Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in 
BORDELLO GIRLS

Chapter One	

	I put on my skimpiest bikini.  After all, Marla had minced no words about what she had planned.  ÒWeÕre going to make dessert out of you!Ó sheÕd smiled.  My parents would never approve.  Fortunately, they were in Rome for the weekend.  IÕd decided to stay down by the shore.  My dadÕs an oil executive.  He and mother had taken a house along the Mediterannean for a month.  It was someone elseÕs house, of course, a friend of my DadÕs.  I didnÕt know them, which didnÕt matter, since they werenÕt here anyway, and wouldnÕt be for the entire time we were staying here.  
	Marla lived next door.  It was a very wealthy area.  The homes were perched along a cliff overlooking the beach.  There was a little path that led down to the sand.  IÕd met her on the path one day.  We chatted.  For two weekends IÕd watched her parties from my bedroom window.  Watched the people come, go, wondered...  The men were gorgeous.  Some of the girls were no older than me.
	IÕd spent all last week at MarlaÕs.  Swimming in her pool instead of in the ocean.  It was much more fun.  Servants brought me sodas, occasionally a surreptitious cocktail.  There were no parties, though.  She only had those on the weekend.  There was just me and Marla.  WeÕd talked a lot.  About men, boys.  She was surprised to learn IÕd only had sex twice in junior high.  I was going to be a freshman this fall.
	I walked up to MarlaÕs front door.  My bikini barely covered my bottom cheeks in back.  Feeling quite self-conscious now I yanked on it, trying to pull it higher.  Then I knocked.  I stood in the heat of the Mediterranean sun, waiting.  Finally a servant answered.  He ushered me into the coolness inside.  My eyes adjusted to the dimness.  It was a huge house, cathedral-like, my bottom cheeks clenched apprehensively.  My panties were too small, my bottom too large, though it was trim, childlike, thrusting as only a young girlsÕ can.  I knew the story was the same with my bra, my boobies jiggling within the tiny cups like jello.  I couldnÕt party like this!  I turned, wanted to go home, change.  Marla was there.
	ÒWhy hello, Jennifer!Ó  Her smile was like the sun.  Contagious.  I smiled back, shyly.  Yet proud she found pleasure in my appearance.  I valued her opinion.  She was young, very beautiful.  Taller than me, older.  About 23, married to a millionaire.  I looked up to her.  ÒCome into the kitchen and weÕll take off your bikini and get started,Ó she said to me.  ÒHave you been swimming?Ó
	ÒNo,Ó I replied, haltingly.  ÒYou want to take off my bikini?Ó I asked.  She had me by the hand, was leading me.  I followed.
	ÒYes, dear!Ó She turned to me, took me lightly by my hips.  We were at the kitchen entrance.
	ÒBut I picked out my smallest one,Ó I replied.  ÒSurely --Ó  Marla laughed.
	ÒYou thought we might pop strawberries down the front of your bikini, squirt in a little cream?Ó  Marla asked.  ÒOh darling, this is an adult party, not some elementary school game.  Come, there is a shower stall in the kitchen.  LetÕs have you bathe, then someone will do your hair and nails, and make up your face.  After all, this is your official presentation to Mediterranean society.  You must look your very best, even if we make a little treat of your initiation.Ó  With that she helped me out of my bikini.  It wasnÕt too difficult.  A tug on a drawstring or two and I was totally naked amist the gleaming pots and pans of her kitchen, her servants looking in on us, discreetly.  Feeling like a newborn, I let her lead me to the kitchen shower stall.  It had once been for seashore bathers to rinse off in, I guessed, but a remodeling had put the kitchen next to it.  Now I supposed it was used exclusively for washing turkeys, chickens, or perhaps the occasional girl, come for dessert.
	I tried not to think about what she had in mind for me.  Marla gave me soap, no washcloth, told me to hurry.  When I was through she gave me an extra rinse herself, using a hand-held shower sprayer.  ÒWe wouldnÕt want any of our guests to get soap in their mouths!Ó She laughed.  I gulped, said nothing.  
	Marla dried me herself with a soft blue terrycloth towel.  It was big, it seemed to envelop me.  I wanted to keep it.  She gave it to a servant to take away.  She brought me over to a single wooden chair, sitting alone in the middle of the kitchen.  She dropped a satin pillow on it for my bottom, sat me down in it.  A woman came, did my nails, another did my hair.  A third did my face.
	ÒWe wonÕt be covering her face, so it must look terrific,Ó Marla said to the makeup lady.  She smiled at me.  ÒWhich shouldnÕt be too hard, given her bright blue eyes and perfect lips.Ó  Marla came and went, watched approvingly.  At last I was done.  ÒPull her hair back now, tie it off in a short ponytail.  We want it to be kept simple.  Yes, thatÕs it.  Just use a piece of ribbon.  WeÕll tie a rope onto it later, before she goes in.Ó  I was confused, sat compliantly.  They pulled back my shoulder-length hair and bound it with a bit of white ribbon.  My hair hung loosely round my eyes.  It was casual-looking, as if I were but a wench about to do kitchen chores.
	ÒUp dear,Ó Marla urged me.  She took me by the hand.  I stood.  For a moment she admired the shaking of my boobies as I stood nude before her.  ÒUp onto the counter, darling,Ó she said.  There was a freestanding counter int he middle of the kitchen, pots hanging over it.  She had me scoot my bottom up onto it and lie back.  She kissed me once, on the lips.  The servants came in and she instructed them.  She used French, I could not understand.  In the distance I could hear music, voices.  The kitchen door was closed now, to keep out prying eyes.  Marla and I were not alone in her house anymore with the servants.  There were others.  Girls, gorgeous men.  She left me on the table, with the servants in attendance on me.  
	ÒWeÕre going to cover you in icing,Ó a servant woman told me.  I flinched.  They brought out a big vat, a long wooden spreader.  Slowly they began smearing me with icing.  They did my belly first, easing me into it.  Then my thighs, my legs.  Soon I was noticing only my breasts and pubis were bare.  I wanted those covered too, surely.  Those most of all, if I were to be seen in public.  They obliged, smearing the icing over my boobs, spreading it with the wooden spreader between my legs.  They made me stand and they did my backside.  I glanced in a mirror.  I was like a bride, covered in white, except it was sugary icing.    
	A white rope was tied around my neck.  It felt like a noose.  Above it there were traces of icing in my hair, nothing else.  Below it I was a complete mess, totally covered in icing.  The rope ran down between my breasts, down to the fringe of my pubic hair, as if I were a donkey needing to be led.  In back they tied a second rope, slightly shorter.  They tied it to my abbreviated ponytail.  They said nothing about why I needed the ropes.  There would be many people present, were they afraid I would run away?  A wiggly girl covered in slick icing could escape, but with the ropes it would be another story.
	A sumptuous wedding cake was brought in.  Yes, at last.  Marla had said I would be popping out of a cake.  I hoped I was merely a decoration, nothing more.  With my icing on it should not be too bad.  IÕd have preferred to have my bikini too, but the icing did a fair job of hiding my charms.
	The cake consisted of four sides.  Servants carefully removed the four sides of the cake, propped them against a wall.  A small platform remained, sitting near the floor, on wheels.  They had me sit down on the platform.  Then they replaced the four sides of the cake, putting it back together, careful not to lose any of the cake as they repaired it.  I crouched within, in darkness.  
	A little later I felt a tug.  The cake began rolling.  I heard the swing of kitchen doors.  Someone made an annoucement.  There was clapping.  The cake came to rest.  I guessed I was in the center of the ballroom now.  Someone said something.  ÒThe bride and groom must eat first,Ó it seemed was said.  Then I felt the cake wobble a bit on its wheels as others took pieces.  They were eating me.  I was the soul of the cake.  At last I heard I cry of triumph.  Someone had found something within his cake.  A key, or a coin, something that denoted a treasure found.  Me?
	The cake opened.  Suddenly, unexpectedly.  The four sides of the cake popped apart, fell to the ground.  Any cake remaining on the four sides was smashed upon the floor.  There would be no more eating of cake now.  I looked about, surprised.  My eyes blinked under the bright lights of the ballroom.  From darkness I was in light now, bathed in the glow of an overhead chandelier.  
	My eyes found MarlaÕs.  She smiled at me.  I smiled back.  I was the center of attention.  All eyes were upon me.  I enjoyed it.  My icing still kept me pure.  I laughed, briefly.  It was so silly, yet so outrageous.  Though my hands were coated in icing I held them delicately above my thighs.  As if IÕd been playing in mud.  Yet the mud was white and all over me.  But I was still a girl, still dainty.  A mess, but dainty all the same.  
	Marla came forward, offered me her hand.  Blushing, I clasped it.  She drew me up.  The gentleman whoÕd found the key in his cake hovered over me.  Barefoot I stood.  An apparation in white.  All around me the gentlemen and ladies were smartly dressed.  I alone was naked.
	The man with the key was upon me.  I jerked, drew back.  There was noplace to run.  I was surrounded.  He pressed his face to my breasts.  Shocked, I lifted my hands.  I wanted to push him away, yet I did not wish to get icing all over his suit.  He feasted upon my breasts, licking up the icing, baring them with his tongue.  Tremors of pleasure radiated from my attentive nipples.  I attempted to walk forward.  The man fed at my breasts, coming along with me.  I was moving now, the crowd gathering around me yet parting before me, letting me walk.  Shamelessly they put out their hands and touched me.  Men, women ran their hands over me, my arms, my back, my bottom.  I was explored and caressed.  Fingers to mouths, then, tasting my icing.
	Marla stayed near me.  Gracefully I walked forward, not knowing where.  Keeping my composure, my dignity.  My cheeks flushed, my smile shy.  My hair, caught up, tied behind, the loose strands of my locks hanging down round my childish cheeks.  
	I was jostled.  My hair was pulled from behind.  A pull on the rope binding my ponytail.  My back arched, I gasped.  They nearly toppled me.  The man with the key was still at my front, kissing my tummy now.  He fought for possession of me, yanking the rope at my neck.  His tongue dove lower.  My pussy felt him.  Wet, inquiring.  His tongue like a cock.  I jerked and yelped.  A quiet yelp, submissive.  
	I turned to Marla.  She met my shocked stare, turned it to a smile with her shining, approving eyes.  She bid the men to let the women in, to let them taste me too.  A man at my back was urged away.  I felt freer, yet the man with the key had possession of me still.  He licked my tummy, swirled his tongue in my navel.  
	Two women nearest me unzipped their dresses.  Smiling, absorbed in myself, I watched with awed eyes as they made themselves as naked as I was.  More naked, actually, for they had no covering of icing.  Still wearing their jewels, their hair perfect, their nude breasts swinging, they came at me.  Compliantly I lifted my hands to let them eat of me.  I knew not how else to respond.  I was dessert.  They wished to have me.  Their faces pressed to me, smearing themselves, like children with milk and crumbs on their mouths and cheeks.  Their tongues licked, one woman finding my nipples while the other traced the spine of my back.  Their hands were soft, stroking, feeling.
	All around me the private wedding reception began to take on the look of an orgy.  Guests shed their clothes, began kissing, soft moans were heard and groans of imminent pleasure.  Half a dozen cocks sprang out and titties without any covering became the norm.  I stood like a fawn in the center of it, surrounded, hands upon me, my ropes gripped fore and aft to prevent my escape.
	The tongues became more aggressive now.  The man with the key found my pussy again, did not desist.  My knees buckled, I struggled to straighten them.  The woman behind me snaked her tongue into the crevice of my bottom.  In front the woman at my breasts was joined by another.  Like starving babes they licked off my icing.  My bosoms were gripped, squeezed, held.  I felt like I was being made to espress milk into their mouths.
	Somewhere a string quartet played.  Unperturbed, it played on through the hubbub all about me.  I gulped air as the man in my twat fucked me with his mouth.  I was helpless, hopeless.  I wanted to get him out of me, couldnÕt.  In behind my cheeks were gently prised open by female hands.  I had no icing in my bottomhole but she delved there anyway.  She seemed to find it sweetest.  
	ÒPlease, let me go!Ó I mouthed.  I turned to look for Marla, could not find her.  She had abandoned me to the guests.  I was theirs now, their precious dessert.  Legs splayed, hardly able to stand, I fought to keep my composure.  They delved deeper, made me cry out though I wanted not to.
	More tongues came.  Elegant women ruined their faces by smearing them in my icing.  Tanned bodies, crisp from the Mediterannean sun, rubbed against me.  I gave them the whiteness of my icing.  They would not stop, would not desist.  A finger poked into my mouth.  I sucked on it, blissful suddenly, a tongue up each of my channels below.  My breasts were no longer mine.  Too many mouths hungered for them.  In and out tongues went down below; the same ones, others?  I lost track.  A wave of pleasure washed over me, unbidden, yet welcome.  I was speared more deeply still up my hiney, my cunt.  Shafted and penetrated, all oral, cocks waggling about but kept from me as tongues did the work instead.
	I was bent back.  My ribs showed.  A mouth came to my mouth and dueled with my tongue.  Another ran along my ribs, counting them.  I shivered, spilled.  Shivered and spilled again.
	A hand, suddenly, gripping my wrist.  It yanked me forward.  The other hands fell away, tongues withdrew.  When I came to my senses my wrist had been dropped in favor of the rope at my neck.  My tie, my noose.  A girl led me, my rope over her shoulder, pulling me like one leads a recalcitrant pony.  She was naked save for a veil of white over her face, part of a wedding headress.  Otherwise she wore only white stockings, ankle-high white booties.  Her garter was gone, had been tossed away along with her dress and her underthings.  I stumbled behind her as she led me from the ballroom.
	I was taken upstairs, to the wedding bed.  The groom greeted me as I came into the bedroom.  He wore his bow tie, black socks and shoes, nothing else.  He was strong, powerful.  In his hands he held a belt, coiled leather.  He bid me to get on the bed.  
	Mincingly I tread across the bedroom floor.  The carpet was plush, absorbing my every barefoot step.  My feet, covered in icing, did not soil the carpet, for the undersides of my feet were bare.  Yet I walked on tiptoe to keep from leaving any creamy footprints, if I could.  
	I stopped before the bed.  It was high.  Stairsteps led up to it.  I hesitated, waited, contemplating the steps, what they meant.  A mistake.  For I glanced again at the groom.  His cock was huge, pulsing.  I wanted it.  Like a girl wanting a popsicle in a candy store I wanted it.  And I wanted to hold the big scrotum that dangled beneath, tightly drawn now, excited, its spermy contents churning.  Madly churning.  I did not know much about men, but I knew they could get very hungry, deliciously hungry, and when they did they were like big animals, raving, raging, and only a pussy would quench them.  My own tight purse tingled, hungered in return.  His eyes blazed at me.  There was silence.  Like lovers staring across an ocean at each other we stood.  The bride ran from the room.  I heard water.
	ÒWhat is your name?Ó the groom asked me, his voice low.  His body was taught, unmoving.  Only his cock moved, trembling in its hardness.
	ÒJennifer,Ó I said quietly, a touch of demureness on my lips.  Trying so hard to be graceful.
	ÒYou must not look at me, Jennifer,Ó he replied.  ÒYou are property only tonight, though we might play as equals someday.  Lower your eyes.  You have offended the bride by gazing so at my cock.Ó
	ÒAm I --Ó I looked down, at the belt in his hand.  I wondered what games they had in store for me.  I liked my icing.  I liked this less, though the groomÕs cock was an inducement I could hardly resist.  I wanted Marla.  Wanted to tell her I was going home now.
	The groom said nothing.  He sensed my only answer would be Ôno.Õ  He stared at me, at my charms.  He should lower his eyes, I thought.  I was the lady without clothes.  Is the the gentleman to defer, not the other way round?
	The bride returned.  I did not sense her coming.  She grabbed my arm, startling me.  She wore mittens.  White lace, with little bows at the wrists.  They protected her hands.  I could not remember if sheÕd worn them before.
	ÒLetÕs wipe off your bottom,Ó the bride said to me, my captor, a girl barely older than myself.  She was a brunette with classic looks.  She had dragged me up here as a prize for her groom, but I saw she was jealous now.  He liked me too well.  She should have chosen a less pretty girl.  With a hot moist towel, fresh from the bathroom, wet under the faucet and wrung out, she wiped across my bottom.  I jerked.  The towel was hot, steaming.  She drove it into my bottom crack.  I gasped, tried to pull away.  Her nails dug into my arm, nearly cutting me.
	Across my bottom the towel swathed, wiping away my protecting icing.  My whiteness, my chastity.  She wiped it off my bottom only, revealing the whiteness of my skin underneath.  The belt in the groomÕs hand stirred.  He shifted his feet.
	The bride tossed the towel aside.  There was a knock at the door.  The groom opened it.  A maid entered, fully dressed, though her costume would not have passed muster at a hotel.  Her dress was abreviated to show her upper thighs.  Her blouse was unbuttoned, tightly drawn into her belt, efficiently, but showing the inner curves of her breasts all the same.  She showed flesh not from indolence but from design.  IÕd seen one of MarlaÕs ads in the paper once:  ÒMaids wanted.  Full-figured, pretty.  No experience required.Ó  She hired only the best girls, those who could wear her revealing-by-design costumes.  This girl was a teen still, like me, hesitant in her movements, shocked perhaps at the goings on downstairs.  
	ÒYour pie, maÕam,Ó the girl offered, presenting a cream pie to the bride at my rear.
	ÒThank you.  Begone,Ó the bride replied haughtily.  The maid did not wait for a tip.  She looked like a faun caught in a forest full of hunters.  She turned, padded quick as she could back across the room, then lingered momentarily.  Her eyes fixed on the groom, his cock.  She moved on, sensing some brooding anger in the room.  Suddenly as she reached the doorway the groom swiftly turned, lit out at her with his belt.  The tip found her, sweeping up under her too-short skirt, struck her I guessed right at the incurving juncture of her bottom cheeks, where they meet with her thighs.
	ÒYeeouuch!Ó the girl screamed.  She had not expected, did not want.  Leaping up she ran through the door, stunned.  We heard her retreating footsteps running down the hall.  The groom stroked his belt, recoiled it.
	The bride lifted the pie.  It was a pan, filled with cream.   
	ÒHe does not need to see your face,Ó she said to me, and hit me with the pie.  I stumbled backward.  I nearly fell to the floor.  I opened my eyes through a visage of cream.  In a mirror I saw myself, a stranger now, pie-faced.  The bride took my arm again.  IÕd escaped her grip momentarily.  She slapped me hard on my newly gleaming bottom, bare, uncovered.  ÒGet on the bed,Ó she ordered.
	With tiptoeing steps, still trying to be graceful in front of the groom, I mounted the stairs.  My nude bottom cheeks wobbled shamefully, all exposed, the rest of me covered with icing, save where licking tongues had lapped up some.  Up I went, then hesitated at the top step.  The bedsheets were white, the covers already turned back.  I would get icing on them.  I turned to my hosts.  
	ÒKneel,Ó the bride said.  ÒCrawl to the headboard.  Put your knees on those two pillows.Ó  I looked toward the front of the bed.  There were two pillows, one on top of the other, near the headboard, but back far enough so that they obviously werenÕt meant for the head.  I blinked.  With my cream-covered lashes I blinked.  Then, carefully, not wanting to smear icing all over their bedsheets, I got on all fours on the bed.  Daintily I crawled, like a baby, to the headboard.  I placed my knees on the pillows, saw how it made my bottom rear up.  I did not like this posture.  Not with a belt behind me.
	ÒPut your head down,Ó the bride told me.  Roughly she took me by my hair, my coiffed and curled locks, the only part of me not covered with icing in the kitchen.  She shoved my face down onto the bed and pressed on my head until my cheek was flat against the bed.  In back my bottom presented itself as never before; high, the cheeks sweetly split and offered.  The bride pulled at my legs, spread them.  
