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Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
WANTON WINTER
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Chapter Eight
After my experience at ÔLe bone,Ó I began to feel like I was taking
care of my aunt, rather than the other way around. I mean, what a kooky
place that was! No wonder my aunt had been nervous about going there.
She was good for a week, sitting at home watching T.V. with me every
night, but the following Friday I saw she was getting into a very sexy
outfit.
ÒAuntie?Ó I asked, stopping in the doorway to her bedroom as I
played with a ball I had bought. ÒAre you going someplace?Ó
ÒNo,Ó my aunt said. ÒAnd donÕt throw that ball around inside my
house.Ó
ÒAuntie, itÕs just a Nerf ball,Ó I said. ÒTheyÕre made to be thrown
indoors!Ó
ÒStill, you might break something,Ó my aunt said. ÒSomething
delicate.Ó
ÒAuntie, I want to go with you if you go out,Ó I said. She looked at
me. She was wearing a black catsuit with knee-high black boots.
ÒIÕm going to a playroom,Ó my aunt said. ÒIf you must know, thatÕs
where IÕm going.Ó
ÒMay I take my ball along?Ó I asked.
ÒNo,Ó my aunt said. ÒAnd youÕre not coming.Ó
ÒBut you said itÕs a playroom, auntie!Ó I whined. ÒPlayrooms are for
kids!Ó
My aunt sighed. She turned around and asked me to zip up the back of
her catsuit for her.
ÒThis is a playroom for adults, Chloe,Ó my aunt said, as I zipped her
up. ÒAdults only.Ó
ÒI feel like an adult,Ó I protested. My aunt turned around and
surprised me by grabbing both my wrists.
ÒChloe!Ó she said. She shook me. ÒIÕm trying to protect you!Ó Her
voice had an exasperated tone to it. ÒDonÕt you see?Ó she asked. ÒIÕve let
you come with me sometimes, but not this time. Anyway, the manager
would never let you in. ItÕs a place for couples who want to connect more
deeply with each other through pain. ThereÕs sex of course, but itÕs really
all about pain. How to control it, endure it, and grow with it. Together.Ó
ÒWho are you going with?Ó I asked.
ÒA man,Ó my aunt said.
ÒWho is he?Ó I asked excitedly.
ÒIt doesnÕt matter,Ó my aunt said. ÒYouÕre not going to meet him
anyway, because youÕre not going.Ó I pouted. My aunt sighed. ÒHeÕs an old
flame, Chloe. A guy I met a long time ago. Before you moved in with me.
Before my parents died. We had a relationship. But it wore out. Now heÕs
come back to Paris and we want to try again.Ó
ÒSo youÕre going with him to this place?Ó I asked.
ÒYes,Ó my aunt said. ÒAs I told you, itÕs for couples, to help them
know each other better, and to know more about themselves. ItÕs not for
little girls, Chloe.Ó
I was sullen. I helped my aunt dress, putting leather gloves on her,
checking her makeup, fixing her hair for her, which she wore pinned up, as
she greatly liked wearing it, but she could tell I was unhappy. Finally she
said to me,
ÒLook, Chloe. CanÕt you see I need a little privacy for this? I donÕt
want you to see me as IÕll be in that place. ItÕs likely to be very harsh and
severe. Even if nobody laid a hand on you I still wouldnÕt want you there,
because of how IÕll be.Ó
I played with my fingers. I touched my fingertips together, all ten
of them, and looked at her very and said, very softly, ÒMaybe you need me
there, auntie. DonÕt you think so? I mean, without me there, anything
might happen to you. But if IÕm there theyÕll be more gentle.Ó
My aunt sighed. She looked at herself in the mirror and then looked
at me again and said, finally, ÒI donÕt want them to be gentle.Ó
ÒThen IÕm going,Ó I said. ÒYou need me, auntie. YouÕre very beautiful
and I think you feel guilty about it, thatÕs what I think, so you keep testing
yourself and seeing if you can ruin yourself or, if you survive, then you
feel itÕs okay to be beautiful, because you did your best to wreck it and
came through in one piece.Ó
ÒChloe!Ó my aunt said. ÒAre you psychoanalyzing me?Ó
ÒIÕm just saying what I think, thatÕs all,Ó I said.
ÒAlright,Ó my aunt said. ÒYouÕve obviously done a lot of thinking
about the places IÕve taken to you, so play psychiatrist if you like. Violate
my privacy if you must.Ó She giggled, nervously.
ÒThatÕs what youÕre going for, isnÕt it?Ó I said to her.
ÒHmmm?Ó my aunt asked.
ÒTo be violated,Ó I said.
ÒChloe, donÕt speak of such things,Ó my aunt said. ÒGet dressed to go
with me, if you must. Wear your sexiest outfit, the one with the black
leather crop top, that shows your tummy, and the hot pants that barely
cover your ass. WeÕre not wearing clothes tonight to cover up, but to be
seen in them. To be revealed by them.Ó She smiled at me, awkwardly. It
was a difficult subject we were discussing. I gazed at her in her catsuit
and asked,
ÒWhatÕs the name of the place weÕre going to, auntie?Ó
ÒYouÕll see when we get there,Ó she replied.
There was no sign on the outside of the building. It was nondescript,
unidentified. It didnÕt want to call attention to itself. It was simply a
one story building located down by the docks. It had been a warehouse, and
still looked like one from the outside. Anything might have been in it,
from old spare parts to anchors for the ships. But once my aunt and I
slipped past the door man, who himself looked like some longshoreman
lounging around after work, things changed. The sign inside read
ÒHoneymoonÓ in big letters. But underneath, written in much smaller
letters on the sign, was this word: ÒHellÓ.
We were greeted by a young woman wearing a negligee. She sat at a
desk, with a list of names laid out in front of her. We told her our names
and she said,
ÒOh. IÕm so glad you could come. ThereÕs a gentleman waiting to see
you.Ó Only my auntÕs name was on her list, as well as the name of the man
she was meeting. I was not listed, but the girl sitting at the desk looked
rather giddily distracted, as if we had perhaps interrupted an affair she
was having. She did not ask why I wasnÕt on the list. We thanked her. A
second girl, standing by an inner door, also dressed in a negligee, nodded
at us. We passed her and went through the door and found ourselves in a
very small lounge.
There, sitting on a leather couch, in a room panelled in deep rich
wood, that smelled of hickory, was a man. He was reading a newspaper,
one of his legs crossed over the other. He was smoking a pipe.
ÒMartin?Ó my aunt asked. Her voice was high, quavering. The man
looked up. Then he looked at me and, returning his eyes to my aunt, he
said,
ÒI thought we were to be alone.Ó
ÒThis--Ó my aunt began.
ÒNo, donÕt tell me,Ó Martin said. ÒI fucked you when you were nine. I
should have known youÕd have a daughter by now.Ó
I looked at my aunt. Then I laughed.
ÒIÕm not her daughter,Ó I said to the man. ÒIÕm her niece.Ó He stood
up. He walked over to us and he bowed, slightly.
ÒThen I am pleased to meet you,Ó Martin told me. ÒYou are as
beautiful as your mother. I mean, your, what is it?Ó
ÒSheÕs my aunt,Ó I said.
ÒAh, very well,Ó Martin said. He looked at Rebecca and said, ÒI donÕt
know if IÕve ever fucked an aunt before.Ó
ÒDonÕt be crude, Martin,Ó Rebecca replied.
ÒAre you going to fuck my auntie?Ó I asked him.
ÒChloe!Ó my aunt snapped.
Just then the girl in the negligee stepped through the door. ÒIf
youÕre ready, thereÕs a room available,Ó she said to us in a whisper.
ÒYes, weÕre ready,Ó Martin said. He folded his newspaper and opened
his coat to stick it in, then thought better of it and threw the newspaper
on the couch.
We were led through a door at the far end of the lounge. Immediately
we found ourselves in a hallway. It was narrow, and unadorned, as if all
the proprietorÕs money had been squandered putting leather furniture in
the lounge. The woman in the negligee led us along the hall, around a
corner, and down another hall, then around another corner. We were
travelling in a square, along one side, then another, finally finding
ourselves at the far end of it. We passed a number of doors as we walked.
They were all on the inward side of the hallway. Every one of them had an
identical sign hanging on the handle of the door: ÒDo Not DisturbÓ.
At last the woman in the negligee stopped in front of a door whose
sign read ÒVacantÓ. She opened the door and peeked in.
ÒYes, itÕs empty,Ó she said. She looked at us. ÒThereÕs everything
you need in there. You can play with others or by yourselves. Have fun!
And try not to get hurt too badly.Ó She giggled. She walked away,
swinging her hips freely, almost lasciviously, and Martin watched her
until she slipped around the corner of the hall, out of sight.
We stepped into the room. It was dimly lit. There was a curtain at
the far end of the room, where there should have been a wall. The curtain
was pulled back, giving us a view of a room beyond. There, in the center of
that room, the one beyond ours, I saw a sturdy, upright post. It was set in
the middle of the floor and there were shackles hanging from it. They
hung loose, open, waiting to receive.
ÒOh, God!Ó my aunt moaned. Her knees buckled and Martin had to
reach out and grab her arm.
ÒThat is a common room,Ó Martin said. ÒAnyone may use it. We have
our own bedroom here, and every room that we passed, out in the hall, is
also a bedroom. They all face in towards the common area, where you see
that post. We may draw the curtain closed if you like. We do not have to
watch what happens.Ó
ÒN-No, it is alright,Ó my aunt said. She looked about our room. I did
too. This was a bedroom? I would hardly have called it that. It was
spartan, consisting of bare cinderblock walls that served merely as
dividing walls, not reaching high enough to touch or support the ceiling
that rose overhead. It was made of aluminum. It was a big warehouse
roof, and did not need our little bedroom walls to support it.
Within our small cubicle, there was a table, and a mattress. That
was all. There was no other furniture. On the table, however, there was a
wide assortment of lubricants. I saw a big bottle of Vaseline, a bottle of
KY jelly, as well as other liquids, plus a small heater to heat them in if
we wished to make them hot. Hung up on the wall, quite lavishly, were an
array of implements. There was a spanking strap, an assortment of whips,
a riding crop, a cane, a Malaccan cane, and enough other items that I began
to wonder if anyone ever slept in this bedroom. There were certainly
quite a lot of things to force a person to stay awake! Waiting upon the
mattress, which was a big, double, water-filled mattress, were coiled
chains that had leather cuffs at the end of them. The cuffs lay open, but
they looked well-worn, and had obviously been buckled tight many times.
The chains at the head of the bed were mounted on the wall. At the foot of
the mattress, they were secured by being attached to the floor.
ÒShall we get in bed?Ó Martin asked my aunt. He held her arm, and
spoke to her in a gallant voice.
ÒAlright,Ó my aunt said. ÒBut I should like to have a glass of
champagne first.Ó
There was, amidst all the chains and whips, standing rather out-of-
place, I thought, near the mattress, an ice bucket on a stand, with a bottle
in it. Two glasses waited amidst the lubricants on the table, empty, face
down, waiting to be turned up and filled.
