not tell.
ÒYou brought out no tomato for yourself,Ó hostess said simply, as if
reminding a little girl to do her lessons for school.
ÒFor me?Ó Candi asked, her eyes as wide as she could make them, but
I sensed sheÕd known she must not exclude herself. ÒBut IÕm the maid!Ó
ÒBring the tea, Candi. We must have fresh lemon clove tea for
dessert. And a tomato, young lady. I am not going to have full grown
society ladies endure such a sweet torment and not a little ruffian like
yourself. You must participate too, just as you will have your tattoo at
the end of the evening. Let the needles be seen upon the table, so that
there are no misunderstandings here with regard to what we are about. I
should have had them brought out sooner, I think, judging from the looks on
some faces that I see now.Ó She cast her eyes down the row of females
who sat across from their husbands and boyfriends, squirming slightly in
our seats, our bottoms well-plugged by the insidious tomatoes that were
stuffed into our a-holes. ÒYes, my doves, you are here to make a
commitment to your lovers. This is such a disposable society. Well, you
will not easily dispose of what is given to you here tonight. You will be
well gagged, do not fear. I know some of you are quite prominent in the
society, despite your youth. Models, cover girls, starlets, or young
attorneys, or doctors just starting your practise. After so many years of
hitting the books, Alesha, wonÕt it be nice to make a firm commitment by
doing something physical for a change?Ó She looked at a woman near me,
with shoulder-length brown hair, cut that way perhaps for efficiencyÕs
sake, who now sat with spaghetti down the front of her dress and a collar
of spaghetti around her neck. Alesha said nothing, looked across the table
at her boyfriend. He nodded, suavely. He was her supervisor at work,
where she was beginning to see her first patients as a dermatologist.
BoyÕs with problems their penises had picked up out on the street, crabs
and herpes and whatnot, finding her hands cured them in more ways than
one. ÒPlease discharge into this little cup,Ó I could hear her say, as part
of her inspection of their organs. And they would stand there ramrod
stiff, knowing they must masturbate themselves when this lovely young
woman left the room. Ah, to feel such ignominity, knowing Dr. Alesha was
just outside, chatting casually with her handsome supervisor, while her
patient was in the room whacking himself off. When she returned he
would be flaccid, unmanly, though heÕd been so very hard just minutes
earlier. He would sheepishly hand her the product of his solitary labor, in
a little disposable cup. So utterly insignificant it would look then, just a
little pile of white goo. Up a womanÕs belly it might change her life, but
in this small paper cup it was just waste material, no better than shit or
pee. Glumly he would leave the building, yet somehow excited also, if he
was not accustomed to being in such lovely female company. To think, his
sperm was now being examined by beautiful Dr. Alesha! No matter that
she might not date him, right now she was dutifully studying the very
essence of his manhood, however nerdy he might be, or unlovable. Yes, she
would give him the very best service, because she did really care about
her patients. And her lover cared about her. Cared to have her know that,
however successful she might be, she was his pet all the same. She
glanced at her lover, lowered her lashes obediently. As a dermatologist,
she knew how difficult it would be to remove the tattoo. And the worst of
it was, she had no idea where her lover would want it placed.
Candi trundled out a low tea cart. She was rudely naked from the
waist down, clad in only her stockings, having surrendered her panties to
the men. Yet the trolley she pushed held the most finely crafted tea set,
of sterling silver, and ancient lineage, we were told, by hostess, as the
tea arrived. It was Darjeeling, the first tea of the season, brought over on
trim cutter ships, plowing the seas with their powerful prows, I imagined,
with a fishtailed mermaid pinned to the front of each for good luck, her
firm pink-swelling breasts showing naked even as CandiÕs wobbly, nervous
bottom showed now. Her bib had been altered by someone in the kitchen,
whoÕd lifted it up and tucked it in (perhaps fastening it with something
discreet) so that her pussy lips showed.
ÒNow girls, this tea is to help you relax,Ó hostess advised us. ÒDrink
it slowly and enjoy it. ThereÕs no need to rush. Drink plenty. I want you
to take a good healthy pee before youÕre tattooed, to make you in touch
with your body, and understanding your proper place in life.Ó The other
maid, perhaps having guessed it would be needed, lugged out a big chamber
pot and plopped it down near the table, but just far enough back so that
everyone could see if a girl had to use it. Candi, meanwhile, picked up the
pot of tea and began pouring a cup for each of us in turn. We had fine china
cups by our place settings to receive the warm tea. It left a curlicue of
rising steam in its wake. I lifted my cup, drank, savored the delicate
taste. The tea was just right, smoothly hot without being too hot, though
I burned my tongue just a little, but did not mind.
ÒCareful not to spill any on their breasts, Candi,Ó hostess advised.
ÒWe donÕt want any of them scalded.Ó With her own fine bosoms
displayed, quiveringly, over the top of her too-tight bodice, lifting and
proferring her boobs like they were fruit displayed in a market, Candi
poured carefully, and each girl received her tea with a quiet, heartfelt
Òthankyou.Ó It was delicious tea. Fully blossomed, having brewed for
hours in back, prepared specially for us.
The second maid, dressed as Candi was but still retaining her
panties (though her apron too had now been tucked up), offered us cream
and sugar. I asked for two cubes. She lifted them with an elegant, slim
pair of tongs. When she was done she offered me a slice of lemon to go
with my tea, studded with cloves. I accepted, she dropped it in. I watched
it float upon my tea and then sipped carefully, lest I swallow it.
ÒWould you like milk also?Ó the maid asked me. I nodded. I was the
first to request it.
ÒTilt back your head and open your mouth,Ó the maid told me. I gazed
at her inquiringly.
ÒThe milk goes directly into the mouth, dear,Ó Jill explained.
ÒOpen wide,Ó the maid insisted, and made to pour whether I complied
or not. Quickly I parted my lips, gazed upward. The milk was poured too
fast. Its coldness hit my teeth, my chin, splashed onto my bosom. My
dress was held aloft still, the milk washed my teats within the confines
of my Ôbarely-thereÕ dress as the maid directed the flow from my face to
my tits.
ÒOh!Ó I cried, putting my head straight again. I clasped my bosoms
from beneath, afraid to block the pouring milk lest I be punished, but not
wanting it all the same. It was so very cold, as if preserved at just a
degree above freezing. A startling contrast to the tea.
The maid, as if to complete her conquest of me, dropped two lemon
slices straight onto my bosoms. I watched as they slid down over my
dress and dropped into my lap. Everyone had a good laugh, gazing at my
surprised face. Gwen wisely declined the milk when it was offered to her,
as did the other girls.
Ignoring the mischievous maid whoÕd nearly ripped open my dress
with the fast-pouring milk, hostess turned to Candi when sheÕd finished
serving tea and returned to the head of the table.
ÒYou are not the least bit messy, Candi,Ó hostess said to her.
ÒArenÕt you a bit embarrassed to be so fresh and clean while women who
are far superior to you sit with their dresses all ruined and their bosoms
plastered with spaghetti?Ó
ÒNo,Ó Candi answered truthfully.
ÒWell, I am,Ó hostess answered. ÒWe must somehow preserve the
dignity of all these fine young women here. Come, show me your bust. Let
us decorate it with a little milk and lemon juice.Ó Candi, squeamishly,
leaned forward and let hostess take hold of her young tits. ÒHow long have
you worked here, Candi?Ó hostess asked.
ÒOne month, maÕam,Ó Candi replied. ÒDo you enjoy sashaying around
with your bottom bare, or in just your undies, catering to men at sports
parties or to women at bridal showers?Ó hostess asked.
ÒA little,Ó Candi replied. She watched nervously as hostess picked
up a wedge of lemon. Candi screeched softly between close-pressed teeth
as hostess squished the wedge and squirted fresh lemon juice onto CandiÕs
stiff nipples.
ÒStings, doesnÕt it?Ó hostess asked her.
ÒYes, please donÕt dooo it,Ó Candi answered, but mistress firmly held
each titty in turn, lifting it up by grasping it from above, plucking the
young flesh up out of the gripping bodice, and squirted each nipple again
with a second wedge.
ÒWhat is your primary purpose here, Candi?Ó hostess asked.
ÒTo please the customer,Ó Candi answered.
ÒYour breasts please me. What do you think of that?Ó hostess asked
her.
ÒThank you, maÕam,Ó Candi shuddered. She watched as hostess lifted
a pitcher of milk. It had been replaced upon the trolley by the other maid.
It was still glazed with moisture, it was so cold.
ÒThis should feel good on your stingy nipples,Ó hostess said
soothingly. She poured the ice-cold milk onto CandiÕs teats. The girl rose
up on her toes, quavered right on her toe-tips as hostess washed each
nipple with milk. I pitied her. She was nearly as young as me, and Gwen
whispered in my ear that she was from the slums of Rio, plucked out to
serve here, in this elegant retreat, away from the anarchy and chaos of
RioÕs poorer districts, because of her extraordinary beauty. Yet she was
being used, I thought, and Gwen confirmed it, saying new girls were
brought here each year, the old ones discarded, unless they were specially
favored, in which case they were allowed to stay on.
ÒThis will be her first truly naughty party,Ó Gwen told me. ÒSheÕs
been permitted to just tease for a month, in preparation for tonight,
entertaining businessmen or ladies who cannot afford to pay what we are
paying tonight. After this she will be moved up to more rigorous service.