	ÒCall the maid.  I want her open in back,Ó the bride said.  I guessed she meant me, hoped not.  I did not understand her command.
	The groom knew.  The maid came soon, avoiding him, giving him and his belt a wide birth, like a wary little squirrel whoÕs met the backyard dog.  The maid carried two more pillows.  
	ÒTwo under each knee,Ó the bride told the maid.  ÒI cannot spread her properly with her knees on the same pillows.  When I open her, her knees come off the ends.Ó  The bride had shifted to my head.  She drew my wrists out, beyond my head, made me take hold of a single post of the headboard.  She took off her bridal veil.  With it she bound my wrists to the post.  She tossed her chestnut hair as she worked.  She struck me as free, proud.  Glad to be out of her bridal veil.  She was a young wife now, laboring for her husbandÕs pleasure.  Her body was lean, tawny, her breasts full and bouncy.  I glanced at her flat tummy and wondered if it would be so eight months from now.  I guessed she wanted children, wanted them young, so she could play with them in her youth.
	Behind me the maid struggled to get two pillows under each of my knees.  She had to get up on the bed with me, as the bride did.  The maid wore no panties, was not permitted to.  Her skirt hiked up as she worked, showing, offering her bottom to the lewd groom with his cruel belt.  I could feel the maidÕs breath on my bottom, quick and frightened.  I guessed she was a year or two younger than me.  She was not ready for such bedroom games, wanted only to depart.  Yet she had taken the job, stayed.  She liked the parties, the gaity, the hint of naughtiness.  But then like a child she wanted to run off, go home and only dream of what transpired in the later hours.  I felt her open me in back.  She placed each of my knees atop the mounded pillows, a separate pile for each knee, specially built.  Each was a special pedestal built just for me to kneel on.  Between my knees the bed only, a flat sheet, far below, chasm-like between the mountain-pillows.  My bottom lofted high, a trophy for the groom, my thighs scarily wide, leaving my cunt utterly exposed between, a tight purse where he would put all his spermy treasures.
	I shivered.  My breasts, hanging down like gourds on display at a market, wiggled.  The bride made sure my face was flat against the bedsheets.  She offered me a rubber bit.  I gaped at it.  Saliva pooled in the corner of my mouth closest to the sheets.  She wrenched open my jaw and stuffed the bit between.  My lips closed over it.  The ends protruded into my cheeks.  Gently, smiling slightly, she readjusted the bit, made the ends exposed.  She took a little strip of leather and attached it to each end of the bit.  Then she looped the strip over the back of my head, let it press tight to my hair.  ÒI do not want you to swallow it,Ó she said of the bit.  ÒYou looked like you might take it in like a cock, right down your throat, with a little encouragement.  Bite on it, hard.  You will need it to protect your teeth if he gets carried away.Ó
	Fearfully I turned my head.  The groom was still there.  Beyond him, the bedroom door remained open.  I had not minded earlier, standing all gooey in my icing as I had downstairs.  But now I was much more fully exposed; my cunt and ass were like wares in a shop, on display for all to see, to judge.  I knew, unwhipped at least, unmarked, I could match any woman curve for curve.  But I did not really need the contest.  I wanted very much to go home now.  I sensed the playtime was ending, the teasing would be no more.  Things would get serious now.
	The bride shooed the maid from the bed.  She had lingered, adjusting my knees.  She had actually been humming in the last moments, content and happy somehow.  Perhaps because of the groom.  He had not struck her, yet she knew his power.  He was like a policeman, standing at the door.  Protecting her, most certainly, from everyone but himself.  No one would touch her without his permission.  She was safe from the partiers in here, provided she could stand the belt.  And he had not used it on her this time.  Though her bottom was bared to him, her too-short skirt revealing it whenever she moved or bent, he had restrained himself.  She was his little pet.  At least in her mind she was.  The groom was inscrutable.  Tall, muscular, his cock bared to us, yet not taking us.  Waiting for something.  Permission, perhaps.  He stroked his belt as if it were his organ.  Before he had simply held it, but now he ran it across his fingers, lovingly.  The maid huddled beside him and glanced up at him.  She had more freedom than I.
	Two people stopped at the door.  They looked in.  A man and a woman.  Half dressed, half undressed.  As if theyÕd stripped and fucked, dressed partially again; or perhaps were just on their way to a bedroom now.  On their way but stopping here, for inspiration.  
	ÒMay we watch?Ó the woman inquired of the bride.
	ÒYes, please do,Ó the bride replied.  She was at the door with them, talking casually, as if about a new flower in the backyard, a new recipie.  ÒSheÕs being introduced to polite society,Ó the bride added, a smirk on her lips, pointing to me.
	ÒNot too polite, I hope,Ó the man grinned.  
	ÒNo, not too polite,Ó the bride agreed.  She turned to her new husband.  She looked him over, her eyes catching on his cock.  ÒWhenever youÕre ready, dear,Ó the bride said to him, almost ruefully, challenging him.
	ÒGive her a really harsh one, make that little ass of hers show everything its got!Ó the man encouraged the groom.
	ÒOh, darling!  It is her first time!Ó the woman protested.  I was shaking visibly now, my tummy swirling with fear.  I wanted to get up but did not know how.  I could drop onto my side, maybe, but what would they do to me then?
	ÒI will not hit her too hard,Ó the groom said in my defense.
	ÒShe must cry, though, dear,Ó the bride corrected him.  ÒI want her to wash that cream off her face with her tears.  Now get to belting her, or IÕll take someone else for my husband.Ó  Her words were passionate.  I could sense the lie in them.  She loved him too much to ever leave him.
	The groom advanced to the end of the bed.  His balls bounced between his legs as he walked.  He stopped, took hold of the bedÕs footboard.  It was low, made of wood.  His cock protruded over it, a stiff shaft, a totem pole cut in the horizontal.  He opened his legs, spread his stance, let his testicals hang down freely.  Behind his buttocks tautened.  All this I guessed, or saw in a mirror, watching like a trapped little animal as he advanced to within striking distance of me.
	And then it happened.  The belt.  It uncoiled.  He struck me on my right cheek, wrenching a scream from me.
	ÒAaaaaa!Ó my scream was cut off by a second blow.  The other cheek, both of them red now, humming with sensations of pain.
	More blows.  Against my bonds I fight, wanting to rise up, to flee.  Behind me the man comments on my bottomÕs charms, how I wiggle and open myself reflexively when I am hit.  The groom nods, slaps me again, relishing my every obscene wriggle.
	The woman takes the bride in her arms, she responds.  Together they watch me, kissing.  The blows continue.  I buck and wreathe and squeeze my cheeks, trying to rid myself of the spreading, mind-numbing pain.  The man takes the maid and kisses her, slaps her bottom when she resists.  He makes her fondle his cock, then both cocks, his and the groomÕs.  She looks like a milk maid with twin udders in hand, seeking milk, finding glistening pre-cum.
	I cry.  Like a baby I cry.  The strapping ceases.  The woman and bride let go of each other.  They move to the maid.  Happily they take her hands and suck on her fingertips.  The bride kisses her palm.  She finds her husband there.  She laps at the palm like a dog.
	ÒI tried to stop him,Ó the maid explains.  I envision her, pressing her palm up to the groomÕs penis tip, trying to hold him in.
	ÒYou had an emission,Ó the bride says accusingly to her husband when she has finished licking him up from the palm of the maid.
	ÒNot a lot was lost,Ó he replies.  He is still hard.  ÒSee?Ó he explains.  He turns, sticks his cock right alongside the manÕs stiff member.  Playfully they whack at each other with their rods only, their male organs.  Boxing as it should be, with their hands restrained, or behind their backs.  ÒI am still as hard as Frank here,Ó the groom explains.
	ÒWe are forgetting our babykins,Ó the woman says.  She comes to me.  She gets up on the bed behind me and kisses my bottom.  Her lips are wet, lipstick upon them.  I flinch as her lips press against my burning ass.  Her kiss, though loving, hurts.  I do not want it.  I cannot cease rotating my bottom.  I am crying still, softly.  She takes hold of my bottom and stills it.  ÒBring cream right away,Ó the woman says to the maid.  ÒShe must be seen to at once.Ó  She kisses me again, making me whimper.  ÒYou are so brave,Ó she says.  ÒI want you for my own bed.Ó
	The woman and the maid spread cream over my painful, burning hinds.  They tickle my cunny with their fingertips.  Fortunately I caught nothing there.  The groom, for all his wretched vigor, spared my cunt at least, perhaps only for the pleasure of his cock.
	I hear laughter beyond.  The bride is toying with the two men, with their big things.  They stand opposite her, gradually closing in on her.  She does not mind the closeness of their bodies.  Suddenly her hands are grabbed, lofted above her head.  Her husband enters her in front as the man splits her cheeks behind.  Soon she is stuck between two prongs, really stuck, not teasing, impaled upon them and screaming. 
	I am released.  The purpose of my binding is over.  I am free to go.  I am not wanted anymore.  Or am I?  The woman and the maid linger over me as I put my feet to the floor, stand unsteadily, my hinds aching.  The woman traces the tips of my nipples, hard as coral.  The maid explores my belly button with her finger.
	The woman licks cream from my nose.  My pug nose, child-like, elfin.  ÒLetÕs rinse away that icky icing thatÕs all over you,Ó the woman says gently.  She wishes to see my face, does not want to have to lick me clean herself to see it.  She has seen my bottom, my cunt, but not my face, unless downstairs.  Perhaps she came late to the party.
	I am half led, half carried to the bathroom.  The bride and groom do not mind that we use their master bathroom.  They are too busy making honey and sperm mixtures, concoctions that produce babies nine months later.  Where will I be in nine months?  I sense that I am embarking on some new life.  I am leaving the shores of childhood behind, though I am wanted indeed for the fact that I still have both feet planted in the very shallowest water.  Up to my ankles only, my cunt still untried.  My bottomhole?  I do not wish to think such thoughts.  Dirty thoughts.  What men do to women in the privacy of their bridal bedroom.
	The water is turned on.  I am pushed inside.  White I go in, still half-pure at least, but the water hits me.  Suddenly I am quite naked, the cream half-remembered only, running quickly away in white rivulets.  The maid in her dress watches, the woman half-undressed, her breasts bare, shaking with her every movement, her dress hiked up under her waistbelt, then half-repaired.  Her hair still lovely, a bit mussed perhaps, no more.  Long dark hair, Vampire hair.  The maid has chestnut locks, girl hair, streaked with gold and tumbling down over her shoulders.  A bit unkempt but no one minds.  All young girls take little thought in their hair, knowing its very unkemptness attracts menÕs eyes.  Or do they know?  Perhaps it is their unknowing that attracts the Calvins and Lewises, the Chaplins.  Their very unknowing that their beautiful unkempt hair, flowing freely, half-combed, is the very essence of their beauty on such a small, slender figure.  
	I am free in the shower.  I stay under the spray.  I do not want to leave it.  It is warm, womb-enclosing.  I laugh as the water hits me.  It is enough.  My friends are waiting.  Strangers are waiting to have their way with me.
	My arm is taken.  I am pulled from the shower by the woman.  She pats me dry, admiring my figure.  The maid helps.  The woman walks away briefly, opens a drawer.  All is in waiting there.  For the bride.  A dog collar is taken from the drawer.  Meant for her, perhaps, now for me instead.  The woman takes a second.  A spare.  His and hers, perhaps.  
	The woman lifts my chin with her finger.  My large blue eyes look into her dark ones.  Softly she buckles the dog collar around my throat.  She has to go to the last hole, my throat is so slim.  She checks its tightness.  ÒI am Sylvia,Ó she says to me, my new master, claiming me.  A dog must know its masterÕs voice, and her first name too at least.
	ÒIÕm Jennifer,Ó I reply.  Have I given consent?  I do not want to.
	ÒYou are a good girl, Jennifer,Ó the woman replies.  ÒAn exceedingly good girl.  You do not deserve what IÕm going to give you.  But it is in love only that I give it.  Remember that always.  No matter how much it hurts, remember that I only give it in love.Ó  She kisses me.  I bite my lip.  I do not know what to say.  I am hungry below, my nipples are sticking out beyond belief.  I feel an emptiness and I want it filled.  Now.  Today.  I wanted the groom but he has spent many times now, I guess, from the cries of pleasure I hear coming from the bedroom.  There are others below.  Unclaimed cocks, I pray.  I want one.  I would traverse the fires of Hell at this moment to claim one for myself, to quench the fire within me.  Deep in my womb it burns and no water will put it out.  Only male-milk, pumped deep within by a lusty stallion.  I sense the woman will ensure I do not go without.
	The maid is fussy.  She is younger than me, less willing.  Trembling I stand in my nudity as Sylvia locks the collar on the maid.  It was her last act with me, padlocking my collar with a tiny silver lock.  I desire Sylvia to be with me.  She will protect me in my quest, though she may plunder me.  I cannot go downstairs by myself.  The men are huge, big-chested, though some have more aristocratic proportions.  Slimmer in build, they make up for the loss in increased fire, depravity.  I would fall victim to the first one, be he swaggering workman or slim Dracula.  I must let the woman choose.
	A coldness.  I am awakened from my thoughts by Sylvia.  She is squirting cold cream onto my injured hinds.  Smoothly she rubs it in as I jerk.  ÒThere.  You must not be without your protective coating,Ó she says to me.  I wonder if she wanted simply to caress my bottom cheeks again.  I look in the mirror.  My ass is shiny.  I gasp at the bright swathing marks emblazoned across it.  Here and there, stung by just the tip of the belt, there are deep red dots.  Elsewhere I bear long imprinting strokes, where I was repeatedly hit in the same place again and again.  I am not injured deeply, though.  I sense the marks will quickly fade.
	ÒCome, we must show you off downstairs, to let people see what a good girl youÕve been,Ó Sylvia tells me.  My bottom is a trophy.  It must be seen before the marks of my exploits fade.  I am to be admired for my girlish courage.  ÒBe proud,Ó she says, lifting my chin for me.  ÒYou are not a child anymore.  You are well-formed now, ready for bedroom combat.  Jousting with the male, and serving his wicked pleasures.  It is a time of blossoming.  When you are old no one will care for your bottom.  It can be whipped or not whipped, they will not care.  If you drop your drawers they will think you only a crazy old lady.  But while you are young, with the friskiness still in you, or the demureness of maturity, with your bottom drum-tight or well filled out from additional years, now is the time you are coveted.  Come, I will see that you get the very highest price for your charms.Ó  She placed a hand on my belly.  She felt its soft swell.  She held her hand there, as if feeling for a deeper fire.  I bent forward, licked up the length of her arm.  I was too hungry for words.  I trembled.  Were it not for her I would have gone running home at this moment, I knew, too scared of myself to stay.
	Sylvia went quickly to a closet, returned.  Pretty girls only come in certain sizes.  She presented me with shoes, knelt and slipped my feet into them.  Queen Charming with her princess.  I hoped for more, panties perhaps, but none were offered.
	ÒYou cannot show off your bottom downstairs with your dress like that,Ó Sylvia told the maid.  Sulkily the maid watched as Slyvia pinned up her skirt in back.  The maid wore no drawers.  She was permitted none.  Marla had designed her costume.  The maid shifted.  She did not want her bottom bared.  She liked her skirt, flapping over her bare hinds, concealing and revealing them.  She did not want to be totally exposed.  ÒThe party is too far progressed for you to stay as you are,Ó Slyvia told her.  I felt as if we were being instructed by an indulgent den mother.  She simply told us the facts, with loving, tender care.  GirlsÕ bottoms must be shown at this hour.  ÒYes, and your titties also,Ó Sylvia said to the pouting, restless maid.  Heedless of the consequences, Sylvia unceremoniously ripped the maidÕs bodice open.  The uniform was unusable now, its fabric torn.  Amidst the gaping hole created by SylviaÕs strong, long-nailed fingers spilled the maidÕs breasts.  They were creamy and white.  Too big for her age.  Her nipples showed why she stayed.  They were stiff as thorns.  I longed to puncture my thumbs on them.  Girls feel affection for each other at moments like this.  We were going downstairs, down to the men.  We would go down girls, children really, and return as women.  Sylvia would see to our breaking-in.  She would see that it was done properly.
	The maid and I exchanged glances.  We both gulped.  She looked delightful with her bottom bared in back, and I knew I was a treasure too, balanced atop my new high heels.  We both clenched our asses at the same time, twin horses, thoroughbreds, awaiting the start of a race.  Sylvia brought leashes, tethered us with them.  She drew out the length of them and turned.  I looked down.  In a pile on the floor was the white rope that had secured my neck earlier.  Now I was more valuable, deserving an actual collar and leash.  In back my hair was still bound by a second rope, perhaps to tempt the men downstairs.  Suddenly I was yanked.  I nearly lost my balance.  Sylvia beckoned with a no-nonsense tug on my leash.  Together with the maid I stumbled from the bathroom, past the rutting bride, and into the hallway beyond.
	Downstairs all was in chaos.  MarlaÕs ornate ballroom had been wrecked.  Amidst the confusion of tables and chairs pushed aside, spilled wine and tossed plates of cake, were the remains of the guests.  Many were naked, others half-clothed.  Some writhed in lust still, or perhaps lust reawakened.  Others simply rested, enjoying the spectacle, enjoying the glowing pleasure of their own spent loins.  Into this detritus of a once-formal party we tread, like little princesses, our sweet bottoms showing and our breasts bobbing before us, large and apple-round, big as melons.
	I glanced about.  All eyes were upon me.  I felt like a slave at auction.  Slyvia walked slowly, as if parading me, the maid beside me, as curious as I was.  Perhaps it was her first party.  Or perhaps not.  We girls are a curious lot.  In any case it was obvious she had not been seen by this group before.  And she, in her shyness, could not have seen too much, I guessed.  I tried to walk with a stately tread, dignified, the lady I soon hoped to be.  Like Sylvia.  I tried not to wriggle my bottom about as I walked, truly tried, but I couldnÕt help myself, it hurt so much.  For her part, the maid rolled her hips salaciously.  She was a little girl walking home from school, newly-learned in the art of rolling about her bottom as she walked.  Making perverts of the men who drove past her.  She was naughty.  She wanted to make a spectacle of herself in front of all the jealous ladies and their husbands.
	ÒThey must be whipped,Ó I heard a woman, just spotting us, say to another, imputing the maidÕs naughtiness to me also.
	ÒShe has already been,Ó the other replied, pointing.  My bottom, blazing hot still, wobbled atop my slim thighs as I tread in my pumps.
	ÒAh, she got a good one!Ó a voice I could not place.
	ÒIt did not help, though,Ó the first woman responded, still hating me.
	ÒWhat a lovely pair of arses!Ó A man.  He watched as I walked with jiggling cheeks, my heinie sore, scored.  The maidÕs was utterly white, unblemished, dancing about, inviting attention.
	With modest yet inquistive eyes I evaluated the men.  All had generously proportioned cocks, or they would not have been invited.  I felt a sudden urge to lick all their lollipops, knew they would relish making me do so.  Some stood, masturbating freely as they watched us pass.  One in particular caught my eye.  He was young, two older women lying at his feet, as if passed out from his exertions.  He had a strong chest, broad shoulders.  A heavy sac of balls hung under his well-hung cock.  He rubbed himself uncaringly, as if the sperm, shooting out at any moment, would cost him nothing in terms of his strength.
	Slyvia glanced back, followed my gaze.  He saw us all admiring him, blushed, suddenly did not know what to do with his hands.  I guessed he felt himself pledged somehow to the women at his feet.  He was too young to know he could fuck as he wished.  Yet he was older than myself, and the maid, though not older than Sylvia.  She eyed his penis.  There were no roundabout methods here.  Cocks and cunts were evaluated as frankly as meat at a market.