Martin and my aunt walked over to the bed. They sat down on it.
Martin urged her to lie back and he reached for the bottle, found a bottle
opener, and popped its cork. My aunt laughed as Martin held the bottle
away from himself, so it would not spurt on him, though a little did spill
on his trousers. Then he filled a glass for my aunt and handed it to her.
She sipped it. He filled a second glass and offered it to me.
ÒNo. She is too young,Ó my aunt said.
ÒAuntie! I can drink champagne if I want,Ó I said. I walked over to
Martin and took the glass. I drank the champagne, too quickly, and burped.
Martin laughed. He took my glass from me and refilled it and drank from
it.
ÒGet in bed,Ó Martin told me. ÒLie back and enjoy yourself.Ó
We lay in bed together. There were no sheets on it. We lay in our
clothes, and after talking awhile we began to kiss. From the other rooms
we could hear sounds of copulation. Beds rocking, soft moans, plus an
occasional scream as leather, snapping loud and sudden, was permitted to
kiss tender flesh.
As we lay on the bed enjoying the closeness of each other, sharing
kisses, we heard footsteps. I did not look up, but kept my mouth upon
MartinÕs, competing with my aunt for his attention. I heard, over the soft
sighs of my aunt, the sound of shackles, in the distance, being locked.
There was a whimper, and then, quite suddenly, louder than the other whip
sounds we heard, there was a loud CRACK!
Leisurely we looked up. It was strange how we did it, just lifting
our heads a little, reluctantly breaking our kiss. There, bound to the post,
we saw a naked young woman. A man was standing behind her. He was as
naked as she, but he held a bull whip. With quick vigor he brought the whip
down again upon her. It hit her buttocks and she let out a howl.
ÒShe seems to be enjoying it,Ó Martin said. It was a smart-ass
remark, for the girl had tears streaming down her face and looked anything
but happy. Yet my aunt startled me by saying,
ÒWho wouldnÕt?Ó
ÒAuntie, do you want to be whipped?Ó I gasped.
Martin looked at my aunt. She returned his gaze and then they both
looked at me.
ÒChloe,Ó Martin said. ÒYou are young and have never been to such a
place as this before. I do not wish for there to be any misunderstandings.
This is a place of pain. We will undress and you will be made to feel pain
upon your bare skin. You will not be sexually fulfilled in any way
whatsoever. That is not the purpose of a place like this, strictly speaking,
although,Ó he paused, and we could hear the sounds of passion coming from
the other rooms, ÒNot all the people who frequent a place such as this
understand its true purpose, or care.Ó He cleared his throat. ÒMany of
them are just college kids, out for a lark, but as I told your aunt, I am
older, and I believe in a strict adherence to the purpose of a place such as
this.Ó He looked again at my aunt, and then asked me, ÒDo you
understand?Ó
I nodded, dumbly, not at all sure I did, and feeling a rising fright in
my tummy.
ÒHowever,Ó Martin said, reaching out and taking my hand. ÒPeople
misunderstand pain. It can have a liberating effect. I do not want you to
think you will be ill-treated. I will give you the best of care, but it will
be in a manner you are not accustomed to.Ó
My aunt leaned over and kissed my cheek. I shivered and felt
MartinÕs large hand on my fingers. His grip was firm, resolute.
ÒGet undressed, honey,Ó Rebecca said to me.
ÒOh! What is to happen?Ó I asked. But with childish curiosity, like a
kid standing at the lip of a swimming hole, afraid of the dark water but at
the same time drawn to it, urged by others, I pulled up my crop top. I wore
no bra and my breasts, large and full, bounced gleefully at being freed. My
nipples were stiff; too stiff, I thought, considering the place I was in, but
I had no way to contain their excitement. Martin gazed at them with
approval.
Kneeling on the bed, my crop top tossed aside, I undid my hot pants.
I wore them with a small belt and I unbuckled that first, and Martin asked
that I give it to him. I did. He held it in his palm, weighing it, as I
unbuttoned the front of my shorts and yanked them down, along with my
panties, revealing my bare bottom. My aunt sat up at that point and took
hold of my shorts with me and pulled them down off my kneeling legs. I
was wearing large sneakers with platform soles. She untied my sneakers
and pulled them off my feet in order to get my shorts past them. When my
shoes and shorts had been removed and cast aside, my aunt yanked off my
socks.
My hair hung round me like a wreath, long and full, shielding my face
as if I were an Arab maiden, but my body beneath my mane of hair was now
utterly naked. Rebecca reached up and pushed back my hair, so that the
whiteness of my skin could be seen. She laughed.
ÒYou look as if youÕre ready for your bath!Ó Rebecca said to me.
The table beside our bed had a paper box underneath it. Martin leaned
over and reached down and rummaged in the box. He pulled from it two
large, sturdy cuffs. They were made of iron.
ÒThese should fit,Ó Martin said. ÒHow fortunate that there are
petite women in the world, eh Chloe? Otherwise you might be too young
and small to wear something like these.Ó
My aunt helped Martin buckle the iron shackles to my ankles. I sat on
the bed with my legs splayed, looking down at myself, at my muff and my
long, bare legs. I felt like a child being fitted with shoes for kindergarten.
When the shackles had been put on me and locked, the key set aside on the
table, Martin told me to get up.
ÒGo fetch a birch rod from the wall,Ó Martin said.
ÒYou are going to whip me now?Ó I asked. My voice quavered.
ÒI am going to give you a red bottom. And then you are going to play
SantaÕs Helper and assist me with giving your aunt what she has come
for,Ó Martin told me.
ÒOh, I do not want to be whipped!Ó I cried. My aunt leaned forward
again and kissed me once more, this time on the lips, holding my face in
her hands. Her palms were hot upon my cheeks. She pursed my lips with
the pressure of my hands. Her tongue invaded, but my teeth, close pressed,
stopped her.
ÒGo. Do as you are told,Ó my aunt said to me.
ÒShall she be gagged?Ó Martin asked my aunt. He said it in a
leisurely, casual way that sent tremors down my bare back.
ÒYes. Otherwise she will whine and shout and make a scene,Ó my
aunt replied.
ÒBring me a birch and a ball gag also,Ó Martin told me. ÒRed or black.
Pick the color you prefer.Ó
I got up from the bed. Nakedly I walked across the room. My legs
were trembling so that I could barely walk with them. Somehow I reached
the wall where the whips hung. I reached up on my tip-toes and took down
a spray of birch rods. They were long. They were bound with a pink ribbon
at one end. It looked clean and fresh. The branches were newly cut, with
the buds just sprouting forth. Impulsively, holding the rods in my fist, I
tried running my fingers down the length of them. They hurt; I drew my
hand away.
With babyish steps I returned to Martin. I gave him the rods.
ÒVery good,Ó he told me. ÒBut you forgot the ball gag. Go back over
there and pick your favorite color.Ó
Quickly I turned and scuttled away from him. I didnÕt wish to feel
those rods on me. I feared he would whack my bottom as I departed from
him. I went to the far wall and stood there for several minutes, staring up
at the ball gags.
At last Martin, lying on the bed and necking with my aunt, the birch
rods laid aside on the bedÕs spare pillow, looked up and asked, in a booming
voice,
ÒWhatÕs taking so long?Ó
The sound of his voice sent me up onto my toes.
ÒI canÕt decide!Ó I said. My voice was high, almost like a shriek.
ÒDamn girl!Ó Martin growled. ÒPick the black one, then. It will
match the bands on your legs.Ó
I did as he told me, though I didnÕt wish to. The iron shackles were
heavy upon my legs and I feared the ball gag, set in my mouth, would make
my head feel as heavy as my feet. But it was made of rubber, not iron, I
found, taking it off its peg where it hung, and holding it in my hands. I
held it with both hands, fearing it, and yet at the same time feeling a
strange wetness between my legs. I wondered if the ball wouldnÕt be put
to better use between my moistening thighs; I was not, after all, drooling
from my mouth, but my pussy was beginning to be another matter!
I brought the ball gag over to the bed. I showed it to Martin. He and
my aunt stopped kissing again, and my aunt complimented me for being
good and doing as I was told. Bare-bottomed they made me sit down the
bed, with my back to them, my feet hanging off the bed and my toes
touching the floor. They told me to open my mouth. I did. Together they
passed the ball gagÕs halter over the top of my head and then, with
delicate, probing fingers, they fitted the ball itself into my mouth. It
stretched my lips. It made my jaws open wide and remain so; my teeth
pressing futilely upon the ball, feeling it stiff in their grasp.
My aunt laughed and kissed my cheek. She buckled the ball gag
harness in the back of my head and checked it with her finger to make sure
it would remain firmly upon me.
ÒVery good. Now she should not be such a nuisance,Ó my aunt told
Martin.
ÒI should like to see her run,Ó Martin said to my aunt. She nodded.
ÒWun?Ó I tried to say through my gag, but the word came through
muffled and distorted. Martin picked up the birch rods off the pillow and
brandished them at me.
ÒChloe, it is time for your exercise,Ó Martin said. ÒA young growing
girl like yourself, a teenager, often just sits around, not running and
playing like she did when she was a child. ThatÕs how slim lovely
prepubescent girls become fat, unattractive teens. Such a fate is not
going to overtake you, Chloe, at least not while I have a say in the matter.
You will do laps around our room, coming close to the bed each time,
where I will give you an encouraging smack with these rods to keep you
running at a quick, lively pace.Ó
I could not believe my ears. How ridiculous I would look, dashing
about with my bare legs in shackles, a ball gag in my mouth! The woman
bound to the post outside our room was no longer being whipped, and she
was looking at us, self-pity in her eyes. But how amused she would be if I
became the center of attention instead of her!
ÒGo, Chloe,Ó my aunt urged. ÒRun as Martin has told you. He is not a
man to be trifled with; thatÕs why I chose him. You might have stayed
home if you wished but you did not. Now do as he says or I wonÕt take the
responsibility for what happens to you.Ó
ÒOh! Auntie!Ó I tried to blurt, but my words were drowned by the
gag. Martin swept the birch toward me and, just in time, I managed to
dart away, the shackles making my feet heavy.
I ran. Martin watched me, along with my aunt, the two of them
lounging upon the bed. The girl hanging from the post looked at me also,
but I was moving too fast now to note whether or not my predicament
caused her pleasure. I made a circle, following the walls of our room. I
neared the bed as I came round and Martin suddenly struck me with the
birch on my bottom as I passed.
WHACK! the birch sounded, surprising me with its force and the
biting hot sting it delivered.
ÒYowooooo!Ó I hollared. My hands flew back to my bottom. Tears
sprang to my eyes.
ÒLift your knees higher!Ó Martin yelled, and sounded none too pleased
with my performance.
I ran faster. I lifted my legs up as best as I could, making, I thought,
a rather rude display of my bottom. My hips wiggled salaciously with my
exaggerated gait. Perhaps a man would have managed to run with grace
and dignity but I was just a girl, frightened and feeling a strange pent-up
desire at the same time. My breasts wobbled exceedingly. I felt like a
cow being driven to market.