Each function will see her soundly thrashed, or balled by all the men up
her pretty ass, more than she can take, until she screams for mercy. She
will be tested beyond the limits of her endurance, wearing her out in just
one year.Ó Gwen stroked my thigh as she spoke, advancing it boldly up
within my too-short dress. I did not know whether she was speaking the
truth or not. It seemed to me this was a perfectly wholesome restaurant,
although the occasional bridal shower or private menÕs romp was not hard
to imagine in this room, if the men kept the noise down to a reasonable
level, or played a largescreen t.v. loud enough to drown out the partyÕs
more intimate moments. ÔMore difficult moments,Õ a maid might call
them, finding her pretty bottom stung by boisterous women with birches,
Oprah declaiming to an applauding audience in the background, drowning
out her cries. Or the men, ostensibly Ôwatching the game,Õ but actually
using the maidÕs bottom to relieve their tension, her heartstopping cries
extinguished by a roaring football stadium crowd. Truly, I did not know
what to think, about the maids and their fate, and it mattered less to me
now as I felt Gwen assault my pussy directly, her fingers teasingly
inserting themselves, questing for my button.
ÒPlease donÕt,Ó I gasped. But Jill took my hand and lifted her own
skirt up, decorously, as if attending to some necessity that need not be
apologized for. She stuck my own limp fingers into her pussy and made me
frig her even as Jill finger-fucked me. With her free hand Gwen rubbed
herself, frankly, the men watching, other girls gazing at us and nodding
approvingly.
ÒNow for that tomato up your bottom, Candi,Ó I heard hostess say
through dimming ears as I began to swoon under GwenÕs attention. Candi
turned, her breasts and bodice now coated with milk, and offered her
peach to hostess. Despite the look of apprehension on her young face she
parted the cheeks of her behind and waited as hostess lifted the from the
trolley a single tomato. There was a fresh jar of vaseline beside the
tomato and hostess took the tomato, which she held with the tea-service
tongs, and glided it gently across the surface of the new vaseline. In a
moment the tomato was properly prepared. As Candi waited, venting the
hinds of her bottom for hostess, the older woman stuck her fingers into
CandiÕs rear and pulled apart the ring of her anus.
ÒOooo, please donÕt,Ó Candi objected. Yet she did not do more than
flinch as hostess pressed the tongs to her resolutely. I watched, Gwen
fondling me, having found my special spot, as the tomato was inserted.
CandiÕs eyes popped open, wider than IÕd ever seen them. Her lips pursed
into a small O as the O of her anus was forced to receive in back. In went
the little vegetable, and hostess prodded CandiÕs anus with the now-empty
tongs to make sure it didnÕt come back out. Candi shuddered as she felt
the tomato worm its way up her butt. The rectum is like a vacuum, I read
once, and anything inserted into it will travel upward with ease. (Though
the journey back down might take awhile.) CandiÕs knees wobbled like
jello, her breasts shivered over the cups of her too-tight bodice. Hostess,
done at last, gave her an admonitory slap upon her buttcrack and told her
to quit showing off her bottom and stand up straight.
As Candi received her tomato the second maid came round and
exposed all of our bosoms. She did not ask permission, she simply
approached a woman from behind, lifted her straps neatly off her slim
shoulders, and then dipped her hands into her falling gown and hefted up
her gourds. White-fleshed they came into view, firm and swelling and
capped with lovely risen nipples. My own were lifted as I continued to
fuck and be fucked my Gwen and Jill. We paused a moment to let the maid
to her work, then went back to our own, lustily.
ÒPlease! I shall come soon!Ó I protested, more for politenessÕ sake, I
think, for I was finding the fingers very intrusive and wonderful at the
moment, watching Candi get fucked up her butt by mistress and her tongs.
CandiÕs tomatoing proceeded, as did my finger-fuck, and by the time Candi
stood erect again IÕd just drenched my panties in a lip-biting orgasm.
We tidied ourselves. We pushed our dresses back down our thighs
and looked guiltily at hostess.
ÒWell, well, three little piggies seem to have gone to market,Ó
hostess laughed. The men all watched me with desiring eyes. ÒYou have
such big bosoms for a 13-year-old,Ó hostess complimented me.
ÒIÕm almost 14,Ó I answered.
ÒSheÕs the same age as me!Ó Candi squeaked.
ÒYou are both fine young ladies, and very daring too, I might add,
though Candi here came out of financial necessity. Do you send your pay
packet home to mommie every week, like youÕre supposed to, to feed your
little sisters and brothers?Ó hostess asked Candi.
ÒMostly,Ó Candi gulped. I saw she wore an expensive diamond ring on
one of her fingers. The white fingerless glove which sheathed her wrist
complimented it most excellently.
ÒCandi, three of these young ladies might need their makeup
repaired,Ó hostess suggested. ÒPlease fetch a makeup kit and check their
lipstick for them, would you? Such activities at the dinnertable! Really,
girls! But you men enjoyed it, didnÕt you?Ó
The gentlemen nodded, all in a row, across from us. Gwen wagged
her finger at them.
ÒYou men just love seeing us girls get off, donÕt you?Ó she teased
them. Abruptly she reached beneath her dress. I saw that she was going
to take her panties off and watched, mesmerized, as she had to press her
face close to the table to do it. Getting panties off over oneÕs spiked
heels at a table was a problem, as IÕd discovered taking off my own to
receive the donation of cream. Now Gwen lifted her cream coated and
juice coated panties aloft, straightening up in her chair. She dangled them
before the menÕs amazed eyes. They wanted to fuck her so badly, I could
tell, and they were all big, strapping men, yet they did not dare act
without hostessÕ permission. All of them, I learned later, had visited
hostess in the days leading up the party. SheÕd read them the rules and
then made them drop their pants and receiving a butt-cracking strapping.
I envisioned the highly athletic Sam, bending over, receiving, howling as
hostess showed him in no uncertain terms who would be boss on party
night. As Jill told me later, heÕd eaten dinner for the next three days
sitting on a cushion sheÕd sewn specially for the occasion. ÒAll bare from
the waist down,Ó she confided in me. ÒIt hurt too much for him to put his
pants on. I enjoyed three solid days of him staying home from work,
catering to my every need, with his poor bottom a wreck but his cock
undamaged, and perpetually hard, it seemed, from the memories his
bottom gave him every time he bent over or sat down!Ó
Gwen drew back the rear of her panties, sling-shot like, and then let
go. Her panties snapped from her hands and hit Sam directly in the face.
Jill, laughing, removed her own and shot them off at GwenÕs husband, but
they went sailing over his head and fell uselessly on the floor behind him.
ÒLet me try with yours,Ó Jill urged me.
ÒNo, let her shoot her own herself,Ó Gwen replied, neither of them
considering that I might simply want to keep my panties on.
In the next several minutes all of us females took off our creamy
panties and fired them at our boyfriends. As Gwen insisted, I got to shoot
my own, which I used to score a direct hit on SamÕs nose!
ÒHey, you were supposed to shoot at GwenÕs husband!Ó Jill scolded
me.
ÒTheyÕre my panties, and IÕll shoot them at whoever I please,Ó I
answered. It had been so fun I wanted to get up and retrieve them and
shoot them again. Hostess sensed my need, saw the other girls shared it.
ÒAlright, men, get those cocks out,Ó hostess declared, suddenly
changing our party a bit, allowing us to be more frolicsome. ÒScoot your
chairs back and let us see how many of you girls can ring a pecker with
your panties. Be warned, though, missing will cost you a spanking and
succeeding will mean that you have to sit on the pole youÕve scored with.
IÕll keep notes up here. DonÕt be shy, go get your panties and fire away!
Ring as many cocks as you like. We can have you take all of them in the
weeks ahead. You need not sit on each one tonight!Ó
Laughingly we rose from our chairs. The men prepared themselves.
They watched with shocked eyes as hostessÕ game caused female panties
to be sent shivering down their poles, or shooting past them. We played
for several minutes, all of us females dancing around freely, shooting any
panties we could find now, not caring whose they were. At last hostess
had us retake our seats.
ÒThere! WasnÕt that fun?Ó she declared as we sat huffing and
puffing from our frolic, our cheeks red-flushed, our naked boobies heaving.
WeÕd all lost our dresses in the melee. There was nothing to hold them up
with the straps taken down. Losing our dresses, weÕd draped them over
the menÕs heads, and the males all sat now with gowns on their heads,
lifted from their eyes so they could see, and with female undies ringing
their stemming cocks.
ÒTake good care of those dresses, men,Ó hostess advised them. ÒThe
girls will need to put them back on when we leave. Set them aside on the
table when you get tired of wearing them.Ó The men grinned. They did not
mind having such sheer, inconsequential gowns draped over their heads.
All day they had to work at their business, sweating and toiling to make
money for us. Now they seemed delighted just to sit and savor their
status as rugged guests at a female-centered party, hosted by our
purebred, elegant hostess, whom later I was to learn was the wife of the
governor of a Brazilian province, a Mrs. Lalique by name, from one of
BrazilÕs top families.
The needles for tattooing were presented, which sobered all of us.
Hostess knew how to quickly settle down a bunch of giggly girls, I had to
credit her with that. Candi brought the needles out and laid them solemnly
on the table, laying them out on a red velvet cloth which sheÕd brought
with her, from the kitchen. The needles were long, almost sensuous.
Gwen whispered to me that they were used solely for erotic tattooing. No
little buzzy short-needled tattooing machines would be permitted here.
These long, finely honed needles would be used to gently poke and stab bit
by bit into the female flesh, prolonging the process for hours, perhaps, the
dye applied to the skin at last to complete the design, and make it
permanent.