	ÒThatÕs a lovely pair of girls youÕve got there, maÕam.  Or, rather, a lovely pair of bottoms,Ó the boy/man said by way of introduction.  He felt as free in looking straight at our charms as we did in looking at his.
	ÒCome, I must take them downstairs,Ó she said.  ÒA cock like yours just might cum in handy.Ó  Her pronunciation left no doubt as to her intentions.  He walked forward, hands batting at his organ, wishing to rub himself but fearing now to do so, afraid of losing a greater pleasure.  He stopped before Sylvia, let her touch him between his legs where his scrotum hung down.  ÒWe could use the cream in your balls at least,Ó Sylvia said.  She squeezed him.  He flinched.  ÒTo ease the pain in sore bottoms.Ó  She inspected him for signs of veneral disease.  On the spot, right there, in the middle of the ballroom.  ÒYou must wear a condom,Ó she concluded.
	ÒI donÕt have any diseases!Ó the boy/man answered.
	ÒI know, I just checked,Ó Sylvia replied.  ÒAnd your checkup at the doctor confirmed it, no doubt, before you were invited here.  Still, I will need you to wear a condom.  Not for medical purposes, but to make you last longer.  You will not be allowed to fuck these girls for your own pleasure.  You are being asked to pleasure them.  If you wear a condom, you will feel less sensations when you fuck them.  Therefore, your penis will remain stiffer longer.  It is as simple as that.Ó  She drew out a condom from her clothes and rolled it onto him, right there, in the grand party room, as he stood watching her like a little boy.
	ÒAck!  I donÕt like this!Ó he said at last.  ÒIt feels like its strangling my dick!Ó
	ÒIt is the extra large size, sir,Ó Sylvia replied demurely.  ÒI donÕt make them, you know.  HavenÕt you ever worn a condom before?Ó
	ÒNo,Ó he replied, matter-of-factly.  He was barely out of his teens, and had not grown into adult precautions yet, though you would not have known it from the size of his cock, it was so big.
	ÒWell, now is the time to learn,Ó Sylvia replied.  ÒNow donÕt play with yourself!Ó  She slapped his bottom, loving how his haunches contorted briefly under her blow.  ÒYes!  You will not be without a little training yourself, young man.  I will spank you well to teach you not to frig yourself!Ó  
	ÒAh, God!Ó He said, a sudden burst of pleasure seizing him.  He grabbed his cock as soon as her hand had left his behind and rubbed himself anew, up and down the long shaft.
	ÒI said no!Ó Sylvia cried, angry now.  She gave him more slaps as he continued to grippingly massage his male organ.
	ÒPlease!Ó The maid and I both cried at him suddenly, pleadingly.  He saw the plaintive look in our eyes, the desperation.  We wanted him so badly.  He desisted.  He dropped his hand.  He stood before us, his cock nervously twitching.  His chest heaved.  Our breasts rose and fell with our breath.  Sylvia sensed her power slipping away.  She yanked our tethers suddenly, angrily.  We tripped forward, almost falling.  Suddenly the boy/man was at our backs, following, a dog in heat.  We were the rabbits again, our bottoms encouraging his pursuit.  Sylvia had taken her power back.  Compliantly we followed her.  We came to a door.  She unlocked it.  A cool wind burst forth from below as she creaked it open.  Cobwebs hung in a corner of the doorÕs entrance, though whether they were real or fake I could not tell.  We were drawn down cellar stairs.  Our nipples poked more stiffly in the chilly air.  The boy/man followed, his cock erect, properly sheathed now, waving like a flagpost.
	My feet came upon carpeting.  It was dark below.  Sylvia groped, found a lightswitch, even as the boy behind us passed his hands lovingly over our bottoms.  In the sudden light he desisted.  The sight before us was awesome.  Machines, obviously designed for torture, stood before us.  There were many of them, as if a Nautilus designer had created a second line-up, for private use only.  They filled the basement.  It was a dungeon, I realized.  Marla!  How could you?  I wanted to run, to hide.  There was nowhere to go, save into the mass of machines.  The boy behind us had unthinkingly closed the door above.  IÕd heard it lock, thought nothing of it at the moment, assuming we were being led downstairs to a den, a bedroom.  We would shoot pool in the nude and make love on the couch while watching GilliganÕs Island.
	ÒDo not be alarmed.  They are all for sexual purposes,Ó Sylvia said, seeing our shocked eyes.  Even the boy was shocked.  ÒGenital torture,Ó she added, as if to ease our thoughts.  ÒYou know, the cock, the pussy, the anus, the breasts.  They cannot harm you, unless you want them to.  If you want your nipples pierced or your ass branded or a ring put through your cock, that can of course be done, but I donÕt like such things.  Nipple rings, perhaps, nothing else.  Come, letÕs play!Ó  With a frankness I couldnÕt help admiring, she dropped our leashes and began removing her clothes.  Her body held us entranced as she shed her garments.  She had full, womanly breasts, bigger than most womenÕs, the kind men dream of using for pillows in their sleep.  Her shoulders were as slim as her wasp-like waist, from which perfect hips flared out, to meet finally with leggy legÕs, modelÕs legs, which she bared for us as easily as if she were about to go swimming.  Yet there was no water here, only torture devices.  
	ÒGet out of your things, Melissa!Ó Sylvia said with scolding words to the maid.  She advanced on her, naked now, a Vampire with white skin, smooth skin.  She rent open the maidÕs costume and yanked it off her.  Quietly the maid stepped out of her ruined clothes.  She could certainly not pass the dress code at any hotel now!  (Save, perhaps, for private parties!)
	Amist my wicked thoughts I found myself suddenly with three other people, nude as myself.  It was wondrous, awesome.  We stood about for a moment, admiring each other, extremely curious, infants at a party of new moms.  At last I walked forward into the dungeon, the others following, my leash still attached and dangling down between my legs.
	My bottom rolling as I walked, I let the cool air of the dungeon wash over my skin, raise my nipples even higher.  I felt perky, alive.  I knew I might at any moment be bound, tied, straight-jacketed.  Or perhaps I would assist in putting someone else into restraints.  I relished my freedom, moving my wrists, feeling the tread of my ankles.  I touched a dangling cuff on an upright rape rack, wondering at whose wrist had been bound here last.  How many girls had been trussed into the wicked straps of the rack?  My fingertip traced the curving wooden bulge in the center of the rackÕs wooden X.  I could easily guess the purpose of the bulge.  It was to elevate the hips, to present the pussy to the master, or the penis to a marauding mistress.  
	Sylvia came up behind me.  ÒWhat do you think?Ó she asked.
	ÒItÕs scary,Ó I breathed.  IÕd only been fucked once, by a boyfriend whoÕd not been too loving.  HeÕd expressed his Òin and outÓ urge on me, gullible me, a naive schoolgirl in the seventh grade.  It had been Òhit and run,Ó and IÕd run after that, until now.  Now I felt ready.  Sylvia could sense it.  She slipped her fingertip into my bottom.  Right into the furrow, not stopping, not exploring, just thrusting it right in there.  I jammed my cheeks together, a moment too late, trapping her instead of keeping her out.
	I turned my face to her.  We gazed at each other a moment.  Suddenly I broke into laughter.  It was so silly!  She laughed back.  My bottom cheeks eased.  She sought lower, found my tiny hole.  ÒYou are like a little rabbit,Ó she told me.  ÒYou will be fun to train.Ó  
	ÒAt least I donÕt need any training,Ó our newly acquired boyfriend announced.  ÒI am a fucking professional.Ó
	ÒYoung man, do you think you know all there is about the female form?Ó Sylvia asked him.  Her voice was amused.  His face took on an uncertain look.  
	ÒWell, IÕve fucked a lot of girls,Ó he said.
	ÒWomen?Ó She asked.  She was on to something.  I admired how she handled him so expertly.  He made me tremble, he was so handsome, but she managed him as if he were but some boy on a playground.
	ÒWell, not too many women,Ó the boy admitted.  A boy with a manÕs chest, a manÕs height, and a manÕs cock.  
	ÒThen you know nothing,Ó Sylvia said dismissively.  She turned back to me.  The boy/man looked downcast.  Slyvia sent a ripple of pleasure through me as she lightly touched my stomach, ran her hand over it.  I felt like she would impregnate me, magically, perhaps with her finger dipping into my bellybutton.  Her other hand kept a finger pressed to my rose.
	ÒRelax,Ó she whispered to me.  I stood bareskinned, the boy/man and Melissa watching mutely.  I was the star attraction in a play of my own making.  ÒYour heinie is so tense,Ó she breathed.  ÒRelax.Ó  Gradually I let my cheeks loosen their hold on her finger.  Suddenly the pressure became a stiff poke and she was up me, her finger inside to the first knuckle.
	ÒAckck!Ó I cried out unhappily.  She had tricked me!  Had I wanted her to?  I did not know.  I was as confused as the man/boy with his condom encased cock, bragging of exploits he might have only had in his dreams.
	Sylvia bent low, bit my earlobe.  ÒDo you wish to be fucked?Ó she asked.  
	ÒNo!Ó I replied.  I was honest.  For once I was honest.  I wanted her finger out of my bottom.  I wanted to run home to mommie.
	The boy, inspired, circled around in front of me.  His hard cock, latex-sheathed, aimed at my cunt.  He grasped me by my shoulders, turned me enough so that I could offer my privates to him.  I gazed down, his cock came throbbingly close, a missile aiming at my tight little silo doors.  The head knocked.  His knees were bent.  He pushed my shoulders back.  My breasts bobbed upwards toward him, pointy-tipped.  He pressed his chest to my clinging breasts.  His chest hairs tickled my teats.  I wished I could offer him milk, but instead he was the one delivering milk today.  My legs splayed open.  I could not help myself.  It was my posture, bent back, Sylvia probing me from behind.  I felt intensely vulnerable.  A stranger was greeting my pussy with his cock and I was unprotected.  A girl with open thighs and no panties is not in a safe situation.    
	A stab.  Right into my tight puss.  The boy, still nameless to me, impelled his shaft within my most secret place.  Melissa, watching, squealed.  She clapped her hands to her face.  A pre-school girl watching an impromptu lesson of birds and bees.  Up me he went, suddenly.  There were no introductions.  No flowers, not even the offer of a date.  I felt his presence drive deeper, higher, right up toward my womb.  I tried to clamp down upon him but it was no use.  In back my bottom tightened.  Sylvia, her finger trapped, slapped my still sore cheeks.  The stinging made me relent.  Briefly, but enough for her to achieve a higher purchase.  Deeper she went up my nether route even as the man at my front made his rude acquaintance with me.
	I was lost.  Somewhere amidst MelissaÕs incessant squealing, I gave way.  Terribly tight IÕm sure to those who would have me, but internally I relaxed.  In my emotions I relaxed.  I wanted the nameless stranger now, sweeping me back, off my feet.  And, strangely, I wanted Sylvia too.  Somewhere within me her fingertip massaged Steve through a membrane.  That was his name, I learned later, afterward, as we sat sipping tea, contemplating further games.  Steve, the cock boy, a cocky boy indeed, fucking me without properly introducing himself.  But he had made all the introductions which mattered now.  He thrust himself up to my womb, and I wanted him there.  I began pumping him, clamping down for pleasure, not to reject him.  With my tailor-made route I pumped him, much preferable, IÕm sure, to the hand heÕd used before.  ÔFuckingÕ all his many wonderful girlfriends who never quite managed to separate themselves from the pages of Penthouse.  Two-dimensional always, until IÕd come along.  Ah, yes, and the women upstairs, women he didnÕt even remember now, when Sylvia had asked him.  They were just women whoÕd walked into his life at a necessary moment, stripped off his pants and milked him.  HeÕd done them without thinking, a lusty boy, forgetting them now as the real dream of his life opened before his eyes:  me.  Someone his age, or close enough.  Someone who reminded him of the girls whoÕd said ÔnoÕ at school, just to tease him.
	At least I imagined him thus.  As he fucked me with ever more skillfull strokes I began to question my fantasy of his near-virginity.  Perhaps he needed that condom after all.  Perhaps heÕd run through the cheerleaders at his school like a knife goes through butter, sampling every new crop of honeypots each year as they matriculated into the ninth grade.  Young girls, wide-eyed, eager to meet the football champ, surprised into disbelief when he actually asked them out.  He paid, of course.  Until the eveningÕs end.  Then they simply gave him their panties in return, and the hymen waiting beneath.  An even exchange.  Perhaps heÕd collected them like some men collect butterflies.  I did not know, I did not care.  He was in me now and I was near-virgin.  He rutted within me expertly, holding his come, or too stiff to even think yet of shooting it out.  IÕd heard of men like that, so stiff, so tight they couldnÕt come.  He seemed to me to be that way.  It wasnÕt control, just hardened youth, as one might say.  I breathed upon his sloping shoulder, his arms gripping my waist, seizing me there.
	ÒFucke me,Ó I said, lisping, sighing.  I moved my hips as best I could in time to him.  Sylvia helped, tickling his shaft through the slim membrane that separated my two routes.  Suddenly Steve grunted.  Her tickling had got to him.  I felt his cock flex.  It seemed to expand within me.  I was full, fuller, would he split me?  And then a rushing.  I regretted the condom then.  I wanted my womb flooded, but there were just spasms.  I rushed to meet him.  We danced, standing upright, me bent back a little, our loins joined.  Melissa cried ever louder.  She would call the lifeguard and he would rescue us from our drowning bliss.
	I lay on a soft towel later, smiling, feeling quite open below.  I sipped mint tea.  My eyes were knowing.  A smile was on my lips.  There was no sperm around my cunt, like the first time IÕd been fucked, but no blood either, no wrecked detritus of the goddess hymen.  Just me, open and quite moist, my bottomhole feeling as voilated as my puss.
	Melissa lay on a towel of her own.  We were elevated above the floor, on benches.  Chains hung above us, unused, perhaps to be played with later.  Nun-like, Melissa lay on her tummy, her ass jutting up in girlish vibrancy, but her face one of denial.  She had her arms beneath her face.  She was pouting.  SheÕd asked us to take her back upstairs but weÕd ignored her.  She was being difficult.  Her bottom was very white.  Perhaps she wanted it spanked.  
	Sylvia reclined in a chair nearby.  It leaned back, lounge-like, letting her rest.  Like a babe in arms, albeit a very big baby, Steve rested on her lap.  He lay with his back pillowed on her breasts.  His hairy legs lay open, his cock and balls showed themselves to us.  There was a male frankness about him that made my skin tingle in my most intimate places.
	Coaxingly, Sylvia played with SteveÕs genitals.  He was soft now, his balls empty, lax.  She touched him like some errant school marm, playing naughty after-school games with a favorite pupil.  Suddenly he responded.  Not a muscle on his body moved, save his cock, which rose quite unexpectedly to a state of partial erectness.
	Melissa drew in her breath.  Her hands slipped out from under her face and she eased them down alongside her thighs.  If she didnÕt know what she was thinking, I did.  I let my thighs open more widely, offering my secret charms to Steve again if he would have me.
	ÒOh, my,Ó Sylvia teased Steve.  ÒI thought you were a girl for a while there, but I see youÕve got something that makes that quite impossible.Ó
	ÒYeah, and it will be jammed in your mouth if you donÕt shut up,Ó Steve replied.
	ÒMmmm, I am hungry for a nice hotdog, especially the extra long kind,Ó Sylvia replied.  They were challenging each other, parlaying.  He no longer wore a condom.  His cock was fully visible, growing more erect every second.  I traced the pulsing veins along his shaft with my eyes.
	Suddenly we heard a creaking sound.  Melissa looked up, scared.  She did not take her hands away from her thighs but she lifted her chin.  A rabbit, a fawn.  The hunter was coming.  I turned, rose on my side, then eased myself onto my belly.  At least I could hide my breasts, my pussy, from prying eyes.  My bottom, though, was helpless.  I would look foolish putting my hands over it.  I would tempt them to spank me.  I did not think to rise up and wrap the towel around me.  We were erotic, we wanted friends, we did not care who they were.  Or did we?  My emotions rushed through me.  I was sensual, I was Eve.  
	Downstairs came a heavy tread.  It was a man.  Then two.  Then a third.  Across the room they came, fully dressed, in stylish casual work clothes, not formalwear.  They had not been at the earlier party, had not see me jump out of my cake.  Melissa had not served them as maid.
	Eddie Bauer catalog-hunks, studmuffins, they approached.  Arriving at us they looked down, at me, Melissa, as if regarding poached game.  They looked at Steve and laughed at his cock.  It was stiff, exposed.  Sylvia had placed her hands on the insides of his thighs and was deliberately holding his thighs apart.  She smiled at the men.  They smiled at her, as if they were former lovers, all.
	A man reached down, grabbed SteveÕs cock, roughly, uncaring.  He was a policeman and Steve the strip-searched prisoner.  No drugs here, sir, in this little pee hole, at least I hope not!  WeÕll have to see, son, this will hurt you more than it does me ha! ha!
	A slap on my bottom.  Hard, making my heinie tingle, blush with new redness.  Not from modesty but from the hardness of the slap.  His calloused palm engulfed my ass completely as it came down, or so it felt.  MelissaÕs little ass is whacked too, making her scream.  We are truly frightened now.  I am no longer debating running home in the back of my mind.  It is front and center as I am pulled up from the softness of my towel, losing my protection.  My breasts, my pussy, are examined with covetous eyes.
	ÒThey will do.Ó  That is all that is said.  Nothing more, nothing complimentary, not even ÒWhat a great ass!Ó  Just Òthey will do,Ó as if we are furniture.  I long for southern gentility, for white gloved Citadel men who know how to woo a lady (or claim they do).  I long for lusty men and boy/men who know how to compliment a girl on her bare white ass, icing covered.  But instead Òthey will doÓ is my only compliment.  Hard, emotionless.  I try to savor it and find myself excited by its remoteness.  Is this some new game?  An accident?  They push us forward, all bare and wriggly, stumbling on our heels, still wearing our collars.  I think they are going to rape us here but they shove us on toward the stairs.  Soon we are mounting them, step by step, hastily, fearing to fall as they urge us higher.
	We are hustled through the living room.  It is like it formerly was, before the party.  There is no sign of the events which so lately transpired here.  The chandelier is hanging even once more, undisturbed.  There are soft candles glowing in the corners, to ward off the settling in of dusk.  A soft fire crackles in one corner, crackles to itself, no one listening.  The guests are gone.  The walls have no stray icing on them, no thrown pineapple-cream pies.  The carpeting is immaculate, sedate.  There is no sign of the burst cake which contained me inside it.
	Outside.  Fresh air.  The sounds of early evening, nightfall.  And the sound of an engine.  There is a van waiting.  We are pushed toward it.  A metal door along its side slides back.  I glance over at the rising of my home beyond the trees.  They sway in the breeze, pine trees, my home stands mute.  My borrowed home for my unforgettable summer in Italy.  Except someone else wants me now, is offering their home to me.  To me, not my parents.  But the price seems very steep.  
	The step up to the van is too high for me.  I lift my leg, my bottom is cupped, pushed, calloused hands burnishing my bare soft skin.  Melissa squeaks as she is thrust in behind me, her arms flailing.  I go quietly.  I know I cannot escape.  The men are too huge, too determined.  Steve next, his cock bobbing, stiff beyond belief, despite his obvious fright.  
	ÒWhat are you--fags?!Ó Steve protests.  The men give his ass a hard slap.  His balls bounce from the blow.
	Sylvia stands outside.  Nakedly she presses herself to one of the men.  With brazen lust she grinds her pelvis into his.  He in his work clothes, she fresh from a Playboy centerfold, nude and ready for action.  Together they stand as one, their hips doing most of the work as they share kisses.  Finally they part.  Sylvia turns to me, blows me a kiss, smiles.