ÒShe runs well, do you not think?Ó my aunt asked languidly from the
bed. She kissed MartinÕs face but he kept his eyes straight upon me, I saw,
rounding the corner of the room and approaching them once more.
ÒShe runs like a lazy little slut who has been playing too much
Nintendo,Ó Martin growled. I ran past them. The birch swept in upon me as
I passed, catching my tail again, making me hoot like an injured owl. My
hands clapped themselves anew to my bottom. It stung quite badly now. I
rubbed it and felt tears stream down my face.
ÒShe is not so lazy,Ó my aunt said. ÒLook. She runs with enthusiasm.
She is new in her body, thatÕs all. She is not yet used to her big breasts,
and her well-fatted bottom. And now her waist is slimmer than ever, and
her legs are still too thin, not yet filled out.Ó She laughed. ÒIf you were
built like an hourglass, Martin, and a young tender one at that, mounted on
stilts, I should think you would run just the same as her.Ó
ÒYou are too soft on her,Ó Martin said. I came round past them again
and he struck me once more. ÒDo not cover your ass with your hands!Ó
Martin shouted at me. ÒShow it. You can at least make a display of your
bottomcleft if you canÕt run with grace and dignity!Ó
A nude woman brought a glass of wine to the girl bound to the post.
She offered it to her lips. The bound girl drank; the woman wiped her
mouth with a cloth when she had finished. Then the man reappeared and
struck her once more with the whip; once, twice, three times in rapid
succession. The girl cried out but the woman who had given her wine only
watched, not interfering.
Martin grabbed my arm as I passed him.
ÒLet me see this little bottom of yours,Ó Martin said. I panted from
my exertion as he turned me and looked at my ass. It felt awful; as if IÕd
sat in nettles, stinging all over, my cheeks flexing in an effort to throw
off the heat.
ÒOh! You have given her a small cut,Ó my aunt said. She reached out
and touched my bottom with her finger. Then she drew her hand away and
popped her finger in my mouth. ÒMmmm, I feel like a vampire,Ó my aunt
said when she pulled her finger out of her mouth again.
I could not believe IÕd been cut. I reached back and frantically felt
the cheeks of my ass with my fingers. My own fingers made my bottom
blaze with their touch; my behind was now horribly sensitive. Over my
ball gag I mouthed words of despair. But nobody heard me or, if they did,
they didnÕt care.
Martin and my aunt began kissing again. As I palmed my bottom,
trying to find where Martin had cut me, the two of them ignored me, intent
on the pleasure of their own embrace. With large, soulful eyes I looked at
the girl fixed to the post. Her own eyes were scrunched tight now, her
mouth a rictus of pain. At least, I told myself, she could no longer find
solace in my distress!
With my hands clutching my bottom, tears in my eyes, I heard, over
the sound of the womanÕs screaming, a voice. It was a manÕs voice, and it
said:
ÒI saw a little girl today.Ó The voice came over the top of one of the
walls, and the voice was rather loud, as if uncaring, in a place like this,
whether or not anyone would hear.
ÒReally?Ó a second voice said. It too belonged to a man.
ÒYes,Ó the first voice said. ÒI guess the first thing I noticed about
her was the crop top she was wearing. This happened down in Greece, this
morning, before I caught my flight home.Ó
ÒI love it when itÕs warm out and girls wear short shirts,Ó the
second voice said.
ÒYes. It was warm. And since her shirt stopped at her midriff, I
could see her bare hips. They were tanned, vase-like.Ó
ÒReally? On a little girl?Ó the second voice said.
ÒOh, yes. Absolutely. She had wonderful hips, nice and curvy,Ó the
first voice said. ÒAnyone who would call this girl a mere child should get
their head examined.Ó
ÒHow old was she?Ó the second voice asked.
ÒI would say she was 12,Ó the first voice said. ÒPerhaps 11,
probably 12. She had long, long legs. Really nice long legs. Unfortunately
she was wearing a pair of blue jeans, so I could only see the jeans
themselves, not her skin.Ó
ÒIÕll bet you loved the way her jeans rode low on her hips, though,
against her bare waist,Ó the second voice said.
ÒOh, yes! Delicious!Ó the first voice said. They werenÕt really riding
low but, you know, the effect of stone-washed jeans on a girlÕs hips, set
off against her bare skin. Quite a sight.Ó
ÒHow were her breasts? Was she flat?Ó the second voice asked.
ÒNo. She was just starting to grow her tits,Ó the first voice said.
ÒThey looked like twin pads, like football pads, on her chest. Quite nice,
actually. You know theyÕre going to get bigger, with a girl whoÕs only 12,
so, as I see it, the fact that theyÕre still small simply means that, if she
lived with me, I would have something to look forward to.Ó
ÒWatching them grow?Ó the second voice asked.
ÒYes,Ó the first voice said. ÒDonÕt you think that it would be nice to
have a young girlfriend, you know, living with you, and watching her
breasts grow?Ó
ÒYou could suck on them to make them grow quicker,Ó the second
voice said.
ÒWell, I suppose one could do that, as a sort of courtesy to her, you
know,Ó the first voice said.
I was amazed at what I was hearing. I couldnÕt believe I was
listening to two grown men talk about some little girl. I mean, a 12-
year-old?! Heck, I was only 13, but already I considered 12-year-olds to
be WAY immature. I wanted to shout over the wall to them, ÒWhat are you
doing talking about a little girl? Why arenÕt you busy fucking a woman?!Ó
The first voice continued by saying, ÒNow as for her face...Ó
ÒYes!Ó the second voice said. ÒTell me about her face. I mean, a
woman might think that makeup is required to have a good face, but thatÕs
not true, is it?Ó
ÒNot at all,Ó the first voice said. ÒItÕs all in the bone structure.
Either a girl has a good face or she doesnÕt. ItÕs like, either you have a
Porsche, or you donÕt. Trying to paint a Toyota to look like a Porsche isnÕt
going to do anything.Ó
ÒSo anyway, how was her face?Ó the second voice asked. ÒA great
body is, in my opinion, wasted unless the girl has a great face to go with
it.Ó
ÒDonÕt worry,Ó the first voice said. ÒHer face was awesome. I mean,
I could just see that face, EXACTLY that face, on the cover of Sports
Illustrated. It was like I was looking at the face of a 20-year-old on the
body of a little girl. Except, of course, it wasnÕt the body of a little girl,
not with those vase-like hips. It was the body of a young, delicate,
beautiful female, like a rare Ming vase. And the way she carried herself,
with that model-perfect face and body-- she had excellent bearing, you
know? There was just something about the way she was walking, and
talking, it was absolutely perfect. Just like you would expect for a
Perfect 10 model. Except, of course, I was seeing all this, being blown
away by all this, because she wasnÕt, in fact, some 20-year-old. She was
12!Ó
ÒWow,Ó the second voice said. ÒThere is really nothing like a
perfectly formed 12-year-old, with a wonderful face and body, is there?Ó
ÒNo, there really isnÕt,Ó the first voice said. ÒItÕs the combination,
you know? I mean, if she had been 20, I would have been impressed. But
on a 12-year-old, that look, that bearing, is mind-blowing!Ó
ÒWell, I didnÕt see anything quite as great as that, but I did see a
little girl myself the other day,Ó the second voice said. ÒI too was in
Greece, would you believe that?Ó
ÒReally?Ó the first voice asked.
ÒYes, and it was warm when I was there too. Nice and warm. And
crossing over this bridge, I saw this little girl. She was eight. She had
long black hair, and it was streaming behind her in the breeze. She was
walking with her older brother and someone else, I canÕt remember who
now, and she was having to walk a little fast to keep up with them, since
they were older and had a longer stride. And as I passed her, I saw that
she too had nice, vaselike hips. She wasnÕt wearing a crop top that
showed off her belly, but she did definitely have vase-like hips. And what
really impressed me was her bottom.Ó
ÒHer bottom?! On an 8-year-old girl?Ó the first voice asked.
ÒYes. She had the sweetest, roundest bottom! A really, really nice
wiggly bottom, with nice vase-like hips. Not dramatically vase-like, you
know, since she was only 8, but nonetheless there was a definite flair to
her hips. And her bottom-- ah, I could have stared at that perfect apple-
round ass of hers for the rest of my life! And she was walking quickly, as
IÕve said, which meant that it was getting a nice bit of exercise!Ó
ÒHow was her chest?Ó the first voice asked.
ÒIt was still flat. Unfortunately,Ó the second voice said. ÒBut I
donÕt think it was due to anything being the matter, or her mother drugging
her. I think it was just because she was eight. It was due entirely to her
still being a complete child, you know?Ó
ÒWhew! I wouldnÕt want her not to grow her tits properly,Ó the first
voice said.
ÒWell, I couldnÕt agree more,Ó the second voice said. ÒBut I am
noticing a marvellous phenomenon lately.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó the first voice asked.
ÒGirls, who are 13, with GIANT breasts. I mean, really nice breasts.
I saw this girl walking along the road the other day. She was 13. She had
a hat on, looking quite cute, but she was angry about something-- probably
because her mother wouldnÕt take her in the car wherever it was she
wanted to go. So she was walking, by herself. And looking quite put out
about it. But what I noticed, aside from her cute face and her nice body,
was the size of her tits. She had really, really nice big bosoms and she
was wearing a bra, she NEEDED a bra, for HeavenÕs sake, and yet her big
bosoms were bouncing along, out in front of her, as she went with her
scowling face along the road.Ó
ÒWow,Ó the first voice said. ÒI have noticed that also. I saw two
girls walking along the other day. They were walking on this sidewalk.
They were happy, walking together, neither of them a day over 13. They
both had wonderful spoiled looks on their faces. ThatÕs not quite exactly
how to describe their personalities but thatÕs the best I can do. You know,
perfect ÔMall RatÕ type teen girls. Perfectly happy with themselves and
walking along, talking about something or other. And what I noticed about
them, what really impressed me, was how big their bosoms were. They
BOTH had a wonderful pair of tits. How amazed I was to see what were
essentially two spoiled little girls, walking along, each of them with a
marvelous pair of tits that would have done any woman proud.Ó
ÒYes, they should have girls like that pose in Barely Legal or
something,Ó the second voice said. ÒSuch beauty! It should not be allowed
to pass away without being appreciated. They could call the magazine
Barely Legal Jr.Ó
ÒThat would be a pretty good name for it,Ó the first voice said. ÒOr
just call it Living Art.Ó
ÒSort of like Architectural Digest?Ó the second voice said.
ÒWell, yes. I mean, arenÕt a well-built pair of breasts sort of like
fine architecture?Ó the first voice asked.
ÒAbsolutely,Ó the second voice said. ÒBut you really do have to see
them on a girl whoÕs 13 to really appreciate them. I mean sure, women do,
I suppose, have nice breasts. But to see wonderful breasts on a girl whoÕs
13, or even 12, now thatÕs true Art, and worthy of the greatest
appreciation!Ó
ÒWeÕll have to start such a magazine ourselves,Ó the second voice
said.