ÒI see some of you blanching at these long needles,Ó hostess
smilingly said to us. We sat huddled on our velvet-cushioned chairs, all
naked now, trembling in the cool air of the room, our nipples tipped with
coral, each as hard as our clitty that tingled within us. ÒHow silly most
girls are, to visit some Ôtattoo guruÕ with their boyfriend in a seedy part
of town, where Candi grew up, and get herself tattooed in a few minutes.
Here, we can take our time. GwenÕs husband, a licensed surgeon, will
apply the needles to your bodies. And we shall ink the design after itÕs
finished, so until that fateful moment you can feel just the needle, poking
away, and debate how you feel about it all.Ó Gwen looked down at her
nipples. They were so wonderfully pink, I thought, and delicate. How cruel
it would be to tattoo them! Yet her husband sat across from her, grim-
faced, as if he would not be deterred. But I hoped his grimness was due
less to his determination and more to his hard-on, which must have
afflicted him quite painfully by now, being ringed with luscious female
panties, all wet with cream and her dew. All the men, I observed, seemed
slightly haggard. Yet their newly healed buns prevented them from
attacking us, raping us, which I knew they longed to do, or from fisting
themselves, as the little boy part of their minds must have been urgently
urging.
Suddenly a young man leapt to his feet. ÒAh, I cannot stand it!Ó he
bellowed, and he began to rub and squeeze his hard cock as we all watched,
open-mouthed, amazed that he would disobey mistress. He had a
wonderfully long and thick penis and I wished to God he would sit back
down and behave. That such a fine tool should be wasted, him jerking it
off as if he were but ten years old, home alone with Playboy.
Silently hostess watched him, sitting primly, still fully dressed, the
only one of us who yet preserved her dignity. She looked a bit school-
marmish, I thought, her hair neatly pinned up and her dress not the least
revealing; a little daring, perhaps, showing off the bosom just slightly,
but not enough to get her into trouble with the PTA. Yet our studly hero,
perhaps enflamed even by hostess, a love icon of old from his schoolboy
days, stood and saluted us by fisting himself until he came. He discharged
right onto the tablecloth, not taking the least care to shoot onto his plate
or a napkin. When he was done, ejaculating to our silent eyes, he glance
guiltily at hostess.
ÒJames, you are dismissed,Ó hostess said simply.
Candi, as if escorting some despicable child molester or rapist from
our presence, marched up to him and took his arm and led him from the
room. She ushered him out, him frantically trying to close himself up
before she pushed him out into the ÔnormalÕ crowd, the diners in the room
beyond. She herself kept back just enough from the door that she would
not be seen. James was pushed out, and Candi closed and re-locked the
door behind him.
ÒCome and clean up this mess, Candi,Ó hostess said.
ÒOh, not me! Let her do it!Ó Candi begged. She pointed to the second
maid, who stood demurely by mistress, her panties on, her bodice
unsullied, her bottom tomato-free.
ÒNo, I want you to do it, Candi,Ó hostess replied. ÒCome and lick up
his sperm. He is a studmuffin, no doubt about it, and his sperm shouldnÕt
be wasted. He will see me in the weeks ahead, in my office downtown,
next to the governorÕs, and IÕll whip his heinie into shape so that he does
not embarrass me at my next party. In the meantime, we must not let his
sperm go to waste. Lick it right up, Candi! You are but a girl from the
slums, and he is the son of an aristocrat. We do not allow aristocratic
semen to go to waste at my parties! As for the rest of you men, keep your
sperm properly in your balls, please. The time will come soon enough for
you to serve the women present, and I want you all nice and full for the
task.Ó She surveyed them with demeaning eyes. ÒCanÕt you boys sit in
front of nice, well-behaved girls without jacking yourselves off? Really!
LetÕs have no more of this penis nonsense. Girls should be able to enjoy
your organs freely once in a while, making you wait until theyÕre good and
ready.Ó Indeed, though, I thought, most of us girls would have gladly given
up the rest of the party to sit on those stallions across from us. But that
could be done anywhere, without such an expensive meal. Here things
must be a little different, and anyways this was a most special party, at
which weÕd commit to the men in our lives irretrievably.
Bending over awkwardly, clearly disgusted at the task, Candi lapped
up the sperm from the tablecloth.
ÒEwww, yuck!Ó the second maid declared, watching. Hostess gave
her bottom a slap and she said no more.
ÒNow we must have a cream shooting contest,Ó hostess said happily,
when Candi returned with lip-smacking displeasure to her side, waiting
for her new orders. ÒCandi, please fetch the cannisters of icing from the
kitchen. I want the girls here to get a chance to shoot white stuff at their
boyfriends and hubbies, instead of just having it shot up their cunts.Ó
Candi flounced off to the kitchen, all of us admiring her bottom,
which rolled impishly, still showing her disgust at having to lick up
semen. She returned, a dollop of cum still on her nose, unnoticed by her,
with two big handfuls of cannisters. They were slim, and had nozzle-
shaped tips. I saw they each had a pump handle at the rear. I felt excited
at the prospect of holding one of the slim tubes in my hands and Ôjacking
offÕ at Sam with it! Candi distributed the tubes, one to each of us girls.
Then, to my surprise, hostess ordered her to fetch more, for the men.
ÒShoot now, girls! The men will have their revenge sooner than you
care to wish!Ó We fired at once, a volley of white icing descending on the
men as they sat helplessly across from us. I bent briefly under the table
to see where one shot in particular of mine had gone, aimed at Sam. It had
fallen short of his face, but, bending down, I saw that it had made a direct
hit on his peehole! I laughed, fired more shots at him, sitting up again, and
deliberately made them fall short of his handsome face and into his lap.
A moment later and the men were armed too. The combat proceeded
with both sides splattering the other in what looked, for all the world,
like flying sperm. I was hit on my nose, on my breasts (a well-aimed for
target, being the youngest there), and some fell down and decorated my
pussy. At last hostess called a halt to the affair.
ÒThat should have relieved some tension, I hope,Ó the governorÕs
wife said. ÒThe girls, about being tattooed, and you men, by having to
sport such stiff erections in such enticing company. At least now your
icing has fallen where your penises would LIKE to be,Ó she added merrily.
Most of us, I think, had wound up with our pussies getting decorated, or at
least our tummies, where our wombs lay. Our bosoms were streaked with
the stuff. We might have each had a pair of edible creampuffs, so well
shot-at were our mammaries. YouÕd think they were being iced to be
eaten! I looked down at my own. One nipple was covered, the other
wiggled bare and pinkly, still wishing to be attacked. Alas, our icing-
shooters were empty now. Leaning forward I surveyed all the other girls,
up and down the line. Most of them had wound up with both nipples
covered. I toyed with my exposed nipple and considered wiping icing on it.
Gwen took my hand, silently, placed it in my lap. She leaned into me and
slowly licked my other nipple until it was as clean as my other one.
ÒThere,Ó she said smilingly.
ÒCandi, did you bring out that makeup kit as I asked you to?Ó hostess
queried.
ÒYesÕm,Ó Candi answered. She had lain it on the tea service. It was
small, covered with a pearl shell on its outside, looking like a glossy
oyster.
ÒThese girls have all been so ACTIVE,Ó hostess told her. ÒPlease fix
their hair and makeup for them. I want them looking their very best for
our next little treat.Ó Candi nodded silently. She took the makeup kit and
proceeded to the first of us, sitting straight in our chairs with our nipples
standing to attention, eyeing the long needles which promised to stick us
in most unpleasant places before the night was through, marking us
forever as our mastersÕ property. JillÕs husband had promised that IÕd
escape a tattooing but, glancing around, I saw that many of the females
were little older than myself (or maybe I just looked as grown-up as
them, I thought with an excited shiver). If they could be tattooed, couldnÕt
I? Who would spare me at the final moment, when all the other girls were
weeping at their sacrifice, their masterÕs gloating over such a lovely
treasure now marked as theirs.
Hostess plucked open the front of the second maidÕs panties, the one
who still had suffered nothing but a single slap upon her bottom, which did
not even bear the mark of it. Nervously the maid watched as hostess
gazed with deprecatory eyes at her fleecy bush. It was, I could imagine,
so pure and virginal, untouched, warm and perhaps a little moist. And her
lovely lips below must snuggle together reassuringly inside those
protective little undies, so safe from menÕs eyes, I thought. Wickedly
hostess placed a delicate finger underneath the maidÕs cunny and stroked
it, while still glancing within her panties, holding them open with her
other hand. The maid shivered.
ÒKaren, you are so jittery!Ó hostess said to her. ÒDonÕt you like
having your pussy played upon?Ó
ÒN-Nooo,Ó Karen answered. Her young bottom cheeks jostled
together in behind, tight and straining, their bulging hemispheres showing
her stress. Her legs wiggled upon her nervous knees.
ÒWell, your panties are a kind of pouch, arenÕt they?Ó hostess
inquired. ÒAnd you have no penis. DonÕt you think it would be useful to
carry around stuff in your panties, since thereÕs nothing in there now
except your little hole?Ó
Karen gulped audibly, her childlike throat tense at what she guessed
hostess must be about to do. Hostess reached for a can of Redi-Whip that
had stood stolidly on the tea service, unused, in a bucket of slowly
melting ice. It was for coffee, I guessed, or hot chocolate. Someone had
placed it there accidentally, thinking we might be drinking that, or
perhaps intentionally, knowing hostess would surely have a use for it.
Hostess ceased her sly questings underneath KarenÕs pantied cunny. Still
holding open the front of her undies, she picked up the Redi-Whip and
aimed it squarely into KarenÕs little gusset pouch.