	ÒWhere?Ó I want to ask.  And ÒWhyÓ too.  But I am upset, angry, gulpingly fearful.  The van door slams shut.  The noise of it hurts my ears.  I put my hand to them, momentarily, then realize how naked I am, how utterly bare and exposed.  We are sitting on seats.  They are plastic, yet seem clean, newly scrubbed, as if just for us.  I wiggle my tushy on it.  I speculate about climbing through the window but the van moves, stops, one man aboard already, the other two joining him.  They slam shut the front passenger door, one man sits down, the other kneels behind his seat, glances at us.
	ÒHey, man--what the fuck?!Ó Our naked Tarzan rises to defend us.  His cock risen, he means to lift himself up, to take on the kneeling man, to slay him.
	ÒShut up, kid!Ó the man replies.  He brandishes a Bowie knife.  It is big.  Our Tarzan draws back, warily.  He does not know how to get past a knife.  We are trapped.  His dick is showing in all its glory and he has no loin cloth to protect it.  He does not want to meet the fate of John Wayne.  He doesnÕt want his cock bobbed.  To be cut short at such a young age, it would be tragic.  I press against him, urge him to wait.  Courgageously Melissa grasps his penis, holds it protectively in her small hands, though it sticks well out, beyond her grasp.
	ÒGo down,Ó I say, touching my Tarzan.  I tickle the underside of his cock helpfully, hoping to make him spurt and shrink.
	ÒNo,Ó he says, absently, pushing my fingers away.  He does not understand.
	ÒIÕll help you,Ó I reply.  Despite my overwhelming fright, my greatest fear is that he will challenge them.  I cannot let him get cut.  He must be small, withdrawn, at rest.  Urgently I frig him.  He plucks at my fingers, tries to snap them up with his own.  Helpfully, Melissa yanks on his shaft.  Back and forth she yanks.  Two females with a mission:  make Steve spurt.
	ÒDonÕt jack off in the back of my van!Ó the driver yells at us.  We shrink back.  We desist.  Gradually we draw apart.  We sit quietly.  We are curious in our nudity.  My eyes trace the points of MelissaÕs nipples.  Hers run up and down SteveÕs cock, fascinated.  We are skinnydippers.  We want a pool to splash in.  We dream of a bed for the three of us.  King size, with Steve our king between us.  Even now he sits between us, though we are too scared to touch one another.  
	Time passes.  We feel more relaxed.  The van travels along a road, past intersections.  After a bit Melissa and I begin looking about, craning our necks as we go down the highway.  We gaze out at the bright lights of an unknown city.  We sense that we are coveted, that the men in the van are delivery boys only.  They have not raped us, have not touched us, save to show us where to walk, where to go.  If we obey we will be safe.  Somehow I know this.  I feel like a songbird, caught in a cage.  Cossetted, pampered, property, indeed, but very special property.  Glancing about like schoolgirls on a schoolbus we go down the highway, naked, feeling the glow of the streetlights as they wash over us.  Our bodies tanned, healthy.  	Topless bathing is allowed in Italy, eyes glance but do not pry.  Our breasts are admired, there are a few titters, nothing more.  I want to cry ÔhelpÕ to them but the vanÕs windows are shut, locked.  The man with the knife watches us constantly.  I gaze out at the people.  They do not know our pussies are bare.  They do not know that our bottoms press to the plastic seats of the van, nothing between us, not even Calvins.  Aimlessly my hand passes now and then over SteveÕs organ, possessively, but lightly, even while I look outside I feel the urge to touch him.  It is not passionate, just light, a light touch, caring.  Melissa does the same.  His penis is our property even as we are property of the men in the van.
	At last we come to our destination.  It is a large house.  It looms before us.  The moon rises over its gables.  It is ancient, forbidding.  Shadows enshroud its entrance.  The van pulls close, halts.  Suddenly figures dart out from the shadows, four-legged.  Snarling beasts, dobermans, black at the night, attack our van.  They leap up.  I shrink back, amazed.  For once I am glad the windows cannot be opened. 
	The men get out of the van, all but the man with the knife.  They exit through the passenger-side door only, leaving the driverÕs side door closed.  The side of the van is opened, baring us to whatever lay outside.  The man with the knife motions for us to get up.  I comply, drawing Melissa with me.  Steve follows.  Holding hands, Melissa and I step out.  Our pumps touch down on a walk.  It is futura-stone, cobbled, uneven.  I step most carefully so as not to fall in my high, teetering heels.  I hold Melissa to keep her from falling.  Strong, athletic, naked but for his black formal shoes, Steve steps out, his feet clattering on the walk behind us.  I breathe a sigh of relief that he made it past the knife-weilding man without losing his balls.  
	The walkway is fenced on both sides.  I had fancied running, but there is no escape.  Nor would one want to run, for the dobermans lurch at the fence, outside it on both sides, frustrated, barking and snarling.  One of the men yells at them to shut-up.  They poke their snouts at us, seething, desperate.  Slowly we walk up the walkway, our bottoms jiggling fearfully, our tits mounds of quivering jello, butterflies in our tummies.  Melissa and I, sisters almost, holding each other.  Before us waits a dark entryway.  There is no one there.  We approach, it engulfs us.
	A huge anteroom opens before us.  It is panelled in expensive hardwood.  The mood is dark, sedate.  As if the room is waiting for something, someone.  Steve enters behind us.  His cock is as rigid as ever, a twin of our nipples.  In our fear we are excited.  None of us has ever been teased like this before.  I pray we are only being teased.  By Marla, perhaps, a grand joke.  I tremble.  Men had not even noticed me until this year.  Before I was ignored, just a girl, a slim slip of a female with little to show for up front, a bottom too narrow in back.  Suddenly I was blossoming, full-grown almost, and Melissa beside me was curve for curve my competitor in almost every way.  Steve too, I sensed, had not been lusted after like this before.  I felt some elaborate grand design was being played out in honor of our bodies; their youth, their beauty.
	Naked like gods and goddesses we advanced into the center of the room.  Our beauty was our protection.  Nobody would harm such lovely young bodies, I assured myself.  Was it me?  How could I have such thoughts?  I was but 16, buxom for my age, suddenly quite a body when in a bikini, and now I was without!  Melissa, I guessed, a year younger, her tits high and firm, newly sprouted.  And Steve behind us, always Steve, our protector, with his big thing for fucking, for prodding us forward.
	The men entered behind us.  They stayed in a half-circle around us, following by a step or two, the knife always present, other weapons perhaps hidden in their clothes.  They said nothing.  Only if we disobeyed did they speak, otherwise they were mute.  
	A figure.  On the stairs, swifly descending.  I had not noticed it until it was almost down, a tossing of head, golden locks, a woman.  She approached us softly, quietly.  From the gloom of the anteroom she took shape before us.  She was a bit taller than me, slim, willowy, with a pronounced bust.  Her breasts were high, like MelanieÕs, as if just newly grown from her chest; or like mine, thrusting forth with all the vigor of female youth.  She had hair down to her waist and wore a plain, simple white blouse.  The way her breasts shook I knew she wore no bra underneath.  Around her waist was a skirt, dark, flowing down to her knees.  She was thin, with softly curving hips sloping out from a wasp-thin waistline.
	ÒGood evening, girls,Ó the woman introduced herself.  She seemed not to mind that we were naked.  Almost as if she expected it, would have been upset if weÕd arrived with clothing on.  I saw that a thin rawhide rope was knotted around her throat.  It held her swan-like neck as if she were but a pet, the rope slim, inexpensive.  A trinket rope you might buy at an Indian store.  It had twin laces from the knot at her throat that descended down into her blouse.  They were braided, though the part encircling her neck was plain.  I stared at it, fascinated.  She returned my unspoken admiration by glancing at the dogÕs collar which bound my throat.  I sensed she was a prisoner like us, though of a higher rank.  She had a slim collar, easily cut off.  She was trusted, her collar more a mark of subservience, though she might still be pulled about by its dangling laces.  We were padlocked into our collars.  We were new, untried.  We had much to learn and do before we could wear a collar like hers.  These thoughts rushed through my mind, unbidden, unwanted, but I was naked and surrounded by men.  
	ÒHi!Ó our blonde hostess said.  Their was a blush in her face, suddenly, unexpectedly.  Her shoulders drooped a moment and then she straightened up, as if remembering some past transgression.  She fidgeted with her skirt, pulled at it.  ÒIÕm Alison.Ó  There was a significant lisp in her voice.  As she opened her lips to pronounce the ÒAÓ in her name a small silver chain tumbled out of her mouth.  It dangled there a moment, hanging down below her chin, and I stared at it.  We all stared at it.  Finally, admitting to herself the obvious, Alison opened her mouth once more, silently.  She stuck out her tongue.  There was a large, slim ring through her tongue, stuck right through about halfway back.  The chain dangled from it, waiting to be pulled.  With slim fingers Alison replaced the chain, tried to hold it in her mouth as she spoke again:  ÒIÕve been pierced,Ó she explained.  ÒI talk less that way.Ó  Her voice had a soft, Swedish accent.  I shuddered that someone would want to shut up someone with such a lovely, feminine voice.  ÒCome upstairs,Ó she said simply.  She turned.  The men herded us after her.  She mounted the stairs, flouncing, her movements conscious, affected.  We walked behind, unsteady in our teetering heels, our bottoms teasing our male captors, provoking them with shivering displays of frightened female flesh.  I felt like jello all over, and I knew Melissa did too.  We walked with our hands crossed over our tummies, our palms flat against the smooth skin.  We were guarding our wombs from interlopers.  We would not bear children of anyone here.  We would resist, fight.  Yet in our nudity we knew we had little chance of anything save what our hidden master wished for us.
	There was a room.  It was just down the hall, and Alison led us to it.  I sensed from the moment I reached the top step that there was something sinister about the room.  Perhaps it was the marks I spied, along the door frame.  I saw them from the top steps.  The hallway here was more brightly lit and I spotted them at once.  There were scratch marks across the door frame, as if some girl had been dragged inside, her fingernails cutting into the wood as they struggled to get her past the open door.  
	Perhaps she had some prior acquaintence with them.  She knew what doom awaited her.  But the house was old.  The scratch marks were old.  Briefly I placed a finger in them as I passed.  Perhaps an animal had made them, a doberman going to be neutered.  We entered the room.  The door was open.  We entered freely, but once inside I saw there were cages waiting there.  They were of slim iron, too small to do anything but sit in.  There were three cages, three separate ones, each with a clean blue towel on the floor.  We were brought forward to them before we could think, before we could protest.  I saw that the towels had been fastened by rings onto the floor of the cage, locked in place, so that they could not be lifted by one trapped inside.  They were for sitting on only, nothing more.
	Melanie squeaked as the first cage was opened and she was pushed inside.  Alison opened the door, the men bent her down roughly and forced her into her cage.  They clanged the barred door shut on her.  She scampered about to face them.
	ÒEat,Ó Alison said, pointing.  Her chain fell from her mouth again and she delicately replaced it.  She jabbed a finger at a bowl of strawberries set in a corner of the cell.  There was a dipping bowl of fresh cream beside it, liquid cream.  A plate of brown bread was also there, with a clump of butter atop it, newly scooped from a vat of the stuff, farmyard butter, the very best.  And next to the bread was a bottle of wine.  I did not know vintages but it looked very expensive.  ÒEat.  You must keep up your strength,Ó Alison murmured.  She let her chain fall out and then caught and held it as she spoke.
	ÒAnd as for you two...Ó her voice was bright, cheery.  She spoke to us as if we were guests at a party.  ÒYou have been naughty and I need to wash you both up before I can lock you up.Ó  I had a little trouble understanding her, though I got the gist of it.  Her words were mauled by the ring through her tongue.  She smiled again, but Steve was fed up.
	ÒWhat the fuck is going on here?Ó he asked.  His voice was bold, demanding.  Alison simply reached forward and took hold of his big cock.  She held it as one might hold the neck of a dog, to still it.  
	ÒShhhhhh!Ó Alison lisped, quietly.  Steve, like some trained animal, let his anger abate.  Alison let go of him, stood and regarded him a moment.  ÒIÕll catch hell for this,Ó she said finally, Òbut you deserve it.Ó  Watching him, she began to unbutton her blouse.  We were both so startled that we just stared at her until she was finished.  With casual abandon she removed her blouse and, turning, tossed it back past MelissaÕs cage.  Melissa crouched in her cage watching, a kitten trapped in a cage at the dog pound.
	Her blouse gone, Alison next reached behind herself and unzipped her skirt with a sexy wiggle.  Then she let it drop to her ankles and stepped out of it.  What remained was a leather corset, without cups, her boobs wobbling freely above it.  It cinched her waist tight and was tied in back.  Sheer black silk stockings rose up her legs and were caught fast by garter straps hanging down from her corset.  She bent a moment, adjusted the straps, to make sure her stockings were perfect.  I saw she wore panties also, delicate silk ones, opaque.  They were too small to entirely cover her bush.  Wisps of fine golden hair curled out the top of the vee of silk that did its best, given its tiny size, to keep her modest.
	Alison turned briefly, showed Steve her bottom.  It was full, round, looking like a big wobbly moon, her indrawn waist accentuating its beauty.  It stuck up pertly at us with the candor of a girl come for her first strapping, unknowing, unblushing, not realizing what would be required of her.  I felt like that girl, gazing, a hand to my throat.  A strip of fabric ran up between the halves of AlisonÕs heinie, there was no other covering.  Thong panties, made for serious partying, especially when worn with a corset, I thought.  All the fantasies whispered to me in girlÕs gym came pouring into my head.  Alison stroked her lovely hinds briefly and asked Steve what he thought.
	ÒLuscious,Ó Steve breathed.  Having gotten what she wished from him, Alison promptly turned around.  The sight in front was no less breathtaking, her nipples stiff, each pierced by a small ring.  She opened her legs for us and, pulling back her delicate panties, showed us a ring through her labia.  She was a schoolgirl at show and tell, we were her pupils.  ÒIt hurt like the dickens, but master insisted,Ó she explained.  We watched with trembling loins.  My pussy felt tight, excessively moist.  SteveÕs cock had a jewel of pre-cum poised on his pee slit.  It dropped off suddenly, leaving a sticky drool as it plummeted to the floor.  We were excited.  We wanted to party with her.  But the men were at our backs, restless.  And there was another, I knew, somewhere, perhaps secretly watching us right now.
	ÒDonÕt worry, you donÕt have to get pierced if you donÕt want to,Ó Alison reassured me.  She reached out at the same time and took hold of the crown of SteveÕs cock.  ÒAs for you, IÕd like to see a ring right through here,Ó she said, indicating the bit of flesh hanging beneath his cockhead, right behind the flange.
	ÒNo way!Ó Steve shouted.  Alison laughed.  She led us over to a faucet in the wall.  There was a bucket there, with a sponge floating in it.  She picked up the sponge and bathed SteveÕs member with it.  She was washing off the semen left behind by his joust with me in the dungeon.  He flinched.  The water was cold.  It did not dampen the lust of his organ, though.  He remained stiff, painfully so, and had to bite his lip to avoid coming in her hands.  
	ÒThatÕs a good boy,Ó she cooed.  ÒMustnÕt come, master would be upset.  He admires a fine young cock as much as I do!Ó  Steve trembled as she spoke.  She was only encouraging him, and she knew it.  At last she placed a kiss on his cockhead, right on the slit, leaving a smudge of red lipstick behind.
	I was next.  I let her bathe me between my legs.  It felt good, though fretfully cold.  I felt nice and clean when she was done.  We were led to our cages.  We walked easily, not knowing how to escape, proud in our nudity.  Steve, mesmerized by AlisonÕs intense femininity, offered no complaint as the door to his cage was opened.  She patted his bottom.  It was small, studly, twin muffins of white flesh served up without any Speedos to hide them.  Steve bent, inspected the interior of his cage with his eyes, his hands on the doorway posts, uncertain.
	And then he went in.  I do not know why.  With his cock bobbing and his balls incredibly tight, he went in with his back bent, his ass showing itself off to us all.  He could not stand up.  He circled once inside the cage and sat down.  ÒIÕm hungry,Ó he announced, and began at once to devour the brown buttered bread that waited for him as it waited for all of us.  His cock trembled between his hairy thighs.  I sensed he was on the brink of coming.  He had taken leave of his senses.  He was in a luxury of pronging maleness, only capable of thinking anymore of his dick, his testicals.  He was churning inside, desperate for relief, and unsure what to do.  With the men present he could do little.  In the end he opted to play Tarzan in Italy, captured and caged for some mistress, Alison perhaps, or someone else.  I wished a loin cloth on him but none appeared.  Alison closed his cage door and firmly locked it.  She rattled the door once to make sure it was locked.  There was a smug smile on her lips.
	And then it was my turn.  I had little choice.  They opened the door for me; I bent, knowing that my bottom, silk smooth, protruding behind me, offered its cheeks to them, enticingly, sinfully.  My breasts dangled, wobbled, I entered and plopped down on my heinie.  The towel felt soft and comforting beneath me.  They shut my door.  They left us.  
	We sat in silence.  We said nothing to one another.  After a bit Melissa began eating her strawberries.  She dripped cream on her bosoms.  I wanted to lick it.  Steve, pretending to be casual, lay back in his cell.  He had to draw his knees up to lie down.  He let his knees fall open after a bit.  His groin-end was toward me.  I gazed at his cock, standing erect like a corn stalk, full-formed and tall under the Indian summer sun.  Lights in our cells kept us from enjoying any privacy.  They were set in the ceiling of each cell and bathed each of us in bright neon.  My privates were not my own.
	Alison reappeared.  Her face was lightly bruised.  She had just finished crying.  Her breasts jostled atop her corset.  Wiping her eyes, she passed a small pair of panties to me through the bars of my cell.  ÒPut them on, master is coming,Ó she urged.  
	ÒWho?Ó I asked.  I was deathly afraid.  I could not control the trembling of my hands.  
	Alison went to Steve.  She handed him little Speedo underpants.  ÒPut them on,Ó she instructed.  He was similarly awestruck.  She turned, offering Melissa nothing, and left again.  On her bottom I saw fresh marks, birch marks, with telltale weals and spots of red where the buds had bitten into her.  All this I knew from my bad friends in girlÕs P.E., with their wicked downloads from the internet.  
	AlisonÕs bruises scared me.  They were not major, IÕd been bruised playing softball, but that had been accidental.  These were not.  Someone had slapped her, or worse.  And the weals on her bottom, they were intentional too.  Not disastrous weals, not weals that had cut her flesh, but they were marks all the same, and she had suffered for them, I saw.  All in the last half hour.
	The panties Alison had given me could not simply be pulled on.  They had drawstrings, which needed to be tied.  My fingers trembled so badly I could barely get the panties slipped up around me, let alone the drawstrings tied.  At last, somehow, I managed to tie them off.  My efforts seemed almost useless.  The panties were but a thong in back.  In front they barely covered my mount.  I looked across at Steve.  He seemed wary now, afraid.  His underpants barely fit him, his balls tightly encased within them while his cock, unbearably stiff and fully erect, jutted out the top of the pants.  There was no chance it could be covered.  He could jerk himself off, but Alison, or master, would find his spilt semen in his cage.  I knew myself that option was unthinkable.  If they treated Alison as roughly as they did, we were finished completely if we disobeyed.
	They had punished her for stripping for us, I guessed.  I dreaded the appearance of master.  He had done it, I knew, not the men whoÕd brought us.  Suddenly I flinched.  There was utter stillness in the room as a sound of footsteps came to our ears.  Two footsteps, plus a cane.  A new man.  It could only be the one we hadnÕt met yet, deliberate, evil.  Two steps, plus a cane.  Slowly, unhurriedly.  In our nudity we waited like scared rabbits.