ÒYeah, or if we canÕt start a magazine we could at least tell people
about it on the Internet,Ó the first voice said. ÒWe could call it the Boob
Report, or something.Ó
ÒExcept it would be too much typing,Ó the second voice said.
ÒI agree,Ó the first voice said. ÒWho wants to be sitting around
typing when you can be outside, admiring 13-year-old girls with
wonderful big boobs?Ó
ÒOr 12-year-olds, the second voice said.
ÒI agree,Ó the first voice said. ÒOr, in the case of that girl you saw
in Greece, the cute 8-year-old, with the perfect ass!Ó
ÒYes. I guess, to do it correctly, if we started our typing thing on
the Internet, we would, technically, have to call it ÔThe Boob Report, plus
Asses too.Õ
ÒPlus faces and legs,Ó the first voice said. ÒÔThe Boob, ass, face, leg
Report.Ó
ÒAlso the personality is important, if you can discern it,Ó the second
voice said. ÒBut I wanted to ask you-- that 12-year-old you saw, in
Greece, with her crop top, was she alone?Ó
ÒNo, she was walking with her mother and older sister,Ó the first
voice said.
ÒOh really? What did they look like?Ó the second voice asked.
ÒYou mean, the mother?Ó their first voice said.
ÒYes. And the older sister.Ó
ÒI have no idea,Ó the first voice said. ÒI didnÕt notice them at all.Ó
I turned and looked at my aunt. She was still kissing Martin, and her
hand was now between his legs, squeezing him hard. He looked like he had
a large softball stuffed in his crotch. MartinÕs mouth was pressed tight to
my auntÕs, his lips open upon hers, and I sensed their tongues were doing
combat inside those joined cavities. Down below, where my auntÕs fingers
struggled to encompass the enormity of the thing jammed in MartinÕs
pants, I saw the bulge grow yet bigger.
As for MartinÕs hand, it was jammed up between my auntÕs legs,
stretching the fabric of her catsuit as he pushed with his fingers. They
squirmed upon the bed; their legs threshed in upon each other, twisting
against the easy-wipe vinyl covered mattress. Amidst their struggle my
aunt began to lose her clothes. Martin to roll her onto her side, where his
hand, the one that was not pressed up hard between her legs, pulled at the
zipper to her catsuit. He got it partway down. I gazed at my auntÕs bare,
slim back, showing through the opened fabric of her catsuit. She wore no
bra.
MartinÕs hand roamed down the side of my auntÕs body. It slid past
her waist, where his other hand still jammed into her cloth-covered cunt,
prying at the fabric. He felt along her leg, down to her knee. There the
slick polished leather of her boot kept his fingers away. Angrily Martin,
still kissing my aunt, tugged at her boot. He managed to yank it down her
calf and, after several more vigorous tugs, liberate her foot. He threw the
boot off the bed, nearly hitting me with it. I looked at my auntÕs bare
toes. They wiggled frantically as Martin probed ever deeper between her
legs with his fingers. He seemed to be tearing at the fabric of her suit
there, but it held. It was thin, but woven for strength; girls expected to
be able to do as they pleased in such a suit, without the embarrassment of
having it torn.
In frustration, Martin yanked at my auntÕs other boot. It was tight
upon her leg but he was strong and managed, while still embracing her, to
remove it. He tossed it aside and then broke his mouth from hers and
looked up at me.
ÒUnzip her,Ó Martin growled. I looked at him with my hands on my
bottom, saying nothing, not moving a muscle, save for the wiggling of my
ass cheeks, which still burned from the rods.
My aunt, her lipstick smeared, laughed and said, ÒShe wishes to be
consoled.Ó
ÒWhat?Ó Martin asked. They kept their hands upon each otherÕs
privates as they spoke.
ÒTo be consoled. For her spanking,Ó my aunt said. ÒFor being a good
girl and taking it without complaint.Ó She smiled at me approvingly.
ÒWithout complaint?Ó Martin said. ÒShe screeched as loud as she
could!Ó
ÒYes but sheÕs only 13 dear,Ó my aunt said. ÒGive her a kiss for
being such a trooper and then IÕm sure sheÕll obey you.Ó
Martin looked at my face. I was pouting, scowling even, sniffling
and feeling sorry for myself and tasting the salt of my tears on my lips as
they ran down my cheeks.
ÒYou are too indulgent with her,Ó Martin said to my aunt. ÒI gave her
exercise, which I am sure she needed. Has she been following a regular
exercise program?Ó he looked at my aunt, still prying into her cunt. She
winced at the vigor of his assault, grateful, IÕm sure, for her catsuit, and
gasped,
ÒNo. No dear, she has not been.Ó
ÒHow does she spend her time?Ó Martin said. He groaned as her grip
tightened on his trapped cock.
ÒShe- she-- plays Nintendo,Ó my aunt said.
ÒSitting on her bottom?Ó Martin asked.
ÒYes,Ó my aunt said, and winced again.
ÒCome over here, Chloe,Ó Martin said. I inched closer to the bed,
quite afraid of him, still holding my ass possessively, my tits bulging in
front of me like invitations to an orchard, ripe fruit on the slim vine of my
body. The ball gag was stuck in my mouth like an apple. Martin looked up
at me. ÒChloe,Ó he said. ÒYou are going to be worked quite hard while you
are here. You will fetch things for me and do just as I say. You may as
well quit moaning about your bottom because itÕs going to be bright red
the whole time youÕre here. Yes, Chloe, your fannyÕs going to hurt and
sting but youÕre not going to be kissed for it, or told how good youÕre
being, because I think youÕre a bad little girl who needs to have a firm
hand applied. IÕm going to keep your ass well-spanked the whole time and,
meanwhile, when IÕm not disciplining that fat little ass of yours, IÕm
going to be giving you important tasks to do. ThatÕs right. YouÕll be
scurrying around, doing chores for me, not being pleasured in any way but
instead being made to work. Your aunt and I came here to be with each
other, alone, and frankly, IÕm quite ticked that you managed to wrangle
permission out of her to accompany her. She is far too permissive with
you. You should be at home in your bedroom, dutifully doing your
homework, not playing here in this place that is strictly reserved for
adults. Obviously the manager is not running this place as he once did,
because in times past you would have been prohibited from even putting
your foot in an adult establishment like this. Can you imagine how I would
have felt, if your aunt had been forced to take you all the way home again,
with me waiting in the lounge, wondering what on earth had happened? I
would have been sitting in there, like an idiot, reading some fucking
newspaper by myself while your aunt had to go all the way home with you.
I probably would have thought your aunt had stood me up, and I might never
have called her again. All because of you!Ó
I shivered under his torrent of words. Yet there was something, deep
down inside myself, that I liked about him. I felt respect for a man who
didnÕt fall for my wily, spoilt ways, like most men did.
ÒCome over here, Chloe,Ó Martin said. Immediately I felt myself
walk forward, even as my mind screamed that I should not. I was obeying
my womb, not my conscience. Martin grabbed my arm and spun me about.
He lifted my hands off my bottom and studied it. I wiggled in his grasp.
His hands tightened upon me and I cried out, they held me so tight. Then I
felt his head go down behind me and his breath exhaled onto my fanny, hot
and warm. His tongue touched my behind and it felt wet. He kissed my ass
and said,
ÒThere is a very small cut on your perfect bottom. IÕm sorry, Chloe,
I did not mean to cut you.Ó Again he kissed me and I felt so possessed, so
thoroughly confined and owned by him, that I wanted to scream out that he
could cut me all he wished, if only he would love me too.
Martin reached for a bottle of ointment on the table beside the bed.
He unscrewed the cap on the ointment. As I stood there, trembling, feeling
my bottomcheeks tense and relax, tense and relax, in rhythmic succession,
my ass a hot ball of fire, Martin daubed a cool jelly-like antibiotic onto
my cut.
ÒThere,Ó Martin said. ÒIt is quite tiny. Perhaps one of the buds on
the rods was excessively sharp. They are natural, birch rods, things of
nature, not man made. They should not cut but unfortunately these did. I
will use the strap on you from now on.Ó
ÒOhk, you ark still goink to spank meek?Ó I gasped. The gag muffled
my words. I almost fainted, hearing the casual, offhand way in which he
spoke of using the strap on me. As if it were inevitable, that nothing,
absolutely nothing I did would prevent it.
ÒWhat, did you think I was just teasing about spanking you some
more?Ó Martin asked me. He kept my back to him, studying my ass as he
spoke to me, almost addressing it, as if it were the real me, my bottom,
and not my face!
ÒY- Yek,Ó I stammered. And I did, too, I suppose, thinking that he
was just trying to scare me, that IÕd actually had all the punishment
already that I deserved.
ÒNo, Chloe,Ó Martin said. ÒIÕm sorry about the cut, but IÕve done the
best I can to mend it. Now we must get back to business. You are going to
help me, as my dutiful little slave, while I give your aunt what she has
come for. And when it pleases me, I will correct you, just as IÕve already
done, and you will be needing that ball gag, for you will, IÕm sure, hollar
even louder because your bottom is already in a sorry state.Ó
Martin slapped me. He struck me right on my fanny, as IÕve seen
horses slapped by their masters, a vigorous slap on my red, plump ass. I
shouted and danced on my toes. He laughed and told me to turn around. My
aunt laughed too. As I danced about, clutching at my bottom once more
with my fingers, I heard giggles coming from the room beyond ours. I
looked. The woman who had suffered under the whip was gone. A new
woman was now being bound to the post, a redhead, young and slender, and
as her master bound up her wrists she saw me and giggled. Despite the
fear in her eyes she giggled, not able to help it. Her laugher made her bare
breasts shake.
With a quick, imperious gesture, Martin ordered me onto the bed. He
made me kneel down behind my aunt. Still wearing my ball gag, with my
ankles in shackles, I was forced to unzip her catsuit. She trembled as I
did it, for now the moment had come when she too would feel MartinÕs
wrath. Martin inspected the birch rods heÕd used on my bottom. A few of
the twigs were broken. He yanked them out of the bundle and tossed them
away. I marveled at the strength of his fingers; the twigs were tightly
bound.
I drew the zipper on my auntÕs catsuit all the way down. The
fullness of her bare bottom loomed within the suitÕs separated halves. I
tugged on RebeccaÕs suit and pulled it lower. She reached up and slipped
the uppermost part of the suit off her shoulders. I gazed at my auntÕs
bottomcleft as I yanked the suit down below the curve of her ass. Her
liberated rump flexed and waggled, a big pumpkin freed from its silken
sheath.
ÒThatÕs it. Get it completely off her,Ó Martin told me. I obeyed,
drawing my auntÕs catsuit down her long legs, finally reducing it to a pile
of black cloth around her ankles.
ÒOh,Ó my aunt said. She reached down to help. Together we
untangled her feet from the catsuit and freed her.