ÒYou seem so heated, you skin so hot inside your undies, Karen,Ó
Hostess said with predatory eyes. ÒYour mommie would not approve, I
think. Would you like me to cool you down a little with some ice-cold
cream?Ó
ÒNo, I mean, yes, please,Ó Karen stumbled in her reply, her words so
uncertain. She did not want to displease hostess. SheÕd already gotten her
fanny slapped once and knew, with a glance at the birch rod beside
hostessÕ plate, that her governess could do much worse. Ah, I pitied her!
Why must this wife of the governor, a woman of such strength of purpose
and will, pick on such a little girl as Karen? How cute and naughty she
looked in her little maidÕs outfit. I did not wish to see her purity
tampered with. I found myself drawing up my courage to protest as I
watched the can of Redi-Whip hovering menacingly over CandiÕs opened
pouch.
ÒNo,Ó I began to say, but a hand grabbed my face just then, seizing
both my cheeks. It was Candi, of all people, businesslike, quick, knowing
hostess would be displeased if she dallied. Candi yanked my face to one
side and instantly began applying lipstick to my lips. Jill watched
approvingly, her own face newly decorated. We were all slaves here, I
guessed, slaves in a harem run by a governess. We were each otherÕs own
worst enemies, in a way, all of us wanting to make sure that the other
participated just as much as we did, lest she claim afterward that she had
not lowered herself to the decadent level of the rest of us.
ÒReady?Ó I heard hostess say in the distance. There was no audible
answer from Karen. Then, as blush was applied to my cheeks, I heard a
squirting sound, lusty, full-throated, shooting from a nozzle. Karen
shrieked as whipped cream, cold as ice, shot into her winsome panties.
SheÕd been so safe and protected inside them. Now they were being used
to apply and hold icy cream against her sex.
I wriggled free of Candi and watched as Karen received the tribute
of cream inside her panties. She stood wobbly-kneed, her asscheeks
grinding together apprehensively, as hostess finished and let her panties
snap shut.
ÒThere,Ó hostess said consolingly, but pressed a hand firmly against
KarenÕs cunt so as to fully impress the cream into her privates. Karen
mumbled something but nobody cared. The men sat enthralled, the women
too, all of them desperate with arousal, the women all nude, the men still
politely suited but with their flies open and their organs standing stiffly
up like toadstools. Precum glistened in rivulets down the sides of their
cocks. They were excellent in their stiffness, all of them naturally wet,
more precum bubbling from their peetips as time passed. Now and then a
woman would glance under the table, for it had no tablecloth to block her
view, and check on the status of her loverÕs cock. There it would rear,
across from her, all ready to ream her at the first sign of permission from
hostess. And beside it, on either side, would be other cocks, equally
ready, equally eager. The night promised to be a full one for our cunts if
hostess would ever let the men get at us. All of them could surely have
stayed home and enjoyed each other, but instead theyÕd chosen to let
hostess guide them on this evening. And I wondered, too, if sheÕd put the
females to their own hubbies, or insist that opportunity must be made of
the diversity, putting each female to someone other than the male who had
so gallantly escorted her to this feast. I sleeked my hands up my own
thighs, feeling the creaminess of them along the inside. How fleshy and
soft I felt within the confines of my thighs. How many men, sitting
across from me, were plotting to spread them wide before the night was
through and plant himself within them? Candi took my face into her hands
again, finished my makeup. She proceeded next to Gwen, who insisted on
sharing a long, probing kiss with her before letting her start. Seeing them
so engaged, I reached over and pinched CandiÕs rubbery bottom.
ÒOuch!Ó Candi squawked.
ÒThatÕs what you get for making me look like a million dollars,Ó I
giggled. She put a hand behind herself and rubbed her hiney ruefully as
Gwen, undeterred, held her fast in a kiss that I knew was making her
tongue go down CandiÕs throat.
Jill passed me a silver mirror. ÒYou look lovely, dear,Ó Jill
complimented.
ÒI donÕt feel lovely,Ó I replied. I shifted tensely in my seat, upon the
velvet cushion which felt so, so arousing now... making me want it even
worse than I already did.
ÒTake a moment and admire yourself. You really do look lovely,Ó Jill
answered. She held the mirror up for me, since I refused to take it.
Uncertainly I glanced at myself. Ah! A catch of longing in my throat. Was
that me? I looked like a lovely woman seated at the City Opera, my hair
so perfect, despite streaks of icing in it, my eyes bright, my lashes long
and fuller even than they naturally were. My cheeks blushed brightly, my
lips were glossy. Indeed, I would have thought myself at some State
Banquet, but for the fact that my shoulders in the mirror were bare, and
my bosoms, the nipples just out of view, loomed so nakedly. Where was
my pretty gown to go with my lovely made-up face? I was so nude, buck-
naked. How decadent this was!
Hostess, ever one to make us yet more agitated, now focussed her
attention on the men. She ordered little Karen to take an eye-dropper and
squirt wine into the menÕs pee holes. ÒGet your pants down off your hips,
gentlemen,Ó hostess ordered. ÒThatÕs right, just shuck them down. You
can sit your buns right on the velvet cushions just like the girls are doing.
FairÕs fair here. Take your pants right down, sir! Down to your ankles!
Well, I know you wonÕt be able to just get up and walk over to the toilet if
you need to pee. ThatÕs the point. LetÕs see those pants around your
ankles, imprisoning your feet in your own trousers and underpants! ItÕll
keep us females safer, I think, knowing you men canÕt just leap up and rape
us!Ó
Under hostessÕ implacable, otherworldly stare, as if she were
Persephone herself, come to strip the men of their souls, our hubbies and
boyfriends pushed their trousers down their legs to the floor. Karen
danced up to the first one, clearly intrigued by her assignment. Delicately
she took hold of the gnarly knob of the first manÕs penis, the one closest
to hostess. Was it her husband, I wondered. No, it must not be, I decided.
He seemed younger than her. Perhaps ten years younger. He was her
boyfriend. It was not just her husband, the governor, who kept lovers. She
kept them too, having perhaps one male one month, and another the next.
He looked like a young college graduate, just going out into the world. No
doubt heÕd gotten a job with the state in the governorÕs province and, to
his surprise, found himself meeting the governorÕs wife also. She would
take him for a ride he never guessed possible, I thought, draining him of
his life and finally leaving him.
The young man gazed down with amazed eyes as Karen, his junior by
at least a decade, took firm hold of his most precious asset. With aplomb
I would have thought possible only in an older girl, she pressed the tip of
the eye-dropper into the manÕs peehole and squirted forth its contents.
Red wine, which made his penis look like it was bleeding. I learned later
from her that sheÕd found his balls the most exciting. They seemed to
churn under the assault on the nearby cock, desperate not to shoot, yet so
very excited at having this wicked, awful deed done to their brother the
penis. She said those proud balls looked like ripe coconuts, after theyÕve
been shelled but before the husk has been broken open to reveal the milk.
With gasping mouth and wide eyes the young man received his
punishment in his peehole. Certainly it must have felt uncomfortable, to
say the least, to have alcohol squirted into such a sensitive organ. The
very peehole, that which we all try to keep soap out of when we bathe,
lest it sting. His cock wiggling, the man strove to contain himself as he
felt the stinging within his hole. If only he could shoot out his sperm!
That would soothe it, coat it, protect it. But no, he must hold, hold, hold,
perhaps for hours still, until mistress was ready for his performance.
Karen went to the next man, sitting bare-assed on the velvet
cushion. I could see he wanted to say Ôno,Õ to deter her, to stop her.
All the men did. But their naked asses on the velvet reminded them of the
straps and the canes and the tawses and all the other wicked implements
that hostess had slashed across their buns prior to giving them permission
to come tonight. Before they could even get the day and date of this
memorable party, before they even could obtain the location from her,
hostess had insisted on giving each man a through flogging. Now, tonight,
each man sat in his chair, his ass newly healed, and not daring to risk
another flogging at the hands of the governorÕs wife.
I watched them with interest. All of them were tall and strong,
each a powerhouse in his own right, a muscle machine, yet they sat
dutifully, like guards for the Queen, each man daring the other to take his
eyedropperfull of wine. And each was done in turn, by Karen, her own
pussy chilly in her close-fitting undies. She was but a girl, accomplished
in her little dinner table tasks but, otherwise, innocent as me, I thought.
Yet the men accepted the terrible wine from her, letting this slip of a girl
torment their organs with her stinging dropper.
When the men had been attended to, Gwen volunteered we girls as
subjects for the same experiment. She spoke with her hand raised up to
her ear, palm outward, as if she were a student at school, and hostess our
teacher.
ÒThank you, Gwen,Ó hostess answered. ÒIt is very nice of you girls
to join your husbands in this little agonizing rite of passage. WeÕll use
full 100% bourbon for you girls, straight, since I do like to be more
merciless with the females than the males, being a woman. I always have
a bit of pity for the men. But women are, in the end, just competition,
arenÕt they? LetÕs be quick about it, though. Each of you do the girl next
to you. Pass the dropper and bottle down the line.Ó
We did as she ordered. A bottle was passed, each girl doing herself
or letting the girl next to her do it for her. Jill took the bottle and
dropper, poured some bourbon into her empty champagne glass and,
gritting her pretty teeth, inserted the tip of the dropper into her peehole
after first filling it in the glass. She did me then, not washing the
dropper off inbetween, but simply taking it from her peehole to mine.
SheÕd only given herself half a dropperful, I got the rest. Gwen did herself
next, refilling the dropper first from JillÕs glass. She held back her hair
from her face, so blonde and beautiful, and watched her own hand as it
maneuvered the dropper into her peehole. Gwen held it within herself a
minute, not squirting anything, afraid to. Finally she squeezed the little
rubber bulb.