	The door was open.  He had no need to open it.  He just walked right in, the master of the house.  I blanched.  My whole body froze.  He was huge, immeasurable.  I was instantly revolted by him.  And I knew at once there could be nothing, absolutely nothing but complete obedience to his wishes.
	He spotted me at once.  He grinned, but it was a crooked, wicked grin, an opening of the gash of a mouth that scarred the front of his face.  He was ruddy, with a slash, from a knife perhaps, running down past his right eye and on to his chin.  Somehow, miraculously, his eye had survived the cut, unless it was glass.  I could not tell from this distance.  He had long, unkempt hair, pirate hair, that straggled down over his thunderously broad shoulders, a far cry from SteveÕs military-clean crew cut.  His clothes hung from him, elegant but depraved, as if NordstromÕs had dressed Satan.  He was too ogre-like, too vulgar looking and fireplug shaped, for the look of a Dracula.  Instead he looked like some troll, up from the waters, tall but so broad in the shoulders that you could easily miss his height, think him shorter than he was.  He advanced on me, leaning on his ivory tipped cane as he walked, a belt looped in his free hand.  I sat trembling, scared out of my wits.  There was enormous, rippling power in his every step.  I saw that one blow alone could have caused the harm IÕd seen on AlisonÕs face.  One slap from him would have sent her reeling.  Yet sheÕd disobeyed, willfully.  And heÕd stung her bottom with a birch too, though I saw from his strength that sheÕd gotten off easy.  I wanted to run.  I vowed to claw him the minute he opened my cell door.
	And then he was at the door, peering in at me.  I thanked myself for the bars which kept him from me.  But did he have the key?  I turned my head to Melissa, anything to escape his evil stare!  She was caught by him, mesmerized, her fingers holding a strawberry in mid-air, a bite from it, forgotten.  There was cream round her mouth and sprinkled on her teats.  She looked like a child at school, suddenly frozen in time as she played, caught by the flash of a flashbulb.  Forever captured for daddyÕs scrapbook.
	A sound of unlocking.  I glanced back at my master.  He had the key!  I shrunk within my cage.  He reached in, groping.  I wanted to bite his arm but didnÕt dare.  And then I was plucked from my cage, wriggling, naked, an eel caught up from the pond by a lurking fisherman.
	ÒI-I thought you wanted the youngest first,Ó Alison said.  SheÕd slunk into the room behind him, careful, afraid.
	ÒI changed my mind,Ó master replied simply.  He pushed me ahead of him.  
	I was a chattel, nothing more.  An object, property, valued only for the waggling of my heinie which was most delectable in the eyes of my host.  
	ÒAh, a perfect bottom,Ó he enthused.  He watched with eager eyes as I walked, gracefully as I could, toward a trestle that Alison was shoving into the center of the room.  SheÕd dragged it out from a closet as master opened my cage.  It was heavy.  She had to exert herself as she pushed it with both hands.  Her hair fell easily about her shoulders, luxuriant as ever, tumbled on down past her breasts, swinging as they swung, as she pushed the trestle.
	ÒHelp her,Ó master ordered me.  I turned to him, my bottom bare, save for the slender wisp of fabric that ran up between my cheeks.  I was made for work, wasnÕt I, all naked and stripped down, raw and bare and ready for labor.  Ready to go into labor, to swing my breasts and flex my tummy, to stretch my thighs.  I assented.  Trembling, knowing how much it would cost me, I hurried over to Alison.  Together we pushed the big trestle out to the center of the room.  Master stripped off his clothes.  There was no courtship, no offer, no acceptance of love.  He simply ripped his clothes from his body, not tearing them, but careless all the same, shedding them quickly, as if to wait would be to deny himself, and he did not need to deny himself here in his own castle (or anywhere, I guessed).  Alison and I gulped as we watched him.  We stood by the trestle, not knowing where to go.  He could catch us however quickly we ran, I knew.  His guards lurked by the door.  Turning my head I saw them.  Their flies were open now, now that master himself was free of clothes.  They rubbed themselves with lewd abandon, their members presented for whatever offerings master might let them sample.
	I was surrounded by cocks.  From the men at the door to master, to Steve, caged and waiting in his cell, I could go nowhere without running smack into the impaling desire of a manÕs penis.  I treasured my panties more than ever.  My fingers ran along the drawstrings and touched the bows that held them up.  I did not want to lose them.  Even if it meant being whipped (as master surely intended!), I did not want to separate myself from my last shred of feminine protection.  My panties covered my pussy, and someone would have to get this fake hymen, this last shred of dignity, off me before they could fuck me.
	ÒI am Lord Algonquin,Ó master said.  As if names mattered.  I feared I would never escape his evil grasp.  Bare, stripped for action, he let his strap dangle menacingly down his thigh.  I stared at him, thinking myself gazing at Zeus.  He was Indian, I realized, with French blood intermixed, giving him incredible natural power mixed with the worst of French depravity.  ÒWhat is your name?Ó he asked me.
	I said nothing.  For a long moment I stood there, my eyes fixed on his cock, not realizing he had addressed me.  Alison bumped me.  Her hip against mine.  
	ÒJ-Jennifer,Ó I spluttered.  I was quite eager to answer, over-eager, once I realized heÕd asked.  I did not want to suffer any punishment.
	ÒLower your panties, Jennifer.Ó
	The words went off like some gong of Death in my head.  I could not believe he had asked me that.  I could not believe, yet what else WOULD he ask?  There was nothing else he would ask.
	Master nodded at Alison.  She was under the same injunction.  She began lowering her panties.  I followed her example, fearfully, wishing somehow I could disobey.  Yet to disobey would be to keep my panties on.  Together we lowered our undies down our long thighs, revealing our bush together, sliding our panties down to our knees, then beyond, down over our slim calves to our ankles.
	ÒVery good.  Hang them on the ends of the trestle,Ó master ordered us.  With shivering fingers I stepped out of my panties and lifted them up in the air.  I took a moment to straighten them, then looped a leghole over the trestle.  There was a small jutting post at either end of the trestle and my panties went over one, while Alison walked to the other side and hooked her panties there.  Two pairs of panties now adorned the trestle at either end.  In the middle was a smooth bar of wood.
	ÒGet the cushion.  YouÕll need it,Ó master told Alison.  She returned to the closet.  She walked saucily, letting her hips sway with a prounounced sexiness, as if she enjoyed the prospect of a belting on her bottom.  I saw that her weals were not as severe as IÕd thought, and were fading already.  She wanted more.  She needed more.  
	ÒAgh!Ó  A cry from SteveÕs cage.  He was against the bars, facing us, his cock thrust through them with awful desperation.  His balls, protruding between his powerful thighs, were too full to get through the bars.  He jammed his testicles between two of the iron posts, as if trying to shove them out of his cage, away from himself.  His underpants, which he was supposed to be wearing, were shoved down to his knees.  There they were stretched between both legs, looking to be ripped apart any minute by his athletic legs.  ÒThereÕs something...something in the food!Ó Steve gushed.  His eyes were bulging.  He rammed his cock out between the ironwork of his cage, trying desperately to fuck the air.
	ÒOooooooooh!Ó A long wail from Melissa.  I turned to her cage, saw her thrust her fingers down between her legs.  She began furiously rubbing her pussy.
	ÒNO!  Do not touch yourself!Ó MasterÕs voice boomed like a foghorn acorss the room.  Startled, suddenly aware again that she was with others, Melissa froze.  She let wet fingers slide slowly up her tummy, away from her puss.  I saw she was eager beyond belief for a thorough fucking, though moments before she was simply ensconsed in her cage, eating, watching us, wondering.  Wet trails of delicious honey gleamed their way up her belly, the evidence of her sudden onslaught of female yearning.  ÒGood,Ó master said to her.  He seemed pleased by her instant obedience.  ÒYour arousal is for my pleasure only.Ó  He let the words hang on the air a moment.  He was in complete control.  We were but his slaves, his subjects, sex slaves on a sex farm, milked for his pleasure, then perhaps auctioned away to other masters.  I had heard the tales, read about them in the paper.  Of sex rings, of men, perhaps women, who kidnapped youngsters, young females, and sold them one to another.  Behind me Alison tied down a black cushion to the trestle.  She used soft black ropes to tie it down, one at either end of the cushion.  I saw the ropes went through rings on the cushion to secure it.  Little rings, made of silver, innocuous.  Alison laced on the cushion, then stepped back and admired her handiwork.
	ÒNow bend over it,Ó master told her.  He nodded at me.  ÒYou too.Ó  Alsion took my hand.  I turned to her.  She was biting her lip.  Then she let herself relax and urged me over the trestle with her.  We presented our bottoms to Lord Algonquin, trembling, our hind flesh shaking with our fear.  
	ÒTry to relax,Ó Alsion said to me.  Over the trestle, my head bumping hers, our heads closer to the floor than our bottoms, I saw that she was consoling herself as much as anything.  Amidst the tangle of hair, our long locks, mine as blonde as her own, she spoke again.  ÒSpread yourself.Ó  I did not know what she meant at first.  Then I felt her leg cross over mine.  She was opening her legs, spreading her stance!  
	ÒLegs apart!Ó I heard master order crisply.  With difficulty I altered my stance, not wanting to move at all.  I opened my legs to him, sought purchase farther out, my thighs wide, my cunt peeping out and feeling the coolness of the roomÕs air upon it.  In back of us he throbbed, he watched, his member stiffly presented.
	ÒGrasp the lower bar,Ó Alison told me.  ÒYou will make friends with it.  It will be your only remnant of sanity.  Hang on tight and donÕt let go.Ó  Her words were more than just advice.  They were a sensual flow over my senses.  With my small hands I found a bar close to the feet of the trestle and grabbed it.  I was feeling the effects of the poisoned, love-potioned food now.  My womb rippled against the cushion.  My cunt offered, a fig cupping itself between my legs, ripe and tight, my legs open to show it off to best advantage.  My bottom reared high.  I was a colt in a stable, unbroken.  Master would ride me.  
	A bustle of footsteps.  A sound of unlocking.  Soft feet, padding, clicking, small feet.  
	ÒMelissa!Ó I breathed.  She crouched before me and, in answer, roped one of my hands to the bar.  A guard had let her out.  He stood behind her, watching, making sure she tight me tightly.  She fumbled with the knot but got it right.  I tested my bonds after sheÕd secured my second hand.  There was no escape.  I was put over.  I could not stand.  Knocking over the trestle was out of the question, it was too heavy.  Alison was tied next.  As Melissa tied her she turned to me and kissed me.
	ÒReady?Ó she asked.  She sounded excited, as if sheÕd yearned for this all her life.
	ÒNo,Ó I answered honestly.
	ÒAh, he will rip you apart with the whip and then shove himself up your ass,Ó she whispered to me.
	ÒHe has a belt,Ó I observed, trying to keep my senses as this beautiful, abused woman beside me actually desired the punishment we were about to receive.
	ÒThe guards can bring him anything he wants,Ó she answered.  ÒIt is how I got my cunt pierced.  I bent over for a strapping and he gave it to me good.  Then a woman suggested he pierce me, so he could feel the cold steel of his ownership whenever he rodded me, my ring against his cock.  They did me then and there, she and him, in front of a whole banquet of people.  I sobbed and cried and begged, but they did me just like that, not caring.  Afterwards he took me to Tahiti and pampered me all weekend.  Then it was back to business on Monday, as a secretary in his office at work.  Nobody knew I had been claimed by him, ringed through my puss and made his forever.  Whenever I went to the bathroom that day, sitting down, lifting my skirt, I could see him there, his cold steel ring, right through me, making me his.Ó  Her words were like a drug upon me, making me shift in behind.  Melissa had tied down my ankles as she spoke and I found myself now with only my bottom to move, and that barely at all, but I flexed my cheeks and savored the coolness of the air upon them.  My little rosehole, never violated, gulped at air with its tiny mouth.  I remembered the bride, impaled in her bridal bedroom.  My mouth sought AlisonÕs and our tongues dueled, twisted.  Our lips merged.  We fucked each other suddenly, right there, our tongues stabbing into our offered mouths.  We had no cocks, only tongues, but we used them on each otherÕs mouths as if we were rapacious males.  
	Master saw our flexing, our happy contortions of our hineys, and knew we were ready.
	SWAAAAK!  The belt came against me first, a swift blow, unsparing.  I cried out, surprised, my mouth breaking from AlisonÕs.  
	ÒOuuuuch!Ó Alison cried lustily as I did, the belt striking her next.  Right on our bottoms we were struck, lashed, lashed again.  Master whipped us with manly skill, his cock throbbing lewdly, his balls hanging down.  I spied his manhood from my view underneath the trestle, bent over, it was as large as he was, utterly imposing, utterly convincing.
	SWAAAAK!  The belt was relentless.  My bottom moved under it.  My hips churned.  I turned my head to find the nasty Nymph whoÕd tied me.  I spied Melissa, crouched by SteveÕs cage, swishing a feather temptingly near his out-thrust cock.  Poor Steve, he had gotten no relief.  He was at his bars as before, stabbing air, vainly hoping to make contact with MelissaÕs sweeping feather.  Now and then she shivered it along his shaft, or poked his peehole, but mostly she avoided him, playing on his lust and driving him insane.  All this I saw in just a few seconds, guessing the rest, my head turned toward them as I hooted under the flailing belt.
	At last, my bottom heaving, burning, the belting abated.  Master had given us many strokes, all on our clenching, squeezing hineys, nowhere else.  Our legs spread as majestically as ever, white and pure, our backs bent with the sleekness of twin female statues, our breasts hung like ripe fruit just inches from the floor.  Tears ran down my cheeks, AlisonÕs.  We cried like little girls at school, forgetting our homework, paying for it with punished bottoms.  
	Master advanced.  Like a school principal he advanced, his cock preceeding him by two city blocks.  It jabbed me as he came up behind me.  His calloused hands took hold of my small, pert bottom, opened it.  My cheeks spread like halves of a split melon.  He yanked me apart, thrust at my hole.  Melissa, called from her duties with Steve, squirted baby oil on his thing.  Then she cupped his balls and urged him into me.  
	I felt a huge impending force at my anus.  ÒNo!  Not there!Ó I cried.  
	ÒYes,Ó Alison answered.  ÒIt is how everyone greets Lord Algonquin.  Even Steve will have to be buggered.Ó  I guessed Melissa hadnÕt heard, for she seemed to delight in my impalement.  I heard her giggle as she tried to stuff masterÕs huge thing into my tiny, fragile hole.  
	ÒNo!  Please!  I canÕt!Ó I yelled.  I was in dead earnest now.  I could not bear the pressure in my rectum.  Already his peehole was within me, the rest of his cockhead surging forward.
	ÒGive me your tongue,Ó Alison urged.  ÒIt will make it easier.  Fuck me with your mouth as he fucks your ass.Ó
	ÒOh, please....Ó I wailed.  And then he popped me open.  Quite simply, my anus yielded.  I must have relaxed, for I felt no pain.  Perhaps it was the food heÕd given us.  The strawberries, or something in the cream.  I felt an enormous presence in my bottom.  Within me more he urged now, and I sought Alison with my tongue.  She opened for me and I stuck my tongue into her mouth even as Lord Algonquin rodded me from behind.
	I was shafted.  I was full.  He was within me and moving deeper every second.  My womb yearned but it was my gut that received him.  Right up me he went, splitting me, forcing himself into my virgin recesses.  And then, at last, he eased down, but did not remove himself.  Then up again he went, more boldly this time.  I coughed and spluttered into AlisonÕs mouth, forgetting my tongue.  She stuck hers into my mouth instead and began fucking my mouth with it now as her boyfriend/master did me from the rear.
	A tickling at my cunny.  A childÕs finger, the nail barely grown out, unpainted.  Melissa!  Like some preschooler she quested within my cunt lips, found my button, rubbed.
	ÒDonÕt, Melissa!Ó I shouted.  I was too full, I did not need to tighten, to clamp down with lust, flexing my bottom upon his big thing.  I needed to relax, to be open, nothing more.  I wanted to get this over with and be gone from here.  She would wed me to him, make me come upon him, squeeze him and hold him fast with my nether cheeks.  ÒMelissa!Ó I cried again.
	ÒDo not fight it.  He wants to come,Ó Alison said between stabbing breaths, raping me with her tongue.  I sucked on her tongue to keep her from speaking.  In back I felt my ass tighten around him.  Gleefully he took advantage of me and shafted himself within my tightness.  I cried harder, letting my tears really come now, uncaring.  I was hurting in my tenderest places and people were raping me!  They did not care about me, they only cared for their own pleasure.  I was just a thing to them, to be used, tossed away.  Alison raped my mouth and master my hole, Melissa teased my cunt as if she owned it, as if it were her own.
	A frightful thrust.  Deep, all-penetrating.  I bucked, trying to throw him off.  And then it was in me!  A sperm enema, shooting into my bowels, the only type of enema a female should ever submit to.  Alison was my gynecologist, one woman helping another, or was it Melissa?  And master was but the giver of the enemas, a horse, a stallion, brought from the paddock to give me what I needed.

***
	ÒDo not play with yourself, Melissa,Ó Master said quietly.  We sat with tear-stained faces in a large mahogony dining room.  Our bare bottoms rested uncomfortably on cushions of fine woven satin.  My wetness between my legs, upon my asshole, would surely stain my cushion, I knew.  But master seemed not to mind.  Nor did the owner of the club in whose care we were now placed, and who would surely bill master for the re-upholstery of the chair.  
	We were in Club Dare, a private club, for swingers only, and only couples at that, though the combination, the age, and the sex didnÕt matter.  A women, Alison whispered, had once managed to get in with her dachshund.  We sat in its main dining room, in complete privacy, save for the inquiring glances of other diners.  MasterÕs limo had brought us.  WeÕd been wrapped in fur for the journey, then undressed before being seated.  All around us sat others, mostly well dressed, for the night was still young.  WeÕd been at our partying early.
	I glanced at the clock.  It was a big grandfatherÕs clock, with a pendulum, that sat nestled in a shadowed corner, ticking away our lives.  It looked like it dated from the eighteenth century, it was so old, with little nicks in it here and there along its well-polished wood.
	ÒA clock Napoleon once owned,Ó master said, following my gaze.  ÒMelissa, can you tell time yet?Ó
	ÒOf course!Ó Melissa answered.  She was sulky.  She had not been rodded as I had been.  Nor had Alison.  They were restless.  We all squirmed for one reason or another, Steve, dressed like master in a tuxedo, though a less expensive one; myself and Alison and Melissa as naked as babes, our breasts rubbing the tablecloth whenever we bent down to suck up an especially large knot of spaghetti.
	ÒWhat time is it?Ó Master asked Melissa.
	ÒMidnight, stupid,Ó Melissa replied.  He frowned at her.  She stuck out her tongue at him.  
	ÒDo you like your spaghetti?Ó Master asked her.  
	ÒNo,Ó Melissa replied, but sucked lustily upon a string of the pasta all the same, twirling her fork as she lifted it high above her face.  I watched as her breasts jostled pleasantly on her chest.
	We were in public, quite naked, and yet obedient.  Even Melissa remained obedient, despite her displeasure at being left out of my fun.  I did not know if she even knew what she wished for, whether she was virgin or not, but clearly she wanted to pretend she desired a cock.  She slurped in her string of spaghetti and licked her lips, eyed Steve, master.  ÒHow come we are the only ones who have to be naked?Ó Melissa asked.  Her voice was high-pitched, childlike.
	ÒBecause you are the loved,Ó Alison answered, her head bowed slightly, eating quietly.