Not for long. As soon as my aunt was out of her suit, Martin took
hold of her arms. He rolled her onto her back. He put both her arms over
her head and picked up a chain that lay on the mattress. His fingers ran
along the chain to the leather cuff at its end. He buckled the chain around
one of my auntÕs uplifted wrists as she, her head tilted and eyes gazing up
along her arm, watched with apprehension. As soon as he had secured one
of my auntÕs arms, Martin went to work on her other one. Within a minute,
my aunt went from being a free, if naked, human being to a slave, bound by
her wrists to the bed.
ÒOh!Ó I cried. I felt dejected. At the same time I felt something
else, IÕm not sure what, and I flopped down at the foot of the bed and put
my hands under myself. I felt my bush; I sought the seed buried within the
folds of my wettening cunt. I found my spot. I wiggled my fingers. I
sighed loudly, and felt desire well up within me. My hot rump squirmed.
The cool air of the room washed over my ass. Down between my legs I felt
heat, and slickness on my fingertips.
ÒBind her legs,Ó Martin told me. I looked at him. My eyes showed
incredulity.
ÒSuch big eyes and such a small bottom,Ó Martin said, gazing at me.
ÒYes. You heard me right. I want to see you open your auntÕs legs and tie
them for me.Ó
I looked at my aunt. She stared down at me, her eyes level with her
belly. Her bosoms rose and fell with her breath, blocking her view of me
momentarily each time she filled her lungs.
ÒWhat are you doing down there? Masturbating?Ó Martin said to me.
He frowned and sat up straighter in the bed. His cock bulged in his pants;
of us, he was the only one still dressed. His fly was partway open. I could
see the white of his underpants within.
ÒChloe, stop masturbating,Ó Rebecca said to me. I blushed. How
embarrassed I felt! She might have been tied by her wrists, but at least
she wasnÕt diddling herself! In the room beyond, the redhead cried out as
the lover who had tied her now began flaying her with a whip.
ÒOhk! I cawwot hewlp it!Ó I gasped over my gag. I worked my
fingers faster, feeling more deeply within myself.
ÒChloe!Ó Martin shouted. His voice sent shivers up my spine. My
thighs scissored tightly together and then, after a final, intrusive quest
within myself, I leapt up. I knelt on the bed with my legs apart. I felt the
cool air of the room insinuate itself into my slit. My breasts bounced on
my chest, my nipples hard, ruby tips seeking pleasure.
With wet fingers, I took hold of my auntÕs feet. I drew them apart. I
looked up the line of her thighs to the neatly haired gash at the apex of her
legs. It was wet. I spread her legs on the bed. Her hips shifted and her
cunt offered itself, openly, a well-lipped fruit ready to receive. I reached
for one of the leg cuffs along the foot of the bed. I bound it to her. Then I
reached for the other cuff and buckled that one to her other leg.
ÒThank you, Chloe,Ó Rebecca whispered. She closed her eyes. I did
not know if she was thanking me for tying her up or merely for being
obedient, doing as Martin told me.
ÒNow unzip me,Ó Martin said. I looked at him. He lounged beside my
aunt, holding the bunch of birch twigs in his hand and still wearing his
suit, but with his cock a very large bulge in his trousers. I crawled up the
bed, and settled by his hips. My ass felt sore and I prayed he did not apply
those rods he was holding to my behind. Working quickly, I got him
unzipped and pried into his underpants for his thing. I smelled the scent
of a randy male. It was difficult to get him loose from his binding
undershorts. Suddenly he sprang up, free and hard, and I gasped at the
sight of him. How long he was! How thick! His stiffness wobbled in the
air like a long sausage.
ÒIf you were not gagged I would make you suck it. All of it,Ó Martin
said to me. I hoped he was just teasing. A thing as long as he had would
stretch down into my belly and eviscerate me!
As I stared at MartinÕs cock, and he savored the sight of my
marvelling eyes, with Rebecca lying bound beside us, writhing gently in
her bonds, there was a knock. At first I did not hear it, for the sound of
the girl being whipped, and screaming, was loud. Then the knock came
again, and Martin looked up.
A blonde woman stood at the edge of our room. Our curtain was
open, and she smiled in at us, bashfully, I thought, though later I guessed
it might have been affected.
ÒHi. Mind if I join you?Ó she asked in a lilting voice. Like everyone
IÕd seen from our bedroom, she was naked. She was also quite beautiful.
Her hair was composed of delicate curls that flowed down over her
shoulders. She had generous breasts that quivered fleshily as she rapped
on the wooden frame that bordered the walls of our room. Her waist was
slender and her hips had a narrow flair to them, promising a small bottom.
She was not particularly tall but her legs were slim. She appeared to be
in her early 20Õs, just a little older than Rebecca.
Martin, with his cock straining through his trousers, but otherwise
still clothed, rose up from our bed. I could see at once that he liked her,
and immediately, despite how heÕd dominated me, and spanked me, I felt a
twinge of jealousy. I jumped up off the bed after him.
ÒI wouldnÕt want to intrude,Ó the woman standing just outside our
room said in a shy voice. She looked at Martin, then at me, then back at
Martin again.
ÒPlease, come,Ó Martin said. He pretended to take an interest in the
items hanging on the wall, the whips and canes and paddles, to disguise
his lust for the woman. Even in such circumstances as these, with our
private parts so freely displayed, a measure of decorum was still called
for.
The woman stepped into our bedroom. With an easy grace she
crossed the room toward us. Rather than go directly to Martin, which IÕm
sure was her keenest desire, she came towards me. She wished for
permission; not just from Martin, but from me also, so that we could play
as equals, giving and taking liberally. She walked towards me beaming her
smile, and as she approached I smelled her perfume and liked it. Her eyes
were blue, deep, I felt myself drowning in them. Her earrings sparkled
along the sides of her face. They were long earrings, expensive, dangling
in a tempting manner.
ÒOook!Ó I cried as she embraced me. Her breasts crushed themselves
against the uppermost part of my chest. My chin felt like it was resting
upon pillows. Her nipples sparked against my skin; my own bosoms
pressed into her ribs, returning the electricity of her body through the
points of my own risen tits. Feeling my excitement, sensing that it was in
part due to her, she reached back behind me. As I felt myself lifted up
onto my toes her hands cupped the cheeks of my bottom and boldly parted
them. Martin was standing only a few feet behind me, his cock pointing
directly at my opened tush!
I squirmed at the pressure of her hands. Her touch burned me; her
fingers gripping the overly sensitive skin of my fanny. Could she not feel
the heat from my whipping? DidnÕt she know her very touch was causing
me pain? If she did, she didnÕt care. She yanked open my bottom with a
raw enthusiasm, picking me up as she did it and prying at my ass with her
delicate fingers.
With my breath gushing out hotly and feeling her own breath upon
me, I did a strange thing. I should have resisted, I should have tried to
break away, but instead I accepted a kiss from her. She did not mind my
ball gag. She pressed her lips upon my gagged, opened mouth, spreading
her own lips to match them against mine. Her tongue touched the ball of
my gag, lightly, then more vigorously, pushing it back more deeply upon my
own tongue and at the same time seeming to wish to draw the ball of my
gag into her own mouth. My back straightened. My neck stretched. I let
myself be absorbed by her, loving the pressure of her body against mine,
disregarding, as best I could, how her hands clawed at my ass.
We kissed. Despite my gag we kissed. My eyelashes fluttered closed
and I writhed against her, my back arched and slim, my ribs showing along
it like fine curving icicles. My mane of hair swished, back and forth. I
was taken and held by her, cupped by my behind and lifted to the very tips
of my toes.
At last she released me. I sighed as she did; I wanted more. She put
me down and I marvelled at how such a slim, delicately-boned woman
could have embraced me so vigorously. She smiled shyly.
ÒMy boyfriend and I were supposed to play together but he never
showed up,Ó she said. ÒI got tired of playing with myself.Ó I gazed down
at her pussy. Was it wet? I couldnÕt tell. I wanted to reach out and feel
her but I didnÕt have the nerve. Her nipples were risen and hard, protruding
like bell pushes from her sumptuous tits. I reached out and pressed one.
Òding,Ó I said, softly, then giggled.
ÒDing to you too,Ó the woman answered, and pressed one of my
breast buds in reply. Then she left me, walking with the same casual
grace sheÕd shown previously over to our bed, where Rebecca lay. She bent
over my aunt, her back arching sweetly, submissively, deceptively. As her
ass bulbed behind her, gloriously small and round, offering itself to
MartinÕs gaze, she engaged my auntÕs mouth. Rebecca twisted on the bed. I
guessed the womanÕs shy mouth was proving to have quite an intrusive
tongue.
For several long minutes they kissed. My aunt made soft whining
noises. Was she being assaulted, or craving her assaulter? I couldnÕt tell.
I wished to walk over and see but Martin reached out and took hold of one
of my wrists. We watched, standing there, as the womanÕs ass undulated
back and forth like a heart-shaped invitation, exploring my auntÕs mouth
with her own. At last the woman reached down and placed a single,
outstretched finger in my auntÕs slit. She diddled her, wiggling her
fingertip inbetween the leaves of my auntÕs cunt. She must have found the
seed of my auntÕs clit for suddenly Rebecca arched her hips up, urgently,
as if about to die, but she was only being kissed and the finger in her slit
was moving in a very smooth, gentle, circular motion. I watched as my
aunt was brought to the brink of a hip-jerking climax. Then, wickedly,
with my aunt just one fingerstroke away from cumming, the woman broke
off all contact, removing her finger and her mouth from her.
Martin regarded our newcomer with amusement. She stood and
turned and looked at us, brushing back her hair with her hands.
ÒYou are not untrained in the arts of love,Ó Martin said to the woman.
My aunt lay swooning behind her, bound hand and foot and unable to receive
the final touch which she now so dearly craved. My auntÕs face was
feverish; I wished to run to her but Martin still held me by my arm.
ÒNo, I am not quite a novice,Ó the blonde woman smiled.
ÒWhat is your name?Ó Martin asked.
ÒJenny,Ó the woman replied.
ÒIt is a nice name,Ó Martin said. ÒIÕm Martin, this girl with the red
bottom is Chloe, and the young lady you just nearly shared the most
intimate of moments with is her aunt, Rebecca.Ó
ÒHi,Ó Jenny said. She blushed as she said it and I thought her the
most perfect of lovers, bold yet shy at the same time. I flushed and
smiled; wondering if I liked her too much, if perhaps it would lead to an
intimacy with her that I might later be embarrassed to remember.
Martin glanced at the items of flagellation on the wall and then
looked again at Jenny. ÒWe... shall be playing rather rough,Ó Martin warned
Jenny. She trembled and said,
ÒI do not mind.Ó
ÒVery well,Ó Martin said. ÒYou are welcome to join us, then. But I
will not allow you to play with us with your bottom as it is. It must be
marked; go and pick out the implement you prefer, and I shall mark it for
you.Ó
ÒYou mean, whip it?Ó Jenny asked. Her bottom was a smooth, ivory-
white, and she had a deep tan on her more public parts, which caused its
rabbit tail nature to show itself off more fully. Impulsively she reached
back behind herself and clasped her ass with her hands, while at the same
time taking a step towards the wall where the flagellums hung.