ÒOh!Ó Gwen ejaculated, feeling the bourbon squirt into her tiny hole.
Next to her cunt it seemed so insignificant, yet now it would sting
awfully, making her aware of it every moment. Jill giggled. I rubbed
myself surreptitiously to try to assuage the sting which now plagued me.
ÒIs everything alright, madam?Ó a man asked, appearing suddenly
from the kitchen. It was the restaurantÕs maitre dÕ. He was outfitted in a
suit with tails, his eyebrows raised. Our hostess turned, smiled at him,
even as Gwen finished filling her peehole with the bourbon. The maitre dÕs
eyes seemed to take us in, sitting with our titties wiggling nakedly, the
men with their ramrod cocks standing up so fine, on display like soldierÕs
rifles. Yet, at the same time, he seemed not to notice us. It was the
practised non-glance, yet all-seeing, of a headwaiter.
ÒWeÕre quite fine, Armand,Ó hostess answered. ÒThe girls are trying
out your bourbon where itÕs sure to be appreciated, even in tiny
quantities.Ó
ÒVery well,Ó Armand answered. He disappeared as quickly as heÕd
come. I wondered if his trousers bulged a little now, as he returned to the
main part of the restaurant. Would 6-year-old girls notice something in
his pants as he stood close to their table, taking their order? I hoped, for
their sake, that heÕd be able to contain himself and talk himself out of any
erection.
Only hostess remained clothed amongst us. She sat regally in a
high-necked gown, its collar stiff and tall around her neck, but with the
gown open in front, showing just enough of her bosom to be daring. With
long-nailed fingers she now undid the buttons down the front of her dress.
She pulled apart the halves of her gown as if some event must occur, for
which she must be topless. And then, my breath catching, I saw her
bosoms spill freely from her gown even as she reached out and picked up
one of the tattooing needles. It was as straight and stiff as her nipples
which now sprang into view. They were excited nipples, I could tell.
Excited at the prospect of seeing us tattooed in our most intimate places.
Hostess replaced the needle upon the table. She saw the menÕs eyes
on her tits and smiled.
ÒNow boys, letÕs not be indecent, please. I just wanted to give my
breasts a little freedom, thatÕs all, now that Armand has made his check
of the evening. He wonÕt be back. We can proceed with the main
festivities.Ó She surveyed us all. ÒMy, my, what fun weÕve had already.
And we havenÕt even had dessert yet!Ó she said.
I raised my hand. Timidly, just up to my ear, as Gwen had done. But
I figured if I was to ask permission to leave it must be now.
ÒI-IÕm not hungry anymore. IÕm quite full,Ó I said directly to
hostess, bypassing Jill, whom I knew would forbid me to leave if I asked
her. She was scared of being tattooed, had brought me along for company.
ÒWhy dear, the dessert isnÕt for eating,Ó hostess said. ÒIÕll have you
tattooed first for speaking up, though. Thank you for volunteering,Ó she
taunted me. I withdrew my hand. I felt overcome with dismay. I looked at
Sam. His eyes seemed slightly glazed. A male dog in heat, thinking of
nothing but his cock. Would I truly be tattooed? I could not bear the
thought of it! I felt Jill and Gwen suddenly grab me by my arms. They
yanked them behind me, throwing my breasts out into stark relief from the
rest of my body. Sam, his eyes still glazed, looked admiringly at my
obscenely offered boobies, ignoring my face completely, my anxiousness,
my fear. Candi was behind me a moment later and she tied a strip of
rawhide around my close-pressed wrists, Jill and Gwen holding me, their
own arms straining as they held mine. Thin, frail arms they had, but
within that frailness there was just enough strength to hold my younger
arms tightly together. A moment later I was tied, my bosoms bobbing in
front of me, my hands useless now.
ÒDonÕt get up,Ó Jill warned me. She fingered her twig of birch,
beside her plate, and gave me a meaningful glance.
ÒYou have such lovely nipples,Ó Gwen consoled me. She touched a
fingertip to the underside of my nipples, stroking each one, making it
sizzle with pleasure.
ÒPlease, donÕt,Ó I begged. They only smiled.
ÒShare and share alike,Ó Jill said at last, as Candi rolled out a big
cake. It was made in the obvious shape of a vulva. Cherries studded it, it
was cherry cheesecake, Gwen whispered to me, still tantalizing my
nipples with her devilish finger.
ÒGirls, tonight you will, each of you,Ó she glanced at me, Òbe
tattooed on the inside of your vulva. Such a private place. It will ruin
your looks not the least as, in my opinion, most tattoos do. Only your
lover will ever see it, and then only when he spreads apart your labial lips
and looks inside to the womb that is his, and his alone. There, inside your
privates, will be a little heart-shaped tattoo. Not too big, but a clear
symbol of your servitude and commitment to your husband. No other man,
eating you, will be able to do so without knowing that you once belonged
to another, and that he was your first real love, the first man that you
were willing to sacrifice for, to bleed for. Yes, there will be little
droplets of blood where the needle pricks you. I suppose we shall have to
paint the design on first, now that I think of it. I am new to this tattooing
business, but GwenÕs husband will guide my hand. I will tattoo you
myself, though I have never done it before. There will be no anesthesia, of
course. We will discuss this some more in a few minutes, after our
dessert. Let us now enjoy a last moment of carefree abandon though, shall
we? Cut the cake, please, Candi.Ó
Candi lifted a sharp knife and proceeded to slice up the cake into
equal portions. Hostess, meanwhile, took hold of Karen by her waist and
drew her close.
ÒKaren, you must be tattooed too,Ó hostess told her. ÒAnd will
everyone elseÕs vulva now visible yours must be too.Ó As Karen gulpingly
watched, hostess drew down her panties from her privates. They snapped
a little as the gusset finally broke free of her clenching lovelips. Hostess
pulled them all the way down KarenÕs legs and made her step out of them.
Hostess tossed them neatly over her boyfriendÕs cock.
ÒA ringer!Ó hostess laughed. Then she took her linen napkin and
neatly wiped away the coolwhip that hung upon the curls of KarenÕs pubis.
After each wipe hostess put the napkin to her lips and licked off the
cream herself. ÒYou taste very good, Karen,Ó hostess complimented her.
ÒThankyou, maÕam,Ó Karen answered shyly.
Her pussy newly freed from her confining undies, Karen was ordered
to help Candi distribute the slices of cheesecake. Mine arrived, all
blubbery and wobbling. I sat looking at it, my hands tied behind my back.
Would somebody feed it to me?
Gwen picked up the entire plate of cheesecake. ÒYou are too pretty,Ó
she told me laughingly. And then, to my heartbeating surprise, she
smooshed the cake right into my face! I screamed with shock. She ground
the plate into my face. When she withdrew it my once-lovely visage was a
frothy mess. Everybody laughed at me. I felt myself blushing right down
to my toes. My boobies jiggled helplessly. I yanked at the bonds which
held my wrists behind me but it only made the rawhide cut into my arms.
All around me then I heard girls getting pied in the face. Each one
did the other, laughing at the mess she made, only to be quickly repaid.
Oh, our makeup session under CandiÕs expert young hands was all wasted
now! Why, oh why? I wondered. I managed to shake some frosting from my
eyes and opened them. Hostess strode down the line of males across from
me, her breasts proud and free, a little icing on them, and deliberately
picked up and smashed each manÕs serving of pie right into his own face.
Some of the detritus splashed onto her lovely dress and bosom, but she
was not deterred. Each man received his due.
When all of us had been thoroughly humiliated, hostess re-took her
place at the head of the table.
ÒWell, that should dispel any notion that any of you are above me or
can refuse what is next to follow,Ó hostess said. ÒI know you husbands
will have second thoughts as you see your young wives and girlfriends put
under the tattooing needle, but remember my hand in your face, and keep
your protests to yourself. Candi!Ó The girl appeared at her side quick as
lightning, her breasts jiggling within their bodice with the utmost
alacrity. She was willing to serve in whatever way was needed, hoping to
avoid both a pie face and the tattoo needles.
ÒBring forth the chair,Ó hostess said. Candi disappeared quick as
sheÕd come, but returned soon, bearing a small v-shaped lawn chair that
she placed in front of hostess, facing her. ÒDrape a silk cloth over it, to
protect it and provide a little comfort,Ó hostess told Candi. The girl
complied, going to the kitchen as we all sat apprehensively and returning
moments later, unfolding a brocade, one without a design sewn in yet,
perhaps never to bear one, and laid it upon the chair. Would our dropletted
blood decorate it, from our pussies? I shuddered to think of such things,
yet they flashed in my mind, making me feel guilty and forcing me to wish
I was home, with my mom, even wearing an infernal one-piece for her, if
it would spare me the needles and the tattoo!
Gwen lifted her napkin and wiped my face for me, pouring a little
bourbon into the napkin to wet it first. Candi came for me, took my arm. I
rose, not knowing what else to do. Jill gave my bare fanny a little slap as
I passed behind her chair. I was walked, still in my heels but with nothing
else on, up to the silk-covered chair. It was just one of those simple
chairs you see at the beach, with no legs, a small vee into which one might
sit oneÕs bottom for a quick rest. Hostess rose, had me step up into her
chair and then onto the table. She sat back down in her chair again. She
did not seem to mind that my shoes had been out in the street. They were
new heels, though, barely worn, given to me by Jill for this nightÕs
festivities. I guessed all the girls wore new heels in deference to
hostess.