	The other diners watched us with dancing eyes.  We were an inspiration to them.  We had gone where they had yet to go, tonight.  We blazed a path so that they might follow.  I felt their eyes upon me.  I knew they would not help me if I tried to escape.  Master had discreetly chained us each to the other by our right wrists.  HeÕd put a bracelet round mine, AlisonÕs MelissaÕs right wrist, than run a chain through it, small, fine-linked, but strong.  Passersby on the sidewalk barely noticed, if it all, as weÕd entered Club Dare.  Inside, stripped of our coats, our subservience was more obvious.  We would all have to go the potty together, when the time came.  That would be an even greater spectacle, the three of us walking to the womenÕs bathroom, chained together, inseperable even when performing our toilet.
	The waitress came.  She was veiled in silk for modesty, her face half-hidden, though I saw her smiling within.  She was naked beneath her headress, anonymous, an encouragement to all to partake of whatever liberties they wished.  Master pinched her bottom when she refilled his glass.  She jerked, nearly spilling some wine upon the tablecloth.
	ÒYou are lucky,Ó Master told her.  ÒThe wine is expensive.Ó
	ÒYes, sir,Ó she answered, taken aback by his forwardness but still performing precisely, the very best of stewards.  She replaced the wine in its ice bucket.  As she turned I saw others had pinched her hinie, there were red marks upon it.  I wondered after her.  Was she a college girl, doing this at night for the money?  Certainly it must pay very well, for she had no stockings to put loose bills into.  She must be paid at the end of the evening, I guessed, by the manager.  Perhaps a word or two added a tip to the bill, allowed the patron to charge his satisfaction with her to Visa, or American Express.  Or perhaps she was just like us, a prisoner, kidnapped.  I vowed to get a word with her if chance provided.  Perhaps she would help me escape.  But I would have to take Melissa with me.  I felt responsible for her.
	ÒI want dessert!Ó Melissa pouted.  She was dueling with master again.
	ÒGet under the table, Melissa,Ó Alison said.  The girl looked quizically at her.  Alison was wholly in the power of master.  She might not stop us from escaping, but she wouldnÕt help us.  She needed our bottoms to give master other targets for his belt.
	ÒThere isnÕt any desert under the table!Ó Melissa protested.  She was falling more and more into their grasp with every passing hour, I saw.  She was an unfucked virgin, or one who acted like it, and she was bent on getting a penis up her.  Then she would flee home and report her paramour to mommy, to the police, just for the joy of seeing her lover squirm.  Master kicked her shin and she let out a feeble Òouch!Ó
	ÒUnder the table,Ó master ordered her.  I saw MelissaÕs eyes light up, and knew what idea had struck her.  Under the table she could frig herself.  Eagerly she slipped from her chair.
	ÒThere are two honeypots and two long-stemmed straws of cream under the table, Melissa,Ó Alison told her fast-disappearing form.  ÒI expect you to eat all of them, since you had no desire at all for your peas.Ó
	ÒI hate peas,Ó Melissa answered.  Her voice muffled as she slipped to her knees under the tablecloth.  I felt soft hands and small fingers come to my knees.  They were opened.  Hot breath wafted against my thigh.
	ÒMelissa!Ó I cried.  I was trying to plan our escape.  DidnÕt she know that?  What was she doing pleasuring me?  ÒAck!Ó  Her tongue upon me.  She should distract the others, not me!  And then I heard it:  soft moaning.  Melissa was masturbating her little clit even as she put her tongue to mine.  I squirmed in my chair.  The touch of the silk hurt my bottom as I shifted upon it.  But my quim felt delicious.  Too delicious.
	ÒAhhhh!  Ahhhh!Ó  I moaned aloud.  The other patrons turned, watched me with glee.  Melissa moaned below the tablecloth, touching herself and crying out as she made me do the same.
	Our waitress brough dessert.  Cream-filled cake for all of us.  I could not eat.  My face was uplifted, my mouth open, my breath hot and loving.  ÒAhhhhh!Ó I cried the female cry of pleasure.  Alison, leaning over toward me, cut a piece of my cake for me and lifted it to my lips.  I bit into it.  She forced in the entire piece.  The waitress, having served the others, returned to me and helped me part my lips to receive another piece of the cake.
	I heard zippers unzipping at other tables, at our own.  Quietly men throughout the restaurant began to frig themselves, alone or with the help of their girlfriend.  Waitresses, quick to respond, veiled as our own was, passed out condoms to receive the menÕs sperm.
	ÒYou must put it on, sir, if youÕre going to take your cock out,Ó I heard one waitress say to the man in her care.
	ÒBut I donÕt need it,Ó he replied.  ÒIÕm only going to fuck my wife, and not now, later, at home.Ó
	ÒYes, but you might spill on our carpet and stain it,Ó the waitress replied.  My manager doesnÕt mind paying for the the occasional seat, if you wish to sit bare assed, but he doesnÕt want to lay down a whole new carpet, or charge you for it, either.Ó
	My own master, Lord Algonquin, seemed similarly constrained by financial necessity.  He accepted a condom from a second waitress, our first being playfully engaged with me.
	ÒDastardly thing, isnÕt it?Ó Lord Algonquin said to our impromptu waitress.  ÒTakes all the fun out of it, its so clean, so thorough, so clinical.Ó
	ÒWould you like me to help you fit into it, sir?Ó the waitress asked helpfully.  
	ÒYes,Ó Lord Algonquin replied.  ÒKneel down and do it with your teeth, if I must have one on.Ó
	ÒYou must, sir, house rules,Ó the waitress replied.  ÒYou can strip naked if you wish, but you must always have a condom over your cock when it is exposed.Ó 
	With rude efficiency the waitress turned Lord Algonquin in his chair, so that he faced her.  Our chairs had no arms.  The backs were open so that our bottoms could be seen.  Like a nurse, the waitress undid masterÕs trousers, wresting his cock completely from his underpants, forcing him to sit bare assed upon the chair.  ÒThatÕs good,Ó she cooed, obviously impressed with his cock and how it stood up like a fine young pine tree.  He may have been old, at least twice my age, but his cock stood out as strong and potent as a yule log in a loverÕs fireplace at Christmas.  The waitress fitted Lord Algnonquin with an extra-large condom.  She had to stretch it to get it over him.  She licked his thing first, to make it more wet and receptive.  Then she started the condom with her teeth, but soon gave up and found she had to switch to her fingers.  He was simply too big for cock and tongue games.  The condom had to be pulled, stretched, and finally yanked down his shaft to make it fit.  She kissed his properly sheathed cock when she was done, right on the head.  Then she moved on to Steve.  ÒOh, my, not another gigantic cock!Ó I heard her exclaim as she met SteveÕs member.  I had large lovers.
	Alison fed me more cake, kissing me between mouthfuls.  She whispered sweet blandishments to me.  ÒCome, darling, let her taste your sweet honey,Ó Alison cooed.  The waitress echoed her words.  I cried plaintively, not wanting to spend in front of all these people.  My womb must remain private, not a source of public amusement!
	It was no use.  With cocks everywhere, with the waitress and Alison urging me on, with dear Melissa striving for her own under the table even as she licked me, I orgasmed.  I heard a soft shriek from Melissa between my legs.  She was climaxing too!  We mewled like passionate kittens as our cries rent the air.  We climaxed together.  We rode wave after wave of bliss, her hand busy between her thighs as her tongue flicked my bud.  Unrepentant lesbians, hedonists beyond restraint, we tossed and turned upon a sea of bliss.  At last we glided slowly back to earth, still together, she still licking me from under the table, I still in my chair.
	ÒVery good, Melissa,Ó Lord Algonquin congratulated her.  He lifted the tablecloth and spoke to her.  ÒNow go on to Alison.Ó
	ÒWork!  Work!  Work!Ó Melissa grouched.  She brushed back her hair and crawled over to our mistress.  Alison shifted her bottom forward on her chair and helpfully spread her legs.
	ÒStick it right up, dear!Ó Alison commanded cheerfully.  ÒIÕll make a boy of you yet.Ó  She laughed.  Melissa grunted and parted AlisonÕs pussy lips, sought her bud with her tongue.  The men, watching, flexed their cocks in anticipation.  Poor Steven!  How he would have loved to fuck Alison!  He had yet to release his spermy emissions, despite spending hours in our company.  All around him young females were climaxing while he himself was forced to sit still.  His balls, most uncomforatably full, bulged between his thighs like overripe fruit.  His cock, upstanding, sought to spurt in any direction it could, even into the air.  Thankfully his condom protected us from being showered by his seed, should he lose control.  
	Alison felt MelissaÕs tongue up her and moaned.  ÒYes, but deeper!  You can do it!Ó Alison urged.  She looked lovingly down at little Melissa and put a hand to the girlÕs head, stroking her hair.  ÒThink of yourself as a boy,Ó she encouraged.  ÒGet right up me like he would.  Make me pregnant with your tongue.Ó  I helped Melissa, figeting with AlisonÕs nearest nipple.  With my other arm I circled the waitressÕs waist and began tittleating her clit.  She touched my own wet bud, offering me a second round of pleasure.  The men watched, eager-eyed, the waitress doing me while I did her, Melissa doing Alison.  Soon we were all within the grasp of pleasure again, bleating like lambs, encouraging one another as we strove nakedly to attain our own desire.
	I got up at last from the table.  I felt awkward, unsure.  I brushed my hair back out of my eyes in an attempt to regain my composure.  I licked my lips.  A delicious meal.  Honey bedewed my boldly naked bush.  I brushed it lightly.  It was my little mound of fur, between my long, sleek thighs.  I moved and felt my succulent hole between my legs.  There was nothing, absolutely nothing, between my private place and all the men around me with their business-like tuxes and their penises.  I walked as unselfconsciously as I could.  I had to go to the bathroom.  I could cum in my chair, I knew, but peeing in it would be looked on most unfavorably.  At least I supposed so.  I did not need any more embarassing disclosures of myself this evening.
	I walked past the diners.  From the waist up, most of them looked as respectable as ever.  Some continued to eat, though they had quietly dropped a hand from the table.  Others masturbated more openly.  Their chairs were pushed back, the womanÕs dress hiked up to show her thighs, the manÕs pants at his ankles, or just his fly open, revealing a fine cock within a protective sheath.  The women could spill their honey freely, I saw, but the men had to spurt into a condom.  I realized then the name of the club, Club Dare.  Our table was the Dare Table, where the couple sitting at it would perform sexually for all the other diners.  A kind of private sex show, featuring girl/girl sex while men watched and jacked.  Glancing over my shoulder I saw that Steve and Lord Algonquin still held their seed, waiting, watching, but unable to participate in the shuddering climaxes of my girlfriends.  Melissa, upon the table now instead of under it, was faring no better than before.  The waitress was clasping her wrists as Alison playfully took Lord AlgonquinÕs belt from him.  He gave her ass a slap, then let her pull his belt off.  All the while he pleasantly rubbed his big cock with his hand.  Steve too, no longer shy, was fisting his cock with a greedy hand.  His face looked haggard.  He was desperate to cum, yet still held out the hope that he might be invited to fuck a female.  I wished he would just grab one.  But he could not.  Though he was young and strong, he was no match for Lord Algonquin.  Steve was a sex slave, just as we were, with a penis instead of a pussy.  He would cum when master permitted it, and in the manner master ordered.  Would master punish him if he shot off too soon?  I guessed so, but Steve couldnÕt help himself, watching Melissa.  Alison gave the girl a stinging salute on her bottom with masterÕs belt and she mewled like a kicked kitten.
	I felt the rolling of my hips, my bottom cheeks, thrusting girlishly, invitingly behind me.  My derriere.  My heinie.  Sweet whip marks were fading there now, almost gone.  Would someone want to kiss me there again, a new man with a new belt?
	A redhead watched me pass.  Her hair was dark, cinnamon colored.  Perhaps she was a daughter of Conan, I guessed, from some faroff land with a similar name.  She would capture me and take me away with her.  I watched her rise, her hand at her puss, rubbing herself gently.  She remembered herself and desisted.  She followed me as I crossed the room.  I passed a telephone on a small table, slipped into the ladies room, a door in a shadowed alcove.  All was discreet here, save for what the patrons did.  
	I opened a lavender door, stepped into my choice of stalls.  I turned, considered a moment, chose not to latch the door.  I was wicked.  I knew I was being incredibly naughty and I could not help myself.  All my life IÕd been an innocent schoolgirl, a child, and suddenly IÕd been transformed into a temptress overnight.  I sat down on the potty and put my elbows on my long thighs, let my chin fall onto clasped, upraised hands.
	ÒI pee, therefore I am,Ó I murmured, suddenly disconsolate.
	The redhead slipped into my stall.  Silently, like a cat.  IÕd heard her pumps on the tiled floor but hadnÕt guessed sheÕd be so...so daring?
	ÒI cum, therefore I am, or so a man once told me,Ó the redhead replied.  I looked up.  Pouting, I met her eyes.  The sound of my peeing continued.  
	ÒIÕm a slut,Ó I said to her, frankly.
	ÒWe all are, darling, every woman in the world, except old maids,Ó she replied.  She reached out her hands.  There was understanding in her eyes.  ÒSit up,Ó she said.  A command.  I liked commands, orders.  They relieved me of any responsibility.  She cupped the undersides of my breasts and weighed them.  I felt like a cow, having its udders appraised at a farm show.  ÒYou are so young.  Have you any money?Ó
	I shook my head.  Her breasts were beautiful, like ripe fruit in an orchard, her lissome form the swaying tree that bore them, grew them.  Each year they grew fuller as she grew from sapling to full-fledged woman.  I leaned forward and lightly kissed a nipple, then the other.  I was impulsive.  I wanted someone to care for me, to coax me, to spoil me.  I did not want to go home to my parents and a life of enforced teenage chastity.  
	ÒYou were very enjoyable to watch tonight,Ó she smiled at me.  ÒVery entertaining.Ó  There was a smirk on her lips, a hint of irony.  ÒHow much did your males pay you to perform for them?Ó
	ÒM-My?Ó  There was unknowing in my eyes.  ÒYou mean Lord Algonquin?Ó
	ÒAh--Ó her breath caught in her throat.  ÒThat old bastard.  I must get you away from him.  Has he pierced you yet, anywhere?Ó  Her eyes seemed to plead.  I shook my head Ôno.Õ
	ÒI just met him tonight,Ó I replied.  ÒHe gave me a lovely fur coat.Ó
	ÒHe always wraps his little girls in fur coats,Ó the redhead replied dismissively.  ÒThen he has them unwrap their furry little mounts in public, for all to see.  YouÕll be lucky to get the coat back, I assure you.Ó
	ÒWhat?Ó I asked.  In the distance I could hear Melissa paying for her new fur coat with stinging stripes of leather across her bottom.  ÒWe had thought they were ours to keep.  To take home with us,Ó I said aloud.  My voice pleaded as MelissaÕs did, under the belt, begging to be let up, her bottom hurting, totally ignored by everyone, yet all eyes watching her wriggling ass with great satisfaction.
	ÒStand,Ó the redhead command me.  I still did not know her name.  I raised myself up off the potty, stood as one might for a teacher.  She slid her hand over my bottom, explored my crack, squeezed my cheeks.  In front her other hand checked the tightness of my pouch.  ÒYes, you will do,Ó she told herself.  I was but an object.  There were no talent competitions in this pageant, just the weight of my boobs, the firmness of my buns, the tightness of my lower lips.
	ÒYou are adventurous, but he fed you,Ó she whispered.  A confession from somebody that IÕd been drugged, induced, solicited without my knowledge.  ÒStill, you have spirit.  Would you like to work for me?Ó
	I confess I had no knowledge of what she was asking.  I gazed at her, enjoying her exploring fingers in my bush, wishing I could press mine to hers.  ÒDoing what?Ó I asked.  She laughed.  She kissed me then, her hand still between my thighs.  ÒLet me train you darling, you will do well.  And be well paid, too.  You will not have to hang around with a freeloader like Lord Algonquin.  He had not been in these parts for many years, but I remember his name.  He cheated my mother, when he was young.  Now she is dead by her own hand and I have inherited her whorehouse.  I need girls, though, young girls.Ó  She looked down at her own beautiful form.  ÒWell, I am young too, just nineteen, but you are the forbidden fruit.  Men will like that.  Momma always said to underpromise, and overdeliver.  Hmmm?  What would they think if I invited them in and then introduced them to you?  They would not expect that.  No, they would not.Ó  She answered herself.  As we stood there, belly button to belly button, she seemed introspective.  I am naked in a toilet stall, therefore I am...who?
	ÒRose,Ó she said at last, raising her chin.  She was slightly taller than me.  Her demeanor was regal, though, commanding.  ÒWe shall need your friend too.  The men will trip out when I show them two underage girls.  They will cum twice as hard, asking no questions.  Then we can all sip liquor with them, hummm?  All of us underaged.Ó
	ÒSuch men are perverts,Ó I replied.  I was moody again.  In the distance Melissa was crying.  Her sobs were loud but nobody heard them.  They were mesmerized by her bottom.
	ÒDo you think I can steal two prize females out from under the nose of Lord Algonquin?Ó Rose asked me.  Her eyes were bright.  
	ÒI am naked,Ó I replied.  ÒYou were--Ó
	ÒClothed?Ó she smiled.  ÒMy clothing, I stripped it off just inside the bathroom door.  I planned to make love to you, both of us peeing, but you started before I arrived.Ó
	ÒIÕm sorry,Ó I replied.  I did not know why I apologized, save that she seemed so nice, so caring.  She understood me in ways I could not even imagine.
	ÒBut we can outwit Lord Algonquin.  Let me pee first,Ó Rose said.  How silly it was, the two of us trading places.  I held her hands aloft as she sat on the potty.  She released her pee then, smiling up at me as she did so.  ÒThrust your bush at me,Ó she said.  ÒIt has not been wiped.Ó  She was right.  I thought perhaps she would take toilet paper, but how could she?  I still held both her hands.  I stuck my most private place out at her, my bush uncombed, sweetly naive.  She extended her tongue and wiped me with it.  I felt the wetness of her saliva replacing my last clinging drops of urine.
	When she took away her tongue I was sad.  I had not spent yet.  I wanted to do it right on her squirming, squelchy tongue.  She would dip and find honey within me.
	ÒNot now,Ó Rose smiled.  ÒWe will get to know each other very well, very intimately, I assure you.Ó  She said.  ÒMen like that.Ó  She rose up from the potty and neglected to wipe herself.  Time was of the essence.  She bustled me out of the stall ahead of herself.  Like Amazons we crossed the tiled floor, exited, I unknowing, she firm, resolved.  I saw her hand go to a switch on the wall.  A fire alarm switch.  ÒHit the lights!Ó Rose hissed to me.  I gazed back at her, wonderingly.  She nodded, I followed her gaze.  A light switch was near me, too far for her to reach.  
	Rose yanked on the fire alarm.  At the same time I turned out the lights.

	We ran, bare bottomed, our legs flashing in the night.  We wore little vests to protect us from the cold.  The air was unseasonably chilly.  I clutched my vest tightly, as much from fear as from the cold.  IÕd grabbed the vests as we ran through the kitchen, fleeing from the restaurant.  They were small waitress vests, difficult to button if you had big boobs.  They made your breasts stick up revealingly if you got the thing buttoned up as it should be.  None of us had time for that.  We clutched our vests against the cold, holding them.  Otherwise we were quite naked.
	Rose ran ahead, leading the way.  I followed, my hand clasped firmly in MelissaÕs.  She was crying loudly, her bottom red and sore.
	ÒQuiet!Ó  I hissed.  ÒWeÕre trying to escape!Ó
	ÒOoooh!  It hurts so much!Ó Melissa cried out about her tushy.
	ÒForget your bottom for a moment, please?!Ó I begged her.  We must not be heard as we dashed away, lest Lord Algonquin follow us too easily.
	We reached the end of the parking lot.  Our redheaded leader had not her purse, nor keys to any car.  Boldly she stepped onto the roadway and stuck her thumb out.