ÒYes,Ó Martin said.
ÒI should like to have a glass of champagne first,Ó Jenny said. She
glanced at the ice bucket standing near our bed.
Martin laughed. ÒI do not mind giving you a moment to think about
what IÕm going to do to you,Ó he said, ÒIf thatÕs what you prefer. But your
bottom will be made red and sore, just as ChloeÕs is, and IÕm not going to
give you any kisses either, to make it more romantic. You will bend over
and receive, and the strokes will be applied with an admonitory vigor.Ó
Jenny shivered. She looked at Martin with wide eyes, then at me,
then back at him again. She kept her hands protectively over her ass but
said,
ÒI- I do not mind.Ó
ÒYou do not mind if I torture your pretty ass?Ó Martin said.
ÒI do not wish to play alone,Ó Jenny said. ÒIf itÕs the price--Ó she
gulped. Then she blushed again and said, ÒYou are quite handsome.Ó
There were only two glasses. Martin took Jenny by the arm and led
her over to the bed. I followed, Martin still tugging me along by the arm,
like a dog on a leash. When we reached the bed Martin let go of me and he
and Jenny sat down on the edge of the bed. Not wanting to sit myself, for
my ass, was still sore, I knelt on the floor. I looked up at Jenny, up
between her lightly parted legs, and she looked down at me and realized,
with a blush, that she would soon be in the same state I was, unable to
sit, though she was sitting quite comfortably at the moment.
Martin poured Jenny and himself a glass of champagne.
What followed will remain with me always. It was such a
pedestrian moment, in some ways, and yet in others so headily erotic that
I shudder just to think of it. We chatted amiably, JennyÕs naked breasts
bouncing when she talked and breathed, the stiff tips of her nipples
quivering, Martin asking her about mundane things; was she in college?
(yes), what did her boyfriend do for a living? (a civil engineer) where did
she live? (she named the suburb, and the apartment complex, but not the
number of her apartment). All the while, as she sipped at her champagne,
taking it sometimes in quick gulps that made her slim throat work visibly,
the tendons tightening, JennyÕs eyes flitted to the array of implements
upon the wall.
There were longer whips and shorter whips, ones with knotted tails
and ones with loose, open tails. There were braided riding crops and crops
with stiff, smooth shafts that looked like flexible iron rods. There were
gleaming canes, well used but well polished (by someone), and there were
paddles with wide, oval surfaces and ones that were slim and narrow.
JennyÕs eyes took in them all, and she bit her lower lip between sips of
her champagne as she studied them, knowing she must choose one for her
backside.
ÒHave you decided?Ó Martin asked her finally, finishing his third
glass of champagne.
ÒYou mean where to work, when I graduate from college?Ó Jenny
asked, in a voice that seemed artificially high.
ÒNo,Ó Martin said. He was composed, his voice deep and certain. He
gave Jenny a look of condescension.
ÒOh!Ó Jenny said. She looked once more at the wall. ÒN- No,Ó she
said.
Martin took her glass. Her fingers were reluctant to let go of it.
ÒYou must choose now,Ó Martin said.
ÒOh! But I have not finished my champagne!Ó Jenny said. She looked
forlornly at her glass, pried from her fingers. There was a quarter-glass
of champagne left.
Martin lifted her glass to her lips. Jenny looked at me, then at the
wall, and tried to sip down the last of her champagne, but instead it
spilled down her front.
ÒOh!Ó Jenny said. She looked down at herself. The liquid ran down
between her breasts, down her tummy. It collected in her navel and some
ran on down her bare belly to her pubic curls. She put a finger into her
curls, then let it slip lower, to where her slit lay.
Martin put JennyÕs glass to his own mouth and drank down the bit of
champagne that remained. Then he set both her glass and his back on the
bedside table. He looked at Jenny. She was lightly diddling her slit. She
sighed.
ÒGo to the wall,Ó Martin said. ÒPick now or I shall do it, and choose
a hard one.Ó
ÒOh! It will not hurt too much?Ó Jenny asked.
ÒThe more you delay the more it will hurt,Ó Martin said matter-of-
factly.
ÒOH!Ó Jenny said, and sprang up. She stepped past me. Then,
clutching her bottom with her hands, holding the fatted summits of her
derriere in fingers that cupped and lifted her small, exquisitely round
bottom, she walked with mincing steps toward the wall. As she
approached the flagellums she must have found some reserve of courage
within herself, for she abruptly tossed back her shoulder-length hair, as
one does when approaching something new with an air of confidence. Yet
her hands remained on her hiney, clasping its lower parts, as one cups and
holds a precious vase, afraid to touch its surface.
Jenny stood at the wall, her hands holding her bottom. Her back was
straight, her flat belly arched forward a little, giving her back a delicate,
trim inward curve. I studied the small of her back from where I knelt.
How narrow it was! I imagined her being flogged, viciously, all over her
pretty back, her arms uplifted, her hair pinned up to give the executioner
free reign to mark her. They would adorn her with welts and she would
wear them for weeks afterward as a symbol of her submission, unzipping
her dress at parties to show her friends what she had endured. She would
do it for her boyfriend, before they married, to show him how much she
loved him, how much she would give for him. He would admire her
suffering, paying a man to do it well, to do it properly, to show him how to
do it himself if, after they were wed, he felt the need to discipline her to
make their marriage stronger. All this I saw in a quick, sudden vision,
looking at Jenny as she stood before the wall.
ÒTh- this one,Ó Jenny said at last, when Martin had grown impatient
and cleared his throat. She reached up, stretching far, straining her back
to get what she saw. Standing on her toes, her breasts swaying in front of
her as she groped for it, she caught hold of the tail of a dangling whip and
pulled it down.
ÒYou have chosen a most unusual implement,Ó Martin said. Jenny
held the heavy whip in both her hands, looking at it. The tail of the whip
was split into several ends, each with a small metal ball sewn into it at
the very tip, like a small, polished ball bearing. The whip itself was long,
with a large, ponderous handle, from which hung an electrical cord, coiled,
with a plug dangling from it. ÒDo you know what it is?Ó Martin asked.
ÒYes... I mean, no,Ó Jenny said, her voice sounding confused.
ÒIt is an exceptionally cruel whip, not only due to its weight and its
length, and the number of its split tails, but because of those small balls
you see at the tips of the tails,Ó Martin said. ÒThey can be electrified
when the whip is plugged into the wall. Not only will you feel the crack of
the whip upon your bottom, but each of those small balls will be charged
with an electrical voltage. When they touch your skin, you will feel them
shock you. The effect can be amplified by squirting fluid on the bottom,
such as champagne, or sperm.Ó
ÒO-Oh,Ó Jenny said. She was still standing with her head bowed,
facing into the wall, with her hands holding the whip. She made as if to
put it back, lifting it, but Martin snapped,
ÒNo, Jenny! Your time to choose is up. That is your choice and you
will have to live with it.Ó
ÒOh, my God!Ó Jenny said.
ÒI shall tie to you to the post so that you can take your beating with
a measure of dignity,Ó Martin said.
ÒOh, I do not wish to be tied!Ó Jenny said.
ÒYou must be. You could not stand it otherwise,Ó Martin said. He
reached for the bottle of champagne, took a glass from the table, and
refilled it. ÒWould you like another drink?Ó Martin said. Then, putting the
glass to his own lips, he said, ÒI may even need another drink for this,Ó
and quickly swallowed it down.
With shackles on my feet, my mouth gagged, but otherwise naked and
free, I walked with Martin over to where Jenny stood, holding the whip.
She watched us approach. A finger darted to her lips and she sucked upon
it. Martin took her uplifted wrist in his hand and jerked her finger out of
her mouth. Quietly, I took her other hand. At first I held her hand, as one
might grip and hold a child, before crossing the street, but then I slid my
fingers up to her wrist, so as to make her my prisoner.
Dragging her by her wrists, we drew Jenny from the room. She
stumbled as she walked. Martin caught her with his arm round her belly.
His forearm pressed hard into her soft, flat stomach. The hair of his arm
rubbed against her smooth skin, tickled the indentation of her navel.
ÒYou will walk with grace and dignity,Ó Martin said. ÒAs much as it
will hurt, this is loveplay. You are being whipped because I find you
beautiful and desirable. I wish to reduce you to tears to love you in that
state, moaning and weeping, all restraint gone, yet even then I will still
expect you to keep a certain voluptuous grace about yourself; perhaps just
a hint, but enough to show that you know you are loved and desired.Ó
ÒYou- you love me?Ó Jenny asked Martin, wide-eyed.
ÒI love you physically,Ó Martin said. ÒIs that not enough?Ó
Jenny gulped. ÒYou mean you find me beautiful,Ó she said. ÒDo you
not love me for myself?Ó
ÒI do not know, yet,Ó Martin said. There was a teasing tone to his
voice. I felt like I was watching a caught fish asking a fisherman if he did
not think his prize too wonderful to eat.
ÒAfter all, I can talk,Ó the fish would say.
ÒYes, it is quite amazing, but still I am hungry,Ó the fisherman
would answer.
ÒYou only wish to hurt me,Ó Jenny gasped. We drew her closer to the
post, waiting in the room beyond. It was sturdy, stiff, like the cock
Martin was displaying between his legs.
ÒIf you were not beautiful I would not care,Ó Martin said.
We lifted up her arms. We reached for the loosely hanging shackles,
we buckled them around her wrists. I saw wetness on the post where the
previous girl had left sweat and tears upon the smooth wood.
Martin stood back and addressed Jenny, who looked at him with
wondering eyes, her arms uplifted, her lovely large breasts hanging free.
ÒWhen I begin, you will press your cheek to the post, so that I do not
knock your face against it with my whip,Ó Martin instructed. ÒAt the same
moment you will press out your bottom, and lock your knees, holding your
bottom out to me so that I may give it its due. I plan only to strike your
behind. This is not to be a punishment whipping, in the sense of one a
gaoler might give, up and down the back and across the thighs, but rather
one located and directed solely to your fanny. It will, of course, be given
firmly; good strong slashing strokes that leave bright marks upon you. I
shall try not to cut your skin but only to redden it; there may be bruises
where the metal balls hit, though.Ó
ÒOh!Ó Jenny shouted. I heard footsteps and turned and saw two
people looking from behind a curtained-off bedroom. The man was hard.
The womanÕs hair was disheveled and her pubis was wet.
ÒChloe, go back into our bedroom,Ó Martin told me. ÒYou will find
perfume on our bedside table, and on the wall, a pair of glasses for your
eyes. Bring them.Ó
I did as Martin told me. I did not know his plans for the items, but I
went and fetched them, running as fast as I could with my shackled feet.