I sat down in the chair. Hostess drew herself close and frankly
pulled my knees apart. Nothing was to be hidden from her. Absolutely
nothing. Before sitting down again she had shed her dress, and I gazed
down at her belly, her hips. She was boldly shaped, with a prominent bust
and hips that flared out like men like them, showing her to be a mature
woman, ready to receive however much of their seed they might strive to
pump into her. She looked at me with cold eyes. They were remorseless.
ÒHave you started using tampons yet?Ó she asked me. As she spoke
her fingers worked themselves into my frightened cunt and pulled my lips
open.
ÒYes,Ó I breathed. My heart was beating frantically in my chest and I
saw my boobies were twitching nervously, my nipples painfully hard. Yet
my clitty buzzed excitedly, not knowing the difference between sex and
impending pain. Hostess glided her fingers mercifully over my spot,
soothing me, but I was apprehensive still, knowing my fate, and only being
soothed in that small way that makes your passion bloom even more, as
yet unfulfilled.
ÒAnd you have regular periods?Ó she inquired. She looked at my
newly deflowered twat, peering closely, rimming her fingers along my
lovelips.
ÒMmm,hmmm,Ó I answered, my mouth lips tight-pressed even as my
lovelips were drawn wide apart.
ÒGood. And you have known the fucking of a cock, I see,Ó she said.
ÒWell, we will make it just a little tattoo for you. You will bear my
initials, young lady, or rather just that of my surname. A nice cursive-
style L.Ó She looked up at me, holding me forcibly apart. ÒDo not tremble
so. It will be your passport to anywhere, here in Brazil. Simply show it,
and you will be admitted, however grand the party or function. It will hurt
just a little, for a little while, and then forever after you will be
admitted to a very high class of aristocrats, chosen by me, and all of my
girlfriends will be happy to see you. I myself bear the initial E, given me
by Evita Peron, who preferred to use the initial of her first name since, I
think youÕll agree, a P would be rather undignified. She put it upon me
when I was a child, just your age, so all your squirming is not going to
spare you. I have worn it proudly ever since, as you will wear mine.Ó
I did my best to hold back my tears, I donÕt know why, as Candi was
made to sit on hostessÕ lap.
ÒCandi, are you good at drawing and painting,Ó hostess asked her.
ÒOh, yesÕm,Ó Candi nodded quickly.
ÒI know you are. ThatÕs why I selected you for this evening, in
addition to your loveliness. Now Candi, do you feel kinda twitchy and
nervous?Ó hostess asked her.
Candi whispered something in her ear, sitting there on her lap,
hostess naked but Candi still clad in her bosom-gripping bodice.
ÒYes, I have to cum, and you do too,Ó hostess said to her. ÒLetÕs both
bring each other off, shall we? We can do it sitting right here, while
Flurrie wants to receive her tattoo. Then youÕll be calm to paint it on her,
and IÕll be calm enough to poke it into her so she can wear it for the rest
of her life.Ó
Beyond women rose, went to the chamberpot, and relieved
themselves. They wiped each othersÕ faces to make themselves pretty
again, shared the makeup kit. The men sat spellbound, thinking only of
their cocks now, desperate to cum, desperate not to.
ÒYes, gentlemen, itÕs fun to watch women pee, isnÕt it?Ó hostess
said, looking up. ÒDonÕt cum, though. A tattoo can be placed on a cock as
easily as inside a vulva. IÕll do it, too, if you cum now, this late in the
evening. Be good boys and keep your sperm quietly within your balls for
now. You can shoot it all out later, I assure you. But for now, behave
yourselves and just watch. You may gather round my chair in a minute,
after Candi and I have rubbed each other a bit.Ó She smiled at the girl in
her lap, so cute and so terribly innocent. Yet I looked younger still, and my
slit was about to be pillaged!
ÒLetÕs rub each other, Candi, hmmm?Ó hostess said. ÒYou do me, and
IÕll do you. Do you think you can cum if I rub you?Ó
ÒOh, yes maÕam!Ó Candi answered. ÒIÕm dying for it!Ó She squirmed
in hostessÕ lap. Her legs were parted, her bottom churned eagerly, hoping
to feel her cunny pleasured.
I sat there, my legs apart, but held no longer by anyoneÕs hands.
Behind me, I pulled at my wriststraps. I must get up. Surely I must. I
was lying back, pressed against the chair back, which was fairly long and
high, high enough for me to rest the back of my head upon. The chair came
with an attachment, which the handsome boy closest to hostess had
helpfully yanked upward once I was seated in the chair. The weight of my
bottom on the opposite V of the chair kept it from toppling backward.
Just to be sure, though, he rammed two tall candlesticks up into the back
of the chair, on either side, right where the metal supporting edges of the
chair ran upward toward my head, toward the ceiling. HeÕd removed the
wax candles first, leaving just the sturdy gold base. I could feel the
slight bulge of them against the outer edges of my back. I pressed myself
backward, they held fast.
I turned my head, leaned, glanced over my shoulder. What was he
doing back behind me now? He was standing, leaning forward. My eyes
could not help but glance at his cock. It was huge, sportingly erect. He
had a small drill in his hands. Where had he gotten that?! To my surprise I
saw the candlesticks, perhaps brought along by hostess herself, each had
two small holes in the base. Through these some enterprising young man,
should he just happen to bring a small portable drill and four screws,
might drill the candlesticks into the table. As I watched, amazed that
such preparations would be taken on my behalf, he resolutely zipped each
of the screws directly into the hardwood table. Before heÕd started he
was done. It took only a moment. I think he did construction work for a
living. And why not? He was hostessÕ special guest. She didnÕt need a
doctor or a lawyer for a boyfriend. She had a governor of an entire
province for a husband. She did, however, need a handy young man who
knew how to screw a girl into place before she could say Ôno.Õ
But that was just the chair. I myself was still free. I wriggled my
bottom. The base of the chair was so short! My hind cheeks hung mostly
free, my knees drawn up to my chin. My feet remained apart, properly
fitted in my new, expensive heels. Otherwise I was naked. My sex pulsed
hungrily. Before me hostess and Candi shared intimate touchings. Candi
swooned against hostess, screamed into her ear, announcing her pleasure
under hostessÕ probing finger. With her own hand Candi returned the
pleasure. Hostess was more reserved, though, biting her lip discreetly.
She did not shout out like the undisciplined Candi. Hostess had cum many
times. This was just one more party, I was just one more girl, as was
Candi. Yet, somehow, I admired her reserve. Here were all these young
men amongst us, each vibrantly erect, and little Candi did know how to
twiddle her pointing finger most pleasantly into hostessÕ cunny. Yet
hostess just Ôrode out the storm,Õ so to speak, smiling wanly to herself.
Finally both of them came in a jabbing, poking frenzy, working each
othersÕ clittys with quick, impressive strokes, sometimes not so much
directly upon the clitty as circling just around it, tantalizing as much as
attacking it.
As I watched, mesmerized, each of the men sitting along the table
behind me kicked off his pants and got up. They gathered around hostess
and Candi. They were stark naked now, ready for sex, for whatever the
night had to offer. On some of their bottoms I saw newly healed scars, not
deep, more bruises than anything, all fading away now, but still in their
last stages of healing. HostessÕ whip. And God only knows what else sheÕd
used on them. It had worked, that was for sure. They stood around me
now, painfully erect, yet they did not touch me. Hostess and Candi
finished up their shared moment of bliss. The men stood with arms
crossed, closing themselves off from their own emotions. But their
penises stood up eagerly, unable to hide anywhere, betraying their real
desires. It was that sight, I think, of all those men staring directly at me,
their cocks stiff to the point of abandon, uncaring. I think I could have
whipped out a chain saw at that moment and the men would not have cared.
They were all cock now, nothing else could chase their erections from
their mind. Only hostessÕ injunction stayed their desires, restrained them.
They had seen one of their number expelled, did not want to be the next to
go. As they stood there, holding themselves round their chests, arms
crossed, many of them jabbed at the air with their hard-ons. Absently, as
if horses swishing their tails at flies, except nobody would mistake their
big, unforgiving organs, full of the blood of their passion, for harmless
horsetails. These were all muscle, ready to sperm me. It was that vision
of male pride, of male desire, for little me, that held me pinned to the
chair even though nobody kept me forcibly in my seat.
My senses might have returned eventually, but my girlfriends knew
that and moved quickly to keep me in my place. Smiling, Jill and Gwen
approached me. They took up position on either side of me. They leaned
me forward. My breasts hung gourdlike beneath me. Jill pushed the back
of the chair down with some difficulty. They lifted my bound arms over
the chair back, let them hang down behind it. Then Jill pulled the
chairback up again.
With one quick buzz hostessÕ boyfriend drilled a little ring into the
wood of the table behind me. I could not see, but felt something pass
between my bound wrists and affix them to the newly installed ring. I
saw Jill and Gwen trembling as they worked. Their nude titties shivered.
Their slim throats gulped little gulps. Affixing my wrists to the ring,
they knew they were advancing their own fate. I would only be the first to
suffer under the long tattooing needles. They would be next, and all the
other girls after them. None would leave here tonight without having her
boyfriendÕs initial drilled into the inner lip of her sex, where only he could
see it, parting her lips to look, or she herself, in her private moments, by
hostessÕ needles.
ÒThere. Pull. See if you can break free,Ó Jill said softly to me. With
childlike determination I yanked upward with my arms. Nothing. I was
held fast like a butterfly to a board.
ÒGood,Ó Gwen said. ÒThe legs next.Ó She took hold of my knee. Her
hands were light, forgiving, but my knee was drawn up and out
nonetheless, to give hostess plenty of room to get at me. Jill pulled my
other knee, both were looped with rope and tied off to the sides of the
table, a little behind me, the ropes arching backward so there could be no
forward movement of my legs.