	Cars screeched.  There was a sound of crashing metal.  Two vehicles stopped, then three more.  Striding quickly, Rose picked the best car.  A Jaguar.  She tried the side passenger door.  For a moment I stood gulping as it stayed closed.  Then, suddenly, the driver unlocked it and Rose popped it open.  She looked inside, her boobs hanging down, swinging nakedly there alongside the freeway, like traffic lights in a storm.  Her bare heinie stuck up behind her.  It mooned Melissa and I as we stumbled up behind her.
	ÒOkay,Ó I heard Rose say to the driver.  She turned her head to us.  ÒI made a deal.  Get in,Ó she said.  Simple, clear, direct.  I liked her way with the world.  She told it what she wanted and it provided.

Chapter Two

	Rose stood before a mirror, hastily fixing her hair.  She was naked.  Her skin was fresh and white and clean.  There was a small frilly collar around her neck.  It looked like a garter.  I had showered before her.  I was already dressed, in a slinky tube dress.  It barely covered my muff, but Rose said that was okay.  This was, after all, a whorehouse.  It was our opening night.  The first customers were already waiting downstairs.  Melissa had checked them in.  At least we hoped she had.  A freshman in high school wasnÕt exactly the best choice for a madam.  But she was all we had, so she would have to do.  
	I stood admiring RoseÕs sleek, narrow back.  She piled her gorgeous hair atop her head so it could be seen in its entirety.  The men had asked if she had a whipping post on site.  
	I still remembered the call.  WeÕd placed an ad in the paper, and the next day a call had come in.  Melissa, whoÕd refused to be a hooker but wanted to live in the whorehouse, was put in charge of the phone.  The men had been polite, circumspect.  They hadnÕt blanched when we told them our price.  It was very high.  Rose had Melissa take half the money up front, over the phone, by credit card.  WeÕd used it since to buy toys.  Things the men had requested.  Things, presumably, that all men wanted.
	RoseÕs aunt hadnÕt left her as much money as weÕd hoped.  But she had left the bordello.  It had been closed in the last few years, but the tales told about it were legendary.  The house was large, with several bedrooms.  WeÕd since converted each into a special ÒthemeÓ room:  a master bedroom, suitable for a new bride and her groom, a dungeon, for punishing the bride when she proved wilful, a childrenÕs playroom, for when the baby came.  A mattress room, for partiers who wanted to get down to business.  There was a curious ÒplaygroundÓ out back, for big girls who wanted to take a recess from it all, complete with dildo-equipped infant swings.  The swings had been specially made by a local craftsman to accomodate ÒinfantÓ girls with big bottoms.
	ÒWhat should I do?Ó I asked Rose, twirling my a strand of my hair aimlessly with my finger.  
	ÒJust go down, say hello, keep them happy.  IÕll call you when everythingÕs ready,Ó Rose replied.  She took a brush and lightly passed it over her pubis.  I remembered her antics in the Jaguar, ÒblowingÓ the driver all the way to Switzerland, where her auntÕs bordello awaited us.  Melissa and I had sat in back, huddled together on his hand-tooled leather seats.  HeÕd let us out in a snowstorm, naked as weÕd been when we got into his car.  He drooled after our waggling bottoms as we hurried up the steps into the house.  Melissa had turned and blown him a kiss.  It was only fair; heÕd find out later that sheÕd peed on his back seat.  She hadnÕt gotten to use the bathroom at Club Dare, so she made a Jaguar her potty instead.
	I stepped to the window.  I gazed outside.  I bent close and frosted the windowpane with my breath.  ÒItÕs storming outside,Ó I said.
	ÒI know,Ó Rose replied.  The drifts in the yard were as high as the swings on the swingset.  They were old swings, though, wooden ones.  The new ÒinfantÓ playground, our special on-site preschool, was inside a special hothouse.  There were no plants grown there, just a few flowers, some grass.  A baby might grow there if a girl forgot her Pill, as she swung on the swing with the two holes for her legs and a third hole in the middle.  A hole for her groom to shaft through, as she sat as best she could on the stiff prong standing up from the seat, a prong that kept her well open in behind.  I touched my bottom, wondering what it would feel like to swing on such a swing.  IÕd never tried them.  They were brand-new, waiting for us, if we dared.  To be plugged in behind, with my feet, my ankles spread wide, my pussy open, vulnerable, unprotected, a helpful hole cut through the infant swing to let my groom sperm me.  
	ÒGo downstairs,Ó Rose said.  She turned, holding her hair up, a pin between her lips.  I could dally no longer.  Customers were waiting.  My first.
	I opened the door to the parlor.  I stepped inside, sweet in my booties.  I half expected to see Melissa there, her skirt up, her bottom bare, upon a table with a belt taken to her, to make her cry.  But she had simply ushered the men in and left.  I was about to remark to myself how well behaved they were when I saw they all had their cocks out.
	ÒPut those things away, Boys!Ó I cried, surprised.  My hand to my throat I surveyed them all, still dressed impeccably in their tuxedoes, casually munching on canapŽs.
	ÒWe were waiting to get blow jobs,Ó one of the men replied.  He strummed his thing, all big and veiny, with a huge purplish knob at the end.
	ÒMelissa!Ó I breathed.  She had promised them blow jobs, then left, as a prank to surprise me.  I did not know what to do.  They obviously couldnÕt put themselves away, they were too engorged and excited for that.  I would have to do as best I could to keep them happy until the time for their pleasure upstairs arrived.
	With as stately a tread as I could manage I walked past them, arrayed like soldiers on either side of me, lounging in chairs.  I couldnÕt help but admire their tools with my eyes as I passed.  I knew it would come back to haunt me, somehow, admiring them that way.  It would let them know I sympathized.  They would be less obedient if they knew I liked them.  But my eyes wandered over their members all the same, stiff penises.  I felt like I was in some boyÕs urinal.  Except there wasnÕt any toilet.  Just the cocks.
	Pictures of regal ancestors gazed down upon us.  Silent, watching.  There was a china cabinet, kept by RoseÕs aunt.  Rich paneling lined the walls, centuries old.  I walked to the sideboard.  A punchbowl sat atop it, a tray of canapes, half eaten now.  My mouth felt dry.  I felt sensuous.  I bent forward, ignoring the punch bowlÕs ladle.  The men would not mind if I helped myself with my mouth.  I dipped my tongue into the punchbowl, feeling my dress rise up in back, showing my bottom to the cocky men.
	I lapped at the punch.  Like a kitten I lapped, my soft silky hair spilling down over my shoulders.  I had to lift my hand to keep it from falling into the punch.
	ÒGod, what an ass!Ó the men behind me exclaimed.  My panties, sheer and delicate, did little to hide my cheeky white bottom. 
	ÒJust because a girlÕs panties are showing doesnÕt mean you should look at them,Ó I scolded, turning my head, holding my hair up to keep it out of my eyes.  I was elegant, and wicked too, tempting men who could barely hold themselves in.  The carpet would be stained if they lost control.  
	I stood.  I did not bother to fix my dress in back.  It rode across the highest part of my cheeks, leaving all below bare, right down to my booted ankles, save for my teensy white panties.  
	Turning, I re-crossed the room.  The candles were not lit.  I wanted to light them, to kill time if nothing else.  I found matches on a small round table just inside the door.  I walked over to the first man.  I would have to stand close to him to light the ceiling-high candle projecting from the wall above his head.  We did not need such an ancient form of lighting anymore, but it would be more romantic with the candles lit.  I could turn the electric lights down then, to keep them from staring so openly at me.
	I rose up on tiptoe.  I struck a match and reached for the tall candle.  My dress lifted, showing my pussy.  It was covered in fine-spun panties that did nothing to hide it.  There were cobwebs upon the candleÕs tip, hanging down from the ceiling.  Just a strand or two, missed by the maid.  I brushed them away.  Below I felt hot breath upon my cunny.
	ÒSir, please, have some respect for a lady in her parlor,Ó I said, glancing down at him, my hair falling about my face, my eyes bright, my lashes fluttering.  Perhaps because there were so many of them, and just one of me, he drew back.  They were gentlemen, after all, at least for the moment.  I opened my lips and let a drop of spittle fall from them.  It hit his cock square on its tip, mingled with pre-cum there.  He shafted his cock.  He squeezed it.  Cum welled up, liquid only, not the sperm.  Not yet.  He squished his eyes shut as he fought with himself to maintain control.
	I moved to the next man.  I treated him to a candle-lighting ceremony, letting him stare at my most private place, barely concealed.  In back the men on the other side gawked at my round bottom.  
	The third man begged me to let him pull down my panties.  
	ÒIÕd let you,Ó I replied.  ÒBut you could never do it with just your teeth, could you?Ó
	ÒMy teeth?Ó he asked.
	ÒHere, put these on,Ó I replied.  IÕd spotted handcuffs lying on a shelf above his head, forgotten, used years ago and never since.  There was a little key beside the cuffs.  I left the key where it was.  I had no bra underneath my dress to hide it in.  
	I handed the man the handcuffs.  ÒPut your hands behind you and lock yourself into them,Ó I said.  He was very cute.  He stared at me a moment, as if weighing my beauty.  I could see he would only do something stupid like locking himself in handcuffs for a girl he considered extraordinarily beautiful.  For a moment I waited, my breath caught expectantly in my throat.  He leaned forward at last.  He placed his arms behind himself.  He had big, bulging arms, weightlifterÕs arms.  They seemed like they would tear the sleeves of his tux open.  He locked a cuff around one of his wrists.  I leaned forward over his strong back and helped him lock his second wrist into the cuff.
	ÒThere you are, sir,Ó I said to him sweetly.  ÒNow youÕre safe.Ó  No sooner had I stood straight again than he was at my cunny, tearing at my undies with his teeth.  I teetered on the high heels of my booties, unsure, surprised.  He gnawed right at my crotch, an animal in heat.  ÒCareful!Ó I cried.  ÒDonÕt tear my panties!  TheyÕre from France!Ó  He did not care.  They came down with a sudden yank, leaving me bare, bereft.  I felt cool air pass over my cunt as I stood with splayed thighs before him, my ankles wobbly.
	ÒEnough,Ó I said.  I patted his head, hoping to tame him.  I still had to light the candle above him.  I reached up, lit a match.  Below I was aware of his face, unshaven, just inches from my bare, creamy thighs, with my muff between.  He had a ponytail.  I liked it.  I lit the candle, my hands unsteady.  Behind me I heard a man taking off his belt.
	SWAK!  The belt lashed the air.  I jerked.  Visibly I jerked, obviously afraid.  Yet I was supposed to be the mistress, the domme.  The men were to be my sex slaves, not I theirs.  They were paying customers, but I was the shopkeeper.  I lowered my hands from the candle, blew out my match.  My bottom felt deliciously vulnerable, my cheeks squeezing reflexively, my back trembling.  My dress rode high on my ass, leaving all beneath perfectly available to errant belt tips that might demand better service.
	SWAK!  Again.  He was quite handy with that belt, I had to admit.  I could feel it uncoiling directly behind me, falling short by just a few inches.  Perhaps he thought we girls paid the Italian mafia for protection.  But we didnÕt.  It was just us three girls, secluded in the mountains of Switzerland, with a snowstorm raging outside.  In here, the fireplace softly crackling in a corner of the room, all could be naked and free.  Our own sexual parts were evidence of that.  But just beyond the wall even legs would freeze and fall off, even if well wrapped.  
	The belt slashed the air again.  I turned.  I made to pull up my panties.
	ÒDonÕt,Ó the man with the belt commanded me.  ÒI like them that way, because they restrict your ability to walk.  Come here, my candle is not yet lit.Ó
	How could I refuse?  It was I who had chosen to light the candles.  Would I leave him without, show disfavor to him?  With trembling steps I walked toward him, my panties banded around my knees, my feet shuffling.  I glanced at his cock.  I could not help myself.  It was larger than the rest, a bullÕs cock.  He was the bull, I the bullfighter.  I guessed I would lose this battle, somehow.  He would slash by my red handkerchief and stab me with his horn.  
	I arrived before him.  Some impulse made me want to bend down.  Perhaps his horn needed polishing.  All bulls needed their horns polished now and then, didnÕt they?  Saliva was best, I knew, lightly applied with flicks of the tongue.  Instead I stood on tiptoe in my booties and reached for the candle above his head.  I could feel his hot breath just inches from my bared pussy.  The hem of my dress, not quite low enough in front because it was pulled up in back, left my muff bare.  He reached out and boldly caught hold of a curling hair of my pussy.
	ÒSir, please,Ó I begged, trying to keep my voice stern.  I looked down at him.  He looked up at me.  Both his hands reached for my breasts as I reached up, lighting the candle.
	RRRRIP!  He tore open my dress.  He yanked it down off my cleavage.  My boobies fell out.  They quavered nakedly, my nipples unbearably stiff.  He left my like that, my tits exposed, my bush utterly available, my ass wriggling with fright.  He did not completely undress me, just enough to get all my important parts into view.
	ÒLight the other candles,Ó he told me.  Hastily I obeyed, eager to get away from him.  My steps were awkward as I tottered over to the next man on my high-perched boots, my panties ringing my knees and making it impossible for me to walk gracefully.  I was like a child just taking her first steps.
	The next man seemed softer, kinder.  He was young, handsome.  He merely watched me as I straightened my back, lifted my arms, rose up on tiptoe, and lit the candle above his head.  I wanted to name him my Sir Lancelot.  I would service his lance for him if he would keep me away from the awful man with the belt.  I knew none of their names.  Only the name on the credit card, Johannas Jones.  That was all I knew.  It could have been a stolen credit card for all I knew.  Yet, as a result of that card, they were here with me, all six of them, their organs hard, throbbing, out and ready for action, me the only female in the room.  And I was hardly able to turn them away, shaking visibly as I lit the candle, my pussy and ass as poke-able as any Christmas turkey about to be speared on a spit.
	ÒHowÕs it coming?Ó Melissa asked, appearing at the door.
	I turned my head, swiftly, like a teen discovered with her boyfriend, her panties down and his cock out.  ÔMelissa!Õ I wanted to say.  ÔCome and light the other candle.Õ  It would serve her right for telling all the men to get their penises out.  Instead I asked, ÒMay we go upstairs yet?Ó  I wanted Rose to command the men.  I could not do it.  She was the domme, not me.  They would have me up on the sideboard soon, my ass burning, waggling, as they flailed away with their belts.
	Melissa seemed to sense the situation, my helplessness.  Perhaps it was my tingling white ass that gave me away, shivering in the candlelight, the electric light.  She turned a knob on the wall and the electric light diminished.  It was more romantic now.
	ÒUndress,Ó she said to the men.  ÒLeave your belts too.  Then we will go upstairs for some fun.Ó
	Swiftly, perhaps excited by her beauty, the men disrobed.  There was nothing but the practical about it.  They stood, stripped off their shoes, socks, pants.  I felt like I was in a menÕs lockerroom as I watched.  There was no romance, despite the candlelight.  It reminded me of men preparing for a game of basketball.  Strip off the clothes, put on little shorts, play.  Simple and direct.  Except at the end they did not put on little shorts, they left themselves naked.  Their cocks boldly uprearing, the heads pointing directly at me, they stood now, stood around me, looking at me and Melissa.  I was the tart, naked in all the strategic places.  She still wore clothing, a little bra top with a long flowing skirt that began at her waist and dropped to her toes.  Her belly was sexily bare, as was all of her back except for the bra.  The bra matched her dress.  There was a matching collar around her neck.  The material was white, spangled.  Perfect for nightclub dancing.  She turned, her gorgeous hair swirling about her as she turned.  
	ÒCome along, men,Ó she called over her shoulder, crooking her finger at them.  Six bare, hairy men approached, crowded about me.  Like a little creature in a Disney film, left behind by its fellows, I bolted ahead, desperate to catch up with Melissa.  The men, the wolves followed.  
	Melissa led us out into a living room and up a flight of carved, curving hardwood stairs.  They were the kind of stairs a girl of sixteen would wish to come down to engage in her first debutante ball.  Except I was but 15, and going up them, naked, with a load of men behind me.  I wanted to pull my dress back down but didnÕt dare.  The man with the belt still had hands, big hands, even if heÕd left his belt behind.  	I glanced behind me.  With heavy tread the men followed, Vikings on patrol, scouring the shoreline for young females.  I had to reach down, pull up my panties.  It was too difficult for me to mount the stairs.  A hand grabbed, caught at the crotch of my panties as I tried to yank them up.
	ÒTake them off,Ó a male voice growled.  It was the Black Knight, the man with the belt except he had no belt now, just his awful lance.  It poked at me, just inches away, the big nubbing head sweetly anointed with his pre-cum.  ÒYou will not be wanting them on upstairs anyway, will you?Ó he smirked at me.  ÒI did not come here to be a priest, nor you a nun.  Get them off.Ó  I obeyed.  There was only Melissa, she could not help.  She stood, waiting, a finger in her mouth, watching wide-eyed.  I was on my own, at least until we got upstairs.  I stripped off my panties.  I turned and pulled back on one leghole, holding the other level at the Black Knight.  
	SPRANG!  I shot my panties at the Black Knight.  I hit him square in the nose.  He did not flinch, did not mind.  ÒGet up,Ó he said, giving my bottom a push with his hands.  I did not move for a second, savoring the awful feeling of his calloused palms against my soft white bottom.  Then, like an errant schoolgirl late for class, I darted ahead.  Upstairs I went, my feet mounting each step as quick as I could make them, the men following.
	ÒIn here,Ó Melissa said, pointing.  She stood by the door to a bedroom, chastely, as if she herself would not be going inside.  I slipped past her.  The men filed in.  The last, the Black Knight, grabbed Melissa and pulled her into the room with him.  She squealed, protested, he ignored her and pulled down her skirt.
	ÒCome in, men.Ó  A sultry voice, womanly, mature.  It was Rose.  We stood in a room with six big chairs, one for each of the men.  There was a sideboard here, loaded with expensive liquors.  There was no food, just the liquor.  A large daybed waited, railed on three sides with silver railings.  It was bare except for a smooth crisp sheet.  No pillow, no cover.  Beside it stood a table upon which a variety of dildoes were brazenly displayed.  Several towels were stacked on a dresser, as if there were no doubt that things would have to be wiped off.  And then there was Rose herself, elegant, her hair coiled atop her head, pinned up like an Elizabethan Lady, except she was completely, absolutely, ravishingly naked.  Except for one small item.  A tiny bikini panty, made of simple yarn, preserved her modesty.  It strategically covered her pussy with a little v-shaped pouch.  Along her hips it was delicately tied off with twin drawstrings of fine-woven yarn.  But when she turned around I saw that there was no back to the panties, save for a simple thread that ran up through her bottomcheeks.  Her cheeks wobbled as she walked over to the table with the dildoes.  Arrayed amongst them was a bottle of baby oil.  It was brand new.  It would have to be.  There were a lot of shafts in the room that needed oiling.  Melissa reached down to pick up the bottle of baby oil.  She picked it up with a mittened hand, for she wore large mittens on her hands of fuzzy pink fur.  I wondered at the mittens.  They hardly counted as clothing, but they did at least conceal her hands, which perhaps counted for something on a girl who wore nothing else.
	Melissa slipped off one of her mittens and turned to face the men.  With her newly freed hand she opened the pouch of her panties.  I glimpsed her muff inside.  She aimed the bottle of baby oil at it.  
	ÒIÕm ready, are you?Ó Melissa asked the men.  She squirted her pussy, squirting freely, filling the little pouch that did its best to cover her pussy, a difficult task indeed if she was going to yank the thing open.
	The men eyed her greedily.  She was deliciously wanton.  Melissa, her ass bared, her skirt round her knees, stood in the grasp of the Black Knight.  I guessed IÕd never know his real name.  But IÕd know his dick, too well I imagined, before the night was through.