When I returned he put the goggles on me, covering my eyes with them,
tightening a strap in back to make sure they didnÕt get knocked off my
head. Then he unbuckled my ball gag and pulled it from my mouth. It
gleamed with my saliva.
ÒI can talk again!Ó I said, my breath whooshing out as I spoke. I
could breathe more freely too. I felt like the fish IÕd imagined. Martin
loomed over me like the fisherman. My breasts wiggled with my intaking
and exhaling of breath.
I drew closer to Martin, seeking approval from his gesture, from his
desire to free my mouth. My nipples scraped his shirt. But Martin seemed
not to like me more, or less. He had, rather, freed me because he had work
for me to do.
ÒYou will kneel beside JennyÕs bottom and spray it with perfume,Ó
Martin told me. ÒApply it liberally. I want her ass wet for her whipping.Ó
ÒBut the electric balls!Ó I gasped.
ÒYes,Ó Martin grinned. ÒThey will sting more on a wet bottom.Ó He
checked my goggles once more. Then he said, ÒBetween the strokes of the
whip you will be required to lick JennyÕs ass. I hope you like the taste of
perfume. Apply it well to her fanny or you will be doing an awful lot of
licking to keep her bottom wet for me.Ó
Martin permitted me to fetch a pillow from our bed. I gave my
auntie a quick kiss as I fetched it. I used it to kneel upon, next to the post
where Jenny was hung. It protected my knees from the hardness of the
floor. Jenny turned her head back and watched over her shoulder,
trepidation in her eyes, as I gently wet her bottom with the atomizer. I
squirted her wiggling tush with the perfume. Her cheeks clenched and
unclenched, as if she were waiting to be branded, like a nervous cow, I
thought. Martin would leave his mark upon her. He would enjoy doing it.
Would she enjoy receiving, being possessed by his mark? I did not know.
ÒWill- will you take me after I am whipped?Ó Jenny asked in a tight,
high-pitched voice, looking up at Martin.
ÒTake you? You mean, fuck you?Ó Martin asked. Wickedly I crouched
lower and squirted her up between her legs. Impulsively she drew her
thighs together but then, as she waited for Martin to say more, she opened
her legs again. She let me bedew her slit with more perfume.
ÒThat is not the purpose of this whipping,Ó Martin said, after I had
finished wetting her slit. ÒLike I told you, this is to be an admonitory
whipping. It is to adorn you, in the manner Chloe is adorned, with a red
bottom. All girls who help me must first have their bottoms made red. It
is a sign of their subservience to me. Of their willingness to serve. You
will help me love ChloeÕs aunt, Rebecca, who is 19, and in need of love. If
I were to fuck you, I would be showing love for you, but my purpose here,
in this place is to love ChloeÕs aunt, whom I have known since she was
nine. We are rekindling our love for each other. But you may play with us
and serve me if you wish. You are quite beautiful. But my sperm is
reserved for Rebecca. I can only love you with the whip.Ó
ÒOh!Ó Jenny gasped. She hung her head. At the same time she pushed
her rump out more, in desperate invitation; she loved his cock, and wanted
it, but Martin only loved the idea of making her his slave.
Martin warned me that he was ready. JennyÕs bottom glowed with a
warm, dripping sheen from all the perfume IÕd applied to it. I gave her
derriere a quick kiss. Then I leaned back, and Martin let fly with his whip.
The two lovers standing nearby watched. The woman rubbed the
manÕs cock, lightly, as they took in JennyÕs punishment. Jenny yelped and
screamed, her cries growing louder as each stroke of MartinÕs whip landed
with more force. Frantically I licked her bottom between blows, to keep
it wet. I felt like a dog, hungry for meat. Her bottom squirmed under my
tongue. Martin supervised my licking and told me I was doing a good job.
ÒYou are a fine cunt, Chloe, with a quick, fine mouth. You will serve
men well,Ó he complimented me. I felt proud of his compliment at the
time, though now it sounds silly and makes me blush.
When we were finished with her, we unlocked Jenny from the post.
She could not walk. Martin had to carry her to our bed. He tossed her down
with indifference. She cried out when her hot bottom hit the bed.
Immediately she found the strength to roll over onto her tummy, though
before she had been like a sack of potatoes in MartinÕs arms, almost
lifeless. She lay weeping upon the bed, her fists balled under her eyes, her
bottom marked with hot red lines from the whip. There were several
bruises. I knelt over her behind and kissed them. Her bare skin was
aromatic despite its damage, from all the perfume IÕd spread upon it. It
smelled like roses. Red roses upon the bare, formerly white cheeks of her
fanny.
As I kissed JennyÕs behind, Martin undressed. When he was
completely naked he got into bed beside my aunt. He kissed her once on
the face and then knelt over her, turning about so that his thick, strong
cock hung down upon my auntÕs face. It banged her nose and she opened her
mouth to receive it. She had little choice; Martin looked ready to stuff it
into her if she did not accept it with willing lips. At the same time he put
his mouth down below her belly, to the juncture of her legs. He kissed her
profusely, upon the soft curls of her bush. His tongue inquired between
her legs as she struggled to accept his length in her mouth.
I patted JennyÕs ass. She was bruised but well-loved, I thought.
ÒThey are doing it. Look,Ó I told her. She lifted her face slightly, saw how
Martin was loving Rebecca, and immediately pressed her face back into her
fists and began to cry more loudly. ÒDonÕt. I am here. I will be your
lover,Ó I said. The passion in my voice surprised me. She was 20-
something, I was only 13. But we both had red bottoms, now. I felt a
kinship with her. We had both suffered, and survived. I pushed my face
down between the backs of her thighs, seeking her lovenest with my
tongue. My tongue stretched out from me like the monster in Alien. I felt
wicked, yet at the same time I felt Jenny needed consoling. I did not wish
for her to cry. I sought her slit, made her open her legs more, and reached
with my tongue for her intimate bud within the pod of her sex. I found it
after some searching, and wiggled my tongue upon it. Jenny shrieked. She
tried to draw her legs closed. I pressed my small palms to them and kept
them apart. It was not hard. She fought with half her strength, weakly
resisting, and in her resistance desiring what she pretended to deny.
For the next several minutes all pretense of coming here solely for
pain was denied. MartinÕs cock plunged like a slow-moving piston in my
auntÕs mouth. He shuddered with pleasure, and his own lips, inspired by
my auntÕs oral working of his penis, lapped and chewed at RebeccaÕs slit
between her legs. My auntÕs breath came in gasps; Martin was large, and
she looked rather like she was trying to swallow down a thick, pulsating
sword. Despite her discomfort at having so much of him rammed into her
mouth, my aunt was clearly not so disconsolate at the thick tongue which
Martin plunged between her thighs. Had her legs been free she doubtless
would have kicked up her heels, perhaps even tried wrapping her legs
around MartinÕs burrowing head. As it was, with her ankles tied, her legs
stretched out straight and long on the mattress, my aunt could only
writhe, like a snake drawn taut, feeling the throes of some deep emotion.
Just when he seemed ready to spend, Martin pulled his face from my
auntÕs parted legs. At the same time he arched up his hips and rolled off
her. It was an amazing sight to see his long, thickly trembling prick, wet
with my auntÕs saliva, being drawn from her mouth. At last he was free of
her and he rolled onto his back. For several seconds he lay there, his dick
jerking spasmodically, and I thought we were to be treated to the
spectacle of his sperm gushing from his cockhead like a geyser at
Yellowstone. My aunt, certain that it would happen, turned her face
toward his loins, the better to receive his splattering tribute.
But he did not come. Denying himself the pleasure of release, Martin
managed to hold himself back. I feared him then. If he was willing to put
pain above pleasure even for himself, what would he do to us? Hastily I
sought once again the comfort of JennyÕs ass, the sweet pillowing of her
bare cheeks, the quiet, smoldering lovelips buried down between her legs,
that required me to stretch out my tongue to find them and please them.
ÒCome,Ó Martin said, reaching across my auntÕs legs and grabbing my
hair. He yanked me off Jenny. Somehow I hoped the word ÒcomeÓ would
mean something other than Òcome here,Ó but that is exactly what he
meant. He dragged me over my aunt and made me lie beside him. Then he
pushed me off the bed, and ordered me to kneel at the foot of it, and await
his next command.
Raw bottomed, scurrying to comply to avoid MartinÕs wrath, for he
had already shown us what he could do if he became displeased, both Jenny
and I soon found ourselves picking out collars along the wall where the
flagellums were hung. Martin stood over us, his hands on his hips, naked
like ourselves, his manhood showing stiff and strong between his legs.
Devotion showed in JennyÕs eyes as she picked a shiny black collar and
buckled it around her neck. Despite her sore ass she was, apparently,
delighted to be naked and free and, at the same time, utterly subjugated.
Had my tongue between her legs warmed her to our plight? I did not know.
As for myself, picking a collar that looked terribly old and well used, its
black worn away to a dull charcoal, I put it around my young nervous
throat and hoped for the best. I did not wish to confess to myself, or to
anyone, that I was happy in my captivity, and my ass certainly stung, but
at the same time there was a reassuring feeling to it, having a man so
close, so large, so commanding, and living only to please him.
That his goal, and therefore ours, was not in fact pleasure, despite
our nudity, but pain, made me shiver with strange feelings.
ÒVery good,Ó Martin said, when Jenny and I had both fastened our
collars upon ourselves. ÒChloe, you will now help Jenny put on a pair of
leg shackles. I want her feet heavy, like yours are, so that running is more
of an effort for her, and also so that she may be bound with her legs apart,
her slit open to pillage, if I should choose to have her that way.Ó
ÒYes, master,Ó I breathed. I felt like ÔI Dream of JeanieÕ. Perhaps
that is every manÕs wish, to have his own Jeanie. Two of them, in MartinÕs
case, ready and eager to serve, with my aunt a third if only he would free
her from the bed. I helped Jenny into a pair of shackles, taking them from
the wall, finding a pair that was just right for her slim ankles. She did
not complain or refuse. When we were done fitting her into them she
looked at Martin and her face shined with contentment.
ÒAre you happy, Jenny?Ó Martin asked. Jenny reached back behind
herself and clapped her hands to her fanny and said, quite frankly,
ÒMy ass isnÕt.Ó
Martin laughed. ÒWherever you go in here, no matter who sees you,
your bottom will serve as a testament to your ownership,Ó Martin said.
ÒWhen you came to me you did not belong to anyone, and there was no mark
of ownership upon you. Now there is. Were we to stay here for nine
months, I would perhaps make you pregnant, swelling you with my seed, to
show that I owned you. But in the space of a few hours that is not
possible. So you bear a red ass, with even a few bruises on it, to show
every man that you are mine.Ó
Jenny sighed. Her whole body shivered as she sighed and I felt a
certain joy was coursing through her. I felt it too. We might, indeed, go
into other rooms and dally with their guests, giving ourselves to other
men if Martin permitted it. But they would all see our red bottoms, and
know that, however much they might fuck us, they could not claim us.
Martin already had, replacing the freshness of our unmarked fannies with
the weals of his whip.