I contemplated myself. I was in quite a predicament now!
Fortunately, I still had my little feet. With my dangerously spiked heels I
tried to hide my pussy. I kicked my feet in front of myself, holding them
over my sex. Jill giggled. She and Gwen each took hold of one of my heels
and drew them apart. As I watched, biting my lip, each of my feet was
secured with a special rope of its own. In all, two ropes bound each of my
legs. One at the knee, attached to the side of the table, and one at the
foot, attached to the side of the table. A simple affair, when you consider
it. A towel-covered lawn chair, four ropes, two candlesticks and a ring
for my wrists. HostessÕ boyfriend stood up, the drill propped casually on
his shoulder. It was a good job. I was ready, like a turkey about to be
stuffed, my sex displayed. All around me the men stabbed with
frustration at the air with their cocks. Such a luscious young thing as
myself, all open and ready, yet they could not have me! I think they were
on the verge of fighting amongst themselves to see who could be the first
to get into me. They seemed grumpy now, mean, sullen. Yet their hips
moved with proud pumping motions, cockfucking me with their minds even
if their cocks could not have me, stabbing into the air like frustrated
fighters.
Hostess, her own pleasure done, rose and turned to the men, scooting
Candi off her lap as she did so. ÒBoys,Ó hostess smiled. ÒMy, what little
boys you all look to be! IÕd think you were all in the second grade if you
werenÕt bulging with so much muscle. Now, you know you must retain your
seed until all the tattoos have been done. ItÕs your initials, after all, that
these girls will bear. When all the girls have been committed to you for
life, and believe me this is QUITE a commitment on their part, then I will
permit you to fuck them. What you must do is decide which girl will be
fucked by which of you. For I will not permit any man to have his own girl.
That would indeed be a waste of opportunities. And remember that these
girls must be taken up the bottom, not in their pussies. Their pusses will
be newly tattooed, and too tender. So please share any information you
have between yourselves about the state of your wifeÕs bottom. How many
times have you fucked her there? Can she take a man easily, does she
know how to relax herself? Or is she new to it? I do hope all of you have
at least tested your girlfriendÕs heinies. Even if she is an anal virgin you
will not get to fuck her. No, that will be your punishment for not breaking
in your wife when you were supposed to, at home, at the first opportunity,
whether she wished it or not. ThatÕs right, girls,Ó hostess added, turning
to admire them. ÒAny of you who have refused your boyfriends your
bottomhole will not leave here tonight still a cherry. Every girl will get
her ass fucked tonight. And if you need to be warmed by the whip to make
you receptive, we will do that also,Ó hostess added. ÒThe birch rods are
not, in fact, just for decoration, or to give an impetus to a tardy maid like
Candi here. I see most of them still lie untouched beside their respective
plates. What a pity! DonÕt hesitate to warm yourselves with them if you
need to.Ó
Jill and Gwen and the others stood listening with rapt attention. I
saw that Jill was absently feeling her own bottom cheeks, actually pulling
them apart in back, as if sheÕd never taken anything there and was scared
to death to do it tonight, in public, in such strange company. Gwen
noticed, ran a sly finger down JillÕs spine. Jill turned, looked at her, a
touch of fear in JillÕs eyes.
ÒPlease gag Flurry,Ó Gwen told Jill. My blonde friend cast her eyes
frantically toward Sam. He smiled back tensely. He could not make up his
mind what to do. There was his wife, apparently a cherry when it came to
buttfucking, yet he was so enthralled by all the nude females before him,
so possessed by the need springing from his own loins, that he could do
nothing but listen to hostess, and obey. He stood, merely watching. Gwen
had a leather gag in her hand and passed it to Jill. Had Gwen gotten it
from hostess? From hostessÕ boyfriend? I could not know. I had not
noticed. Jill accepted the gag, swallowed nervously, looking at it.
ÒYes, Jill, youÕll be next. But gag your friend first. We must start
with her,Ó hostess intoned. Her voice was cold. It brooked no dissent.
Jill looked at her husband again and, finding no reprieve, came up to me.
She spread my lips as one might open the mouth of a horse, unlovingly,
mechanically, almost, it seemed, blaming me for what must happen to her.
I wanted to tell her it was not my fault, but she stuffed the strip of
leather into my mouth, deeply, so that I could not speak or even close my
teeth together again. Harshly gagged, my tongue pressed back, she tied the
gag behind my head with a casual flip of her own, tossing her long blonde
hair out of her eyes so she could better see to bind me.
I felt the wetness of my saliva upon the deep-pressing gag. It was
made of canvas. I could barely clench my teeth upon it. I could not even
dream of closing my lips. And, down below, retaking her seat, hostess
now separated my cunny lips with her hands.
ÒLalique is such a lovely name, and ÔLÕ such a lovely initial, donÕt you
think, Fleury,Ó hostess asked me. Her eyes were wicked. I could not move.
I could not answer. ÒI hope you agree, really I do, because youÕll be
wearing it for the rest of your life!Ó hostess chortled. Gwen had taken a
birch rod from the table and, as Jill checked my gag to make sure it was
secure, leaning forward a little over me, Gwen whacked her lovely white
heinie with it.
ÒHey!Ó Jill protested. Immediately she forgot about me and her
hands flew behind her tushy to protect it and assuage the sting.
ÒAre you an anal cherry, my dear?Ó hostess asked Jill, ignoring the
girlÕs hard feelings about having her bottom so rudely struck by GwenÕs
birch. Jill nodded, still rubbing her bottom.
Ah, how demure she must look, walking the streets, I thought. Jill
worked part-time in a law office, as a legal secretary, typing briefs in
accordance with rules and principals of the Law. Yet now here she stood,
utterly bereft of clothes, holding her heinie like some wayward toddler
whoÕs just been taught that Mommie is boss.
ÒYouÕll need a little whipping then, to get you ready,Ó hostess
answered. ÒMy, how frisky you look! All naked, as if ready for skinny-
dipping. And so young and lovely. When the night is done your cunt will be
tattooed, your bottom well-fucked (for I think the men will line up for a
chance at a new virginÕs bottom!), and your pretty ass striped. You will
know what it means to be a properly-wed wife then! No more pussyfooting
around, eh Jill? Your husband has been to easy on you. That is the problem
with men: they love their women so much they donÕt dare do what must
needs be done, to bring them fully into the office of Womanhood. ThatÕs
why IÕm here, Jill. ThatÕs why your husband arranged to bring you to me.
YouÕll be truly married after tonight, dear. Now wait patiently for your
fate, and watch closely. How nice it is of little Flurry here to agree to go
first. YouÕve no objection, have you, Flurry?Ó She eyed me now, taunting
me. ÒCandi, letÕs do your painting. HereÕs the brush, girl, and the ink.
Paint nicely now. Any mistakes will find you most apologetic, I can
assure you.Ó
ÒYes,Õm,Ó Candi said. She resumed her spot on hostessÕ lap where
she had so recently paid tribute to her with her cunt. Now she took up a
fine, feathery brush, and gently intruded it into my cunny. Hostess held
me open for her. My lips yanked apart, Candi began daubing the ink into my
cunt. ÔLÕ it would say, in cursive, when she was done. Candi tickled me
with the brush, making me giggle, despite my fear. The brush itched a
little as it stroked over my insides. Within a minute or two, working
intently, Candi was done. Now they switched places. Candi held my nether
lips apart, while hostess picked up the longest needle. It was about the
length of a good cigarette holder, but much narrower. Mostly it was for
show, of course, only the very tip of the needle would be used on me.
I drew in my breath over the gag as hostess leaned close with the
needle. Candi pulled me wider apart. Suddenly I felt a little poke. I
screeched into my gag. My bosoms heaved upon my chest. My nipples
wiggled, naked and delicate, yet as erect as the needle itself.
ÒQuiet, girl!Ó hostess hissed. As Jill watched, holding her pussy now
instead of her bottom, Gwen lightly stroking her back, teasing her tailbone
down where her spine ended, caressing her ass, the needle was driven in
again.
I lurched in my chair. Hostess was not deterred in the least. Again
the needle poked me, and again. My tenderest, most intimate place was
being subjected to the stinging of the bitter needle, remorselessly. I was
jabbed repeatedly with it. Oh, how many girls my age still feared being
Ôtouched inappropriately,Õ yet here I was being touched with the needle,
each jab of it stinging me deep into my very core (which indeed was right
where it touched me!) Hostess worked quickly, not wanting the ink to dry
on her. Jab! Jab! Jab! And then, with my legs straining to break free, my
arms tugging at the ring, it was at last done.
ÒIt is finished,Ó hostess said. She looked up at me. She lifted a
tissue and applied it to my cunny to absorb the little pinprick droplets of
blood that decorated me there. I collapsed in my bonds. My body went
totally limp. It was over, over, over at last. I was a new woman. I hated
the tattoo, but the men, their staffs pointing upward, watching me,
admiring me, made me feel proud of myself as I lay limply there in the
chair. I barely felt the hands that came to untie me. I was returned to my
chair, where I sat huddling myself upon my velvet cushion. In my place,
Jill was strapped. She shrieked at the last moment, refusing to be tied
down. Hostess slapped her. Her own husband was brought in to help in
tying her down. The second maid, Karen, came to me and spread my legs
and knelt down in front of me. Afraid for my pussy, she licked my
bellybutton. I had an innie, and she impressed her tongue into it, and held
me, and hugged me. I did not mind. I needed someone to comfort me after
my turn in that awful chair.
One by one each of the females present was bound into the chair and
tattooed. Finally they all stood around admiring hostessÕ handiwork, all
but a few who, like me, sat disconsolately in a chair or, in the case of one,
adopted a fetal position and lay holding herself on the floor. The girls who
stood, including Jill and Gwen (Jill having found her courage at last, after
the deed was done), stood and passed a handheld mirror around. It was
silver. They each of them put it to their pussy and looked inside
themselves at their husbandÕs initial, tattooed for life there in their
innermost place. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the girls all
admired their pussies. How strange and beautiful they looked, I thought,
like tall willows, standing there utterly nude, gazing at their pussies. By
day they were college students or secretaries, all prim and proper, or
doctors even, wearing the formal garb of their profession, but here now
they were just nude females, looking at themselves in a mirror.
One act still remained. They all knew it too, you could tell, for they
stood flexing their hind cheeks, apprehensively, even as they admired
themselves. Gwen slipped the mirror from JillÕs fingers. Jill let her,
fearing yet knowing what she must show her. ÒHereÕs your bottom, Jill,
all nice and white and virginal,Ó Gwen teased her. One blonde held the
mirror for the other to see. Jill looked over her shoulder at the reflection
of her own bottom in the mirror. With soft fingers Gwen stroked JillÕs
hind cheeks, then forced them apart, trying to show Jill her own anus. It
did not quite work, but just seeing it, seeing Jill try to get a last look at
her cherry hole, made me shiver and wonder deeply at my own fate. How
many men would insist on trying my bottom? After all, it was probably
not every day that they got to fuck a 13-year-old! Hopefully Candi would
help me with such chores. She was my age. Let her take half of them. But
she had won a reprieve from hostess. And her own pussy was not tattooed
like mine was. She could take them the normal way.
ÒLine up, girls!Ó hostess ordered. She took up one of the birch rods
and made us all stand up, every last one of us, even the weeping girl who
lay on the floor, in a straight line. She walked down the line in front of
us, whisking our bare thighs lightly with her birch. The men made sure we
stood still and did as we were told. Karen, who had so recently consoled
me with kisses, now brought a box out from the kitchen.
ÒThere are enough collars for each of you in that box,Ó hostess told
us. ÒI want each of you girls to get a collar and buckle it on yourself, or
have a friend do it for you.Ó Karen offered each of us a look into the box.
We each took from it a dog collar. Alas, was I to be collared like a dog in
preparation for being fucked like a dog? It seemed it was to be so.
ÒCome, let me put it on you,Ó Jill offered. She was more sure of
herself now. She was a wedded wife and she knew that someday this night
had to come. She had just not expected to lose her precious bottomhole
virginity in the company of other people, thatÕs all. But she seemed
grateful that the decision was, for all practical purposes, out of her
control. Firmly she buckled me into my collar. I stood quietly, my bottom
rotating behind me, nervously, not knowing what to think but sure that
none of the men in this room would let me escape. She almost broke a nail
getting me into the collar, for she was almost as scared as I was, though
her self-control was keeping her fear down to a manageable level.
I in turn affixed one of the dogÕs collars to her own pretty neck.
When all of us were wearing the awful devices, we were led up to the
table, where hostessÕ boyfriend, working quickly, had screwed in a series
of rings, all in a row. Jill bent me over the table, placing a small pillow
beneath my tummy, handed to her by Gwen. I was pressed downward until
my cheek came into contact with the implacable table. It was polished,
deeply waxed. With a click my collar was fastened to the ring in the table.
I could not rise now. Instinctively my hands flew back to protect my
bottom. Laughingly Gwen grabbed them and pulled them together and tied
up my wrists with a new strip of rawhide. She bent my elbows so that
they crossed over the midpoint of my back, and bound my wrists there,
each to my crossing-over forearm. I was helpless now. Helpless as a
little froggie I once examined, as a small girl, holding it up, curious,
holding it by its legs and spreading them apart and looking at its bottom. I
was only two, IÕd not learnt fear of frogs and such things yet at that age.
IÕd seen it hopping in my back yard and I just picked it up and looked at it,
just like that. A curious two-year-old, goddess of my own backyard,
examining a interloper. It had wriggled free at last, helped by its slime.
IÕd not picked up anymore frogs after that. Soon IÕd become a little girl,
all curls and pink dresses and pretended screams. But, at two, IÕd been
half-boy still, unlearned in feminine ways, playing in mud and declaring
myself to be Queen of all that I saw.
I was not Queen now. I was Slavegirl, my arms bound up, my ass
quite nicely posed over the table, in the opinion of the men. They gathered
around me. Hostess selected one of them to have me. Meantime all the
other girls were being collared to the table. Jill, even Gwen, Candi and
Karen doing them, for hostess was busy with me. A few of the girls
resisted. The men helped with those, promising them good spankings to
make them reform.
Wriggling over my pillow I looked down the line of girls. Each was
petulant, pouty, trying to escape her fate now. But in each case a man was
assigned to ensure she gave up her anus. There would be no privacy
tonight, no hidden secrets, nothing withheld. The men advanced upon us,
my own taking his place behind me. His fellows dispersed to have a girl of
their own. Hostess surveyed all. Candi and Karen moved quickly to grease
each manÕs pole, not wanting to go too slow, lest he try taking the girl
before him with nothing but his bare cock. After all, it was not his wife
he was about to fuck. Why should he care about her comfort? He and all of
his brothers were desperate to relieve themselves of their spermy
burdens. I felt my own man stab at me, impatient. At last Candi reached
him and insisted he hold himself back while she greased him.
ÒNone must begin until my say-so,Ó hostess advised, hoping to keep
all the men at bay until each was properly lubed. Candi touched a bit of oil
to my hole to prepare me. Two girls remained. Karen did them.
Wickedly poised, we waited for hostessÕ permission to begin. My
own man urged just the tip of his cock into me, surreptitiously. I gasped.
I wished for my gag again, lest I scream out and tattle on him. He urged in
a little more. I felt his big knob splitting me. One man in line yelped as
hostess gave him an admonitory whack with her birch.
ÒNow, gentlemen, before you so eagerly take what is offered, I want
to remind you of my birch,Ó hostess said. ÒIt is available for any girls
that prove too resistant. Do not force yourself beyond what she can take.
Go easy. I realize it is not your wife you have before you, but somebody
else is fucking your Lady, so your consideration for his bride will no doubt
be repaid by consideration by him for yours. Let us begin, then. Be happy,
Jill, that I spared you a whipping. But relax your hiney properly, or youÕll
feel it yet!Ó
With that I felt a sudden indriving, making me squeal. I tightened
myself. The man behind me wrenched my cheeks apart and drove himself
in further. Up he went, driving my breath from me. I wanted to bite my
nails, bite a gag, anything! But all I had underneath me was the hardness
of the wooden table. I felt my breasts crushed against it as he literally
raised up my ass with his hands to drive in deeper. I could not stop him.
He probed with himself, right into me, charging up fast as he could. All
around me I heard screams. I felt the man turn his head to look at his
wife, receiving hers, even as he gave me mine.
With long, surging strokes the man cleft my bottom with his pole
and fucked me deeply. I could not resist. I felt my excitement quicken in
my belly even as my limbs went slack. The length of the night, so
exhausting, took its thankful toll now, suddenly, making me relax just
enough for him to get himself up me without much pain. I mewled, feeling
his fullness, wishing he would TAKE IT OUT!, as one girl yelled, even as I
relished being so thoroughly forsaken. I was not myself anymore. I was
just a doll, impaled, gasping, and then weeping. He fucked me hard. He did
not care. He would never see me again and he knew it. It was a one-night
stand. We would go our separate ways and never meet again. I did not
know his name. I didnÕt like him as much as some of the other men. He
was tall, but others were taller, and Sam was handsomer still than any of
them, in my opinion. He had been given another, though, perhaps at the
caprice of hostess, or because she mistakenly thought heÕd had me before.
At least the man fucking me had, at last, the presence of mind to
fondle my clitty, and I came just about when he did. He burrowed deep at
last, rotating his staff in my quivering ass, and shot off like a stallion
might, rearing into me as he released himself. The men switched about
then, each of them young and restless enough for a second round. Hostess
whipped their bottoms lightly to keep them hard for this second assault.
Some other stranger took me. I did not look to see who it was. Someone
with hair hanging down, partly over his eyes, obscuring his view. He did
not, I think, really care which girlÕs butthole he had, so long as she was
young and sweet. And we were all of us young and sweet. I would have
liked to at least have learnt his name, but his cock was up me before I
could ask, and I was still trembling from my last paramour.
He fucked me like a horse and I received him as best I could, already
open from my last lover. He was harder with me. He did not go slow as
hostess advised but seemed intent on ridding himself once and for all of
his desperate hard-on.
At last all was done. The men, unhurt except for their depleted
testicle sacks, which they found a most welcome relief, put their pants
back on. They buttoned up their shirts and reknotted their ties like men in
a health club after a good workout. We girls, on the other hand, our
bottoms and pussies stinging, had to brace and hold up each other as we
falteringly put back on our gowns. Jill helped me dress. I helped her.
Candi, who had enjoyed a manÕs cock in her cunt, flitted about and helped
any female who needed it, as did Karen. Both of them seemed little more
than refreshed from the eveningÕs final event, while the rest of us shared
winces and felt up our riven bottoms.
Jill and I left the restaurant in the company of Sam. I was dressed
in my cape again, Jill in her jacket. We were, except for our tousled hair
and our mussed dresses, the very picture of modesty.
30
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