ÒAre you girls ready to serve me in whatever way I see fit?Ó Martin
asked us. His long cock hung stiffly between his legs, the saliva of my
auntÕs mouth slowly drying upon it. His flesh gleamed. He was hard and
muscular, sweating a little, despite the coolness of the room.
ÒYes, Martin,Ó I heard myself gasp.
ÒYes, Martin,Ó Jenny said.
ÒGood,Ó Martin said. Jenny wriggled and put a hand to her pussy and
asked, in a trembling voice,
ÒMartin?Ó
ÒYes?Ó he said.
ÒIs there a bathroom in here?Ó
Martin laughed. ÒWhy, yes there is. Would you like to see it?Ó
ÒYes,Ó Jenny said.
ÒKneel down,Ó Martin told her. ÒI am glad that you brought up the
subject, for now that you mention it, I see that I too have to go. You also,
Chloe, kneel down here on the floor.Ó
ÒOh! Is it a portable toilet?Ó I asked, thinking that he would go and
fetch it for us.
ÒYes,Ó Martin said, but he gave a low, wicked laugh, and I didnÕt like
it.
We knelt. Our bare bosoms wiggling, our bottoms hot, Jenny and I
knelt on the cold floor. Martin stood over us. We looked up at him. My jaw
hung open in wonderment. He was so big! But why did he not go fetch the
toilet for us? I felt my hips give an exaggerated wiggle. I needed to piss
too, I realized, quite badly, though in my excitement I had not noticed my
need until Jenny mentioned it.
ÒAs you can see there is no plumbing in here,Ó Martin said. ÒThis is,
after all, just a warehouse. I suppose weÕre in the middle of the
warehousesÕs large floor, out in the middle of it, despite the appearance
of being tucked away in a small room. These cinderblock walls serve only
to separate us from the others, they do not carry pipes in them, for water
or anything like that.Ó He looked at me and grinned. Then he put the
bulbous head of his cock to my lips. He forced me to take him. I thought
he would try to ram all of himself down my throat, as he had done with my
aunt, but perhaps in deference to my youth he merely stretched my lips
wide with the head of his cock and held himself there. I looked up at him
the whole time, my eyes wide and frightened.
ÒChloe, IÕm now going to relieve myself,Ó Martin told me. ÒNot my
sperm, for that would be pleasure, something we are pledged to deny
ourselves in a place like this. Rather, IÕm going to piss. And you are going
to take half my bladderÕs contents down your throat, swallowing quickly,
and not letting any spill on the floor, lest I take the whip to your bottom
again.Ó
ÒUmph! But I have to piss too!Ó I tried to say, over the heavy
presence of his large penis. How could I take his pee into my tummy when
I was already so full with my own?
Martin did not answer, at least not with words. Instead he
immediately began pissing. I shrieked. My cry was muffled by the
inrushing of his urine.
ÒGhandi drank his own pee, and you can drink mine. Drink it down,
girl!Ó Martin ordered. Like a girl with a very large straw in her mouth I
struggled to swallow down his golden flood. Beside me, her mouth open
and not blocked by MartinÕs cock, Jenny shouted with alarm.
I could not manage. There was too much of him. He was too
abundant in his tribute. His piss overspilled my cheeks and ran down my
breasts. It showered my kneeling thighs. Jenny, perhaps afraid that we
would both suffer if I did not do my duty, put her mouth to my right tit and
began licking MartinÕs pee off it as his urine anointed me.
When he was half emptied, Martin took himself from my lips. He
reached down and grasped Jenny by her soft chin. He lifted her face off my
breast and shoved his dick into her mouth. She cried out; immediately he
began peeing again, and her slim throat worked to swallow him down,
though her eyes showed she was most distressed by it.
At last Martin had no more to give. But Jenny and I were bursting.
Amidst the puddle made by his urine, a big sloppy oval-shaped puddle on
the floor, Martin forced Jenny to stand and spread her legs and hold
herself over my face. Then I was required to tilt back my chin and open
my mouth. She pissed; I felt her wicked fluid upon my tongue and tried at
first to deny her, not swallowing what flowed into my mouth. But Martin
kicked my belly with his toes, and I knew he would kick me harder if I did
not begin gulping down her essence.
I drank. I swallowed down JennyÕs pee. It was something, as one
might guess, that I would never have done in a million years were it not
for the uniqueness of our circumstances. Martin watched me, as if judging
my fitness to swallow his sperm. I drank at her nest until I was bulgingly
full; I ran my hand over my tummy, expecting to feel myself pregnant with
her pee. My bosoms quavered under the load I had imbibed. My own slit
ached to release the fulness I felt in my bladder.
ÒOh! I need to go too!Ó Rebecca cried from the bed. She arched her
hips, not able to lift them much, due to her bonds, but trying, nonetheless.
ÒNo!Ó Martin ordered her. ÒYou will hold yourself in, keeping proper
decorum, until I permit you to go.Ó
ÒOh! But I shall wet the bed!Ó Rebecca said forlornly.
Filled up with pee, it was at last my turn to give. Martin made me
stand. He made Jenny kneel. There was an anxious look on her face as she
got down behind me and I pushed my ass back upon her face. I felt her
small hands clasp at my thighs. Her fingernails gleamed; how pretty they
were, yet how they belied, in their manicured perfection, the wickedness
of our circumstances! Like a female dog, I settled my fanny upon her face.
I felt JennyÕs breath gasp upon me. It tickled my slit and I let myself go.
ÒOoook!Ó Jenny cried as my piss splashed her face. I felt her tongue
protrude and sleek across my pee hole. Was she trying to stop up my hole,
using her tongue to stanch the flow of my pee? I peed harder. I did not
want her to stop me. She cried out again and I saw my pee running in
strong rivulets over her breasts and down her flat belly.
Wet with ourselves, we stood at last, permitted by Martin, and
regarded each other. I think there was a note of triumph in our eyes. We
were good girls, Jenny and I. Never would we have done such a thing, were
we not in such an odd place, and with such a demanding master. I looked
at Jenny and she smiled shyly at me. I felt the glow of the birch, still hot
upon my fanny. I clutched at my ass and smiled at her. I admired her
collar around her neck. She smiled at mine.
ÒWe are loved,Ó I said.
ÒWe are,Ó Jenny answered. We both looked at Martin.
ÒHave you enjoyed your pee play, girls?Ó Martin asked. He was
stroking his prick with his hand. Clearly he had enjoyed it, even if we
didnÕt. But Jenny and I grinned bashfully, betraying our emotion without
saying a word. ÒI thought you would, girls,Ó Martin said. ÒStrange as it
may seem, the things we do to each other here will bring a kind of
happiness. You would not, I think, share such a moment anywhere else, or
even imagine it. But here anything is possible, especially if the easy
route, of mere pleasure, of mere sexual gratification, is denied.Ó
ÒOh, I feel dirty!Ó Jenny said.
ÒThere is no need for that,Ó Martin said. ÒThey have a shower here.
Not in our room, of course, but at the far end of the warehouse. It was an
emergency rinse at one time, so itÕs rather rudimentary. We shall use it in
a moment, after we see to Rebecca.Ó
Together, holding hands, all three of us, we walked over to the bed.
My aunt still lay upon it. She was stark naked, bound hand and foot in a
spread-eagled position. She looked lovely despite her nakedness. Her slim
arms and slim legs were tautly pulled out from her body and firmly tied.
Her bosoms lay heavy and free upon her chest. Her nipples were stiff;
unbearably so, apparently, for she begged me to suck them for her. I
leaned forward and pee dripped off my own breasts as I bent to suck hers.
Jenny, inspired, put her own pee-stained face between my auntÕs legs and
licked her.
ÒOh! You shall make me pee!Ó Rebecca warned Jenny. The girl
worked her mouth harder, as if inviting just such a tribute.
And then it came, pissing as we both tongued her, Jenny between her
legs and me savoring her breasts. My aunt peed in the bed. Martin laughed.
We were all free now, and in his enthusiasm at seeing us girls so liberated
he found new pee within himself and pissed it upon my auntÕs belly.
I thought my aunt would be untied after she was done pissing, but
she was not. Martin urged Jenny and I to lift our faces from her. We stood
admiring my aunt, as she lay tied beneath us. Between her splayed legs
her muff showed, furry and wet from JennyÕs kisses. There was a puddle
between her thighs where her urine had escaped. Her bathing suit lines
showed on her body, white triangles of precious, private skin, looking
lovely against her tanned limbs and belly.
ÒShe must be whipped,Ó Martin said. ÒYou girls will take riding
crops, crops with flat, wide loops at the tips of them, and whip Rebecca
where her skin shows white; her crotch, and the twin globes of her
breasts. Do not be gentle with her. I want her white parts turned nice and
red.Ó
ÒNo!Ó my aunt cried. But Martin reached for a gag on the table beside
the bed, picked it up, and quickly bound it over my auntÕs gasping mouth.
For the next fifteen minutes Jenny and I tormented my aunt. We
slapped her breasts and her white-framed muff. We turned her private,
untanned parts to blushing pink. My aunt squirmed under our blows, her
hips moving wetly in the pee she had so freely pissed into the bed. As for
ourselves, we were oblivious to our golden-sheened tone; how awful we
must have looked to others, two peed upon girls whipping a third girl, who
was also stained and messy with pee! At last Martin, stroking himself
vigorously, called a halt to the proceedings.
ÒEnough,Ó he said. ÒIf you keep it up I shall have no choice to spurt.
How I crave seeing lovely girls reduced to dirty sluts!Ó My aunt was
crying, softly. He bent down and undid her gag.
ÒOh, Martin. It is enough,Ó my aunt sobbed when she could speak.
ÒWe are all ruined now. Are you happy?Ó
ÒAre you?Ó Martin asked.
ÒI do not love you, Martin,Ó my aunt said.
ÒDoes your cunt burn from JennyÕs crop?Ó Martin asked. He reached
down between her legs and stroked her fig.
ÒYes,Ó Rebecca answered. She winced. Then she shot a glance at me.
ÒAnd my tits too,Ó she gasped.
ÒThen we are all in pain,Ó Martin said.
ÒAll except for you,Ó Rebecca said ruefully.
ÒWe can shower and then I will let you hurt me, if that is what you
wish for,Ó Martin said. His voice was low, deep, but soft. I was startled
at how loving he could be toward my aunt, after supervising her torture
with the crops.
ÒOh, I do not--Ó my aunt said, her voice breaking off as she felt
anew the bright marks Jenny and I had placed upon her. I looked at her and
felt little pity. Had she not lain idly by while Martin birched my ass?
Then, suddenly, a wave of remorse swept over me. She looked so helpless
lying there!
ÒOh IÕm sorry auntie!Ó I blathered. I reached for the bonds at her
wrist, her right wrist, the one closest to me. I tugged at them.
ÒYes, fine. Untie her, girls,Ó Martin said. ÒGet her loose. Then we
shall shower and have one final go at each other.Ó
30
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