	Rose did not squirt any other area of her body.  Just her softly waiting pussy, sleeping within the little pouch of her panties.  She let the pouch snap shut.  There was a stain on the front of her panties where the oil had seeped through.  ÒPlease sit down, men.  We have some big comfy chairs for you,Ó Rose invited.  They were chairs from ancient times, perhaps from the reign of Louis 14th, newly upholstered, fit for kings.  Several of the men obeyed, sitting down on the chairs with their bare, hairy asses.  Rose walked up to the others and gave each a friendly swat on his bare behind with her mittened hand.  ÒSit!Ó she smiled.  
	ÒWhy do you wear mittens,Ó the Black Knight asked, still standing, holding Melissa.  
	ÒBecause I know I will have to spank each of you many times before the night is through, and I donÕt want to hurt you too much,Ó Rose smiled at him.  She gave him another swat on his bare ass.
	ÒYou could swat me with your bare hand and it wouldnÕt hurt,Ó the Black Knight answered.
	ÒI know, you big, horrible hunk,Ó Rose gushed at him, amused, delighted.  ÒBut sit down anyway.  There are six of you and only three of us.  I obviously canÕt just take you straight to bed as I would like to.Ó
	ÒIÕd make sure the others wouldnÕt mind,Ó the Black Knight answered, still standing.  Melissa figited in his grip.  
	ÒOh, enjoy yourself,Ó Rose urged.  ÒSit down, let me do this my way, okay?Ó
	ÒAlright,Ó the Black Knight relented.  HeÕd speared thousands of girls, I guessed.  He could enjoy a little decadence now and then, a little delay, a little teasing.  He did not have to immediately adjourn to the bedroom this one time.  He plopped his tight buns down into the nearest chair, taking Melissa with him.
	ÒAnd I need her,Ó Rose said, grasping MelissaÕs wrists, pulling her from the Black KnightÕs grasp.  He let the girl go.  He was pliant.  For once in his life he was pliant.  But his shaft remained totally hard.  I wanted to bow before it, to kneel and suck it.  To worship it.  But I knew he would insist that I take it all, and IÕd never done that.  I could not, I was sure.  I would gag, choke, cock-stuffed I would die that way, unable to breathe with his big thing stuffed down my throat.
	ÒTake off your dress, dear,Ó Rose told Melissa.  
	ÒBut--Ó Melissa began.  She wanted to go downstairs and ÔtendÕ the phones, I saw.  
	ÒNo, dear, you must help out,Ó Rose admonished.  ÒWe have six very big men here who need our services.  You cannot just leave Jennifer and I to do all the work.  The men will be drinking.  They will be peeing.  You are going to be the pee girl.  Whenever one of them wants to pee, there is no need, at least here, for him to get up and repair to the bathroom.  ThatÕs your job.  You scurry right over and give him a cup to pee into, then empty the cup when heÕs done, and wash it out, so you can be ready when another man calls you.Ó  She handed Melissa a cup.  It was a big German beer lager, big enough for any manÕs bladder, even the Vikings amongst us.  It was made of glass, wickedly, so you could watch it as it filled with urine.  Rose was slinky, sensous.  She called me over and whispered in my ear.
	ÒI have handcuffs in the drawer there,Ó Rose whispered to me.  ÒTake them out and cuff the men.Ó  I obeyed.  I went to the drawer, opened it.  Sure enough, six steel handcuffs glinted up at me.  I saw no keys.  I picked them up, shut the drawer.
	ÒMen, Jennifer is going to handcuff your hands behind your back, so you wonÕt play with yourselves,Ó Rose said in a voice dripping with honey and guile.
	ÒNot me,Ó the Black Knight replied.
	ÒWhy?  Are you afriad of three little girls?Ó Rose asked him.  She strode over to him.  She ran her mittened hands over the shaft of his penis.  ÒI want your cock,Ó she said to him.  ÒI want it all to myself.  I donÕt even want you playing with it or touching it.Ó  Mesmerized by her words, her touch, the Black Knight let me gently touch his shoulder, push him forward.  I took his big muscled arms in my hands, moved them behind his back.  It took some effort, I moved them with my tongue stuck through my lips.  It was like moving heavy, bulky furniture, moving those arms.  At last I got them behind his back and buckled his wrists securely with the cuffs.  
	Rose and I moved to the next man.  The Black Knight called out to Melissa.  She ran to him, recieved his pee in the big German lager.  He filled it right to the brim.
	Bypassing the man who was already cuffed, we secured all the men.
	ÒNow boys,Ó Rose let the word hang on her tongue, savoring it.  ÒYes, you are boys now, because youÕre cuffed.  Men you were, but boys you are now, peeing freely into MelissaÕs cup I hope.  DonÕt hold anything back for me.Ó  She smiled, enjoying her hold on them, her sensuous maliciousness.  ÒAnd since you requested a drinking party, we have many liquors here for you.  It took a lot of trouble for me to buy them all.  You should have seen me trudging home through the snow, carrying them all.Ó  She conjured up an image of the Little Matchstick Girl.  She laughed.  ÒI expect you to drink them all.  Just ask one of the girls, and she will pour it in your mouth.Ó
	Rose picked up the bottle of baby oil.  She walked over to the Black Knight.  She squirted him, just the cock.  He sat easily, watching, his bare haunches resting on the chairÕs fine upholstery.  Rose went to the man beside him next, sitting on his own throne-like chair, then the third, and on down the line of glorious cocks until they all were properly greased.
	I gazed at the glinting shafts.  Six of them, the flower of manhood.  Rose drew me aside.  ÒUndress,Ó she said in a voice loud enough for me to hear.  ÒTake everything off.  I want you on the daybed with me.  Melissa can pour drinks for the men and receive their pee.Ó
	Unknowing, confused, I took off all my clothes.  At last I stood before Rose bare as a newborn.  Only my booties remained, keeping my feet safe, secure.  Rose squirted my nipples with the baby oil.  I flinched but did not try to block the stream.  Then, to my astonishment, she dropped the bottle to my crotch and squirted me right up my pussy.  I wanted to turn away, to stop her, but she held one of my hands as it darted out, steadied me with her firm grasp on my moist palm.
	ÒNow turn around,Ó Rose said to me.  I turned.  She shot the baby oil right into the crack of my bottom.  Up my crack she went, then down again.  Finally she prised my bottom open with one of her thumbs and shot straight into my anus.  I shivered, jerked, my cheeks trying to squeeze shut.  ÒRelax,Ó Rose said.  A simple word.  I tried to obey.  She nudged my anal hole with the tip of the bottle, inserted it.  I clenched my cheeks.  ÒYouÕre going to take things up here, so you may as well be lubed for it,Ó Rose said matter-of-factly to me.  Of course.  I was a whore now, wasnÕt I?  IsnÕt that precisely what whores did, let men put their things up them, into them, or other things, wielded by whom?  By Rose?  She gave me a squirt up my butthole.  I felt wet inside.  Wet and slick and sticky.  ÒVery good.  Come to bed, dear, it is time for your nap,Ó Rose said.  
	We went to the daybed together.  Rose with her mittened hands, her tiny panties.  Me stark naked, shivering.  My hair ran down my back, hiding some of it.  I wished I had let my hair grow longer.  I could hide in it like Polynesian girls did, dancing topless, with their breasts fetchingly covered by their flicking locks, their long dark hair covering their ample cleavage.  Rose pushed me onto the bed.  I kneed my way onto it, my bottom mooning the men, my cheeks wiggly.  She got onto the bed behind me.  We turned, we faced each other on our knees.  Their was a warmth between us.  And then I saw sheÕd brought a riding crop to bed.  She held it in her hands, her mittens gone.  The baby oil was gone too.  Instead, in her free hand, she held a pacifier.  Its nipple was in the shape of a cock.  She stuck it into my mouth.  I received it submissively.
	ÒTurn around dear,Ó Rose said.  A simple phrase.  I glanced at the riding crop.  In the distance I heard pissing.  Melissa was at her work, obediently receiving the menÕs pee, washing out her cup after each urination.  On my knees, I slowly turned about.
	ÒNot too hard,Ó I whispered to Rose.  The pacifier muddled my speech but it was clear enough to a person with a crop what a bare bottomed girl might be asking for.
	ÒJust enough to make you cry,Ó Rose said in a reassuring voice.  I flinched.  To make me cry?  I did not want to cry, couldnÕt cry.  Sometimes when you want to cry you canÕt, and I knew it would take many flicks of the deep-cutting crop across my bottom to make me cry.
	I turned.  I bent down.  Gritting my teeth, biting the pacifier twixt them, I bent down and let my bottom loft high to Rose.  Anyplace else we would have been two normal girls, but here upon the daybed I knelt with my bottom presented to her.  She knelt behind, admiring my assflesh, my girlish curves, a crop poised in her hand.  Discreet in her panties, she looked upon my heinie.  The men watched with bated breath, their cocks impossibly hard.
	ÒI do hope the sight of a girl being corrected doesnÕt make you spurt into the air,Ó Rose said to the men.  She looked at them slyly.  Tokyo Rose with rapt American soldiers watching, listening.  ÒMelissa?Ó  Rose called to the girl.  She was receiving a manÕs pee.  The man cut off his flow and Melissa put down the half-filled beer lager.  ÒThere is a penis whip in the drawer there,Ó Rose said, pointing to a second drawer beneath the one that had so conveniently hidden the cuffs.  There were more drawers besides that one.  I wondered what the other drawers held.  Nighstands can be delicious things, with sweet treats waiting hidden in the drawers, dildoes arrayed across the table-top.  They looked like missiles waiting to be fired up my bottom.
	ÒYou were naughty, dear, to let your bottom show downstairs,Ó Rose told me as I knelt with my ass in her face, showing off to Teacher in a most unseemly manner.  ÒSee how you have excited the men, wiggling your bottom about, letting them get in such a hot lather downstairs that I had to handcuff them the minute they came up.Ó  She reached, found a mitten by the bedÕs edge and slipped it on.  She swept her fuzzy mittened hand under my ass, feeling the soft undercurve.
	ÒThis is going to hurt you more than it hurts me,Ó Rose assured me.  WHACK!  Down came the crop, right on the underside of my bottom, the most sensitive part of my seat.  My eyes bulged, I screamed between my teeth, my pacifier clenched between them.
	WHACK!  WHACK!  Two more hits, carefully laid to avoid the first bright red line that was already forming across my soft heinie.
	WHIP!  WHIP!  I stared out into the room.  Melissa was going from man to man, whipping each cock with a tiny penis whip, its small thin tail striking the men on their huge pulsing organs.
	ÒDonÕt come!  Bad boy!  I can see youÕre hoping to spurt!Ó Melissa cried.  She flicked the menÕs cocks mercilessly.  Handcuffed, they flinched under the blows, loving any touch to their huge cocks but wishing it was anything but the biting thong of the penis whip.  In her bra she still had the look of a chaste virgin, despite the utter nudity of her belly, her hips, her legs and her pussy thatch.  Her white bottom rolled atop her tall, stately legs.  She was young and short but she had mile-long legs.  The ankles were slim, her feet shod in beautiful glittering heels.
	WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  My titties bounced upon the bed as Rose assailed my ass with the riding crop.  It was the perfect sadistÕs dream, my bottom suffering as the men themselves suffered, each of us sojourning on a journey into the deepest realms of sexual perversion.
	ÒOooh, does it hurt, honey?Ó Rose asked me, stopping a moment, fondling my cunny.  I nodded.  She urged my knees farther apart.  I kept my heels close, my knees I shifted wider.  I was beautiful in my pose and I knew it, despite the awful stinging in my ass.  The men, all six of them, were gazing fixedly at me, ignoring even Melissa who flailed away at their cocks.
	My ass burned.  A tear welled in my eye.  It was not enough to make Rose stop.  I wished to cry and get it over with, but I couldnÕt cry yet.  I didnÕt hurt enough yet.
	WHACK!  Another stinging bite seared into my girlish ass flesh.  I sniffled.  I would be crying soon now.  I prayed for the tears to come.  WHACK!  WHACK!  ÒI wonÕt quit until you are properly remorseful,Ó Rose reminded me.  She didnÕt want to hurt me.  But she wanted me crying.  For the delight of our wicked guests.  
	WAA!  Suddenly, like a baby, the tears burst forth.  Rose, betraying me, laid on four more strokes.
	ÒStop!  Stop!Ó I cried.  I let the pacifier drop from my lips onto the bed.
	ÒWhat?  You must keep your pacifier in your mouth!Ó Rose said.  Swiftly she applied the crop again.  I was bawling now.  I did not know what to do.  My ass flamed like the tail end of a rocket launching into space.  And then I felt a cool squirting.  I shifted my head, my gaze.  Rose had picked up the bottle of baby oil and was squirting me all over my hot bottom.
	ÒGood girl,Ó Rose said soothingly, sympathetically.  I rose from my crouch and let my hands fly to my ass.  Briskly I rubbed it, the oil soothing me, helping ease the awful stinging memory of the crop.
	Rose laid the long, flexible riding crop at my knees, right alongside them, temptingly.  She knelt down.  ÒNow do me,Ó she said.  I gazed at her in surprise.  Her bottom offered.  I got behind her.  She still wore her panties, the thin thread cutting up between her cheeks, keeping her modest in front while she remained bare behind.  There was no need to lower her panties.  I took the crop, weighed its lightness in my palms.  So slim, yet so deadly.
	WHACK!  I brought the crop down on her soft ass with a vengeance.
	ÒOh!Ó Rose shouted, surprised at the severity of my cut.
	WHACK!  WHACK!  I gave her two more, a bit less harsh, but still businesslike, certain.  She would have trouble sitting down in one of those soft easy chairs that the men reclined in, that was for sure.  Just as I would.  We were fellow travelers, sore bottoms both.  WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  I showed her as little mercy as I could bear.  I did not want her to get off lightly.  Melissa, inspired by my cuts, hit the menÕs penises harder.  I learned later that her penis whip was soft and wide, not too wide to be just a tease but not fierce either, not slim and cutting.  Yet she flailed away at their big organs as if she was certain to do damage, certain to harm them.  They shifted in their chairs, enjoying the stings, even she she purposely slashed them right across their pee holes, flinging pre-cum across the room as the whip lifted from its bejeweled, slitted target.
	In my zelousness I was slow to hear RoseÕs soft sobbing.  At last I noticed.  Her hair was in some disarray, her face pressed directly into the bedsheet to muffle her crying.  Perhaps she wanted to let me give her as much as sheÕd given me.  I reached, I arranged the coils of her hair where theyÕd fallen loose from the shifing of her head.  She hadnÕt begun the session with her face pressed into the sheet.  IÕd remembered her eyes staring out at the men, remembered how her head rubbed its coiffed locks against the bedsheet each time my crop made contact.
	I stuck my finger in her mouth, leaning over her, my crop held high.  ÒWhy do you hide your crying?Ó I asked her.  She sucked hard on my finger, said nothing.  ÒAlright, for not telling me, I will give you more,Ó I said to her.  But I put a hand between her open legs and rubbed her pussy within its yarn pouch.  I would keep her happy there at least, even if I did have to punish her bottom.
	With her face pressed into the sheet, Rose let me give her more blows.  I gave them hard this time, knowing she wanted them, needed them somehow, though why I could not guess.  Perhaps she felt guilty at being a whore.  I felt guilty for letting her talk me into whoring with her.  The sweet offered curves of her ass took the punishment for it, bright red lines forming across it as I laid on the crop with brutal regularity.
	ÒAh!  I can do no more!Ó I said at last, tossing the crop off the bed so neither of us could get at it.  Melissa saw it fly and went running for it.
	ÒNo!  Melissa, No!Ó Rose was up, her face a foot off the bed, supporting herself on her hands now, an animal on all fours, but alert, active.  ÒIt would be too cruel to the men,Ó Rose told Melissa, her voice broken with unstoppable sobs.  ÒUse the penis whip only.Ó  Reluctantly Melissa let the crop lie where it was.  Rose shifted up, straightened her back.  Her hands flew to her ass and she rubbed it.  I offered her baby oil.  She nodded.  I squirted her heinie and she rubbed in the soothing wet fluid.
	ÒDid you like that?Ó I asked.  I stroked her hair.  She nodded, said nothing.  
	After a bit Rose and I kneed our way to the edge of the bed.  We sat down upon it carefully, uncomfortably.  We sat across from the men in their chairs.  Their cocks pointed at us.  We sat with our knees wide apart, my cunny showing but RoseÕs still concealed within her little pouch panties.  Our cheeks were streaked with drying tears.  We smiled at the men.  They grinned back.  All was lascivious, wanton.  The men called for drinks and Melissa served them.
	ÒThis, dear, is a battery operated dildo,Ó Rose said to me.  SheÕd taken a dildo from the nightstand.  It was within reach of where she sat upon the bed.  She examined it briefly, then handed it to me.  ÒSee if you can stuff it up your twat.Ó  She pointed to a little switch.  I flicked it on.  The dildo buzzed.  I flinched, smiled, blushed.  I had never held such an item before, though IÕd heard much about them.  Rose lifted the bottle of baby oil and gently squirted the fake penis, oiling it up for me.  ÒNow put it in,Ó she commanded.  Helpfully she leaned over me, still keeping her own legs open, and spread my pussy lips with her fingers.
	ÒOh, God!Ó I exclaimed, touching the buzzing tip of the cock to my cunt.
	ÒRight in,Ó Rose said.  She took the end of the dildo in hand and shoved upon it, sticking the other end right into me.  I trembled as the buzzing nose burrowed up me.  I opened for it.  I did not want it in my mind but my body felt otherwise.  Rose put both my hands on the dildoÕs shaft.  ÒThere, do yourself with it,Ó Rose told me.  She left me with the dildo and set to work untying the drawstrings of her tiny panties.  When they loosed she simply left them as they were, untied, the pouch flap dropped open in front.  She picked up a dildo from the nightstand and oiled it with squirts of baby oil.  Then she turned it on and inserted it into herself.  
	Rose eyed me with a sly, shivering look.  ÒLetÕs do ourselves together,Ó she said.  Raptly I watched her shaft herself with the big dildo, imitating her strokes with strokes of my own.
	We trilled like songbirds.  Rose tilted back her head, her lovely red locks tumbling down around her face and over her slim shoulders.  Her hair had been pinned up only loosely, it was undone now.  She was free, a woman no more, just a girl in her bedroom.  Her red lips parted, she enjoyed every shuddering stroke of her self-imposed punishment.  I hoped I looked as lovely as she did as I drove the unyielding rubber cock deeper and deeper within me.  Each hand-guided stroke went buzzing up me like some prudish vaginal inspector come to stick his nose into my business.  Into my womb.  I was up that high now, screaming out my pleasure.  The men watched raptly, occasionally calling Melissa over for more liquor, perhaps just to break the too-delicious pleasure that was thrumming in their cocks, threatening to make them lose all they had gained so far.  I glanced at their big, heavy balls, squashed between their hairy legs on the expensive cushioned seats that their raw naked hairy buttcracks spread upon.  I wondered if their butts were sweating as much as their brows.  Their cocks, long since beyond the point of no return but not quite spilt, drooled endless gobs of pre-cum into the upholstery of their seats.  Melissa scrambled to keep up with the men as they peed, all of them quite drunk now.  I thanked God weÕd handcuffed them.  
	Up, up went my dildo, in and out, my lovely store-bought cock.  I twisted my head toward Rose, competing with her now, going over the brink as she strove to catch me.  We went together.  Then we went a second round, still jamming the store cocks up our twats.  She passed me to the second climax, then we strove for a third.  My feet lost in my booties, my body otherwise bare. 
	Rose replaced her dildo on the nightstand.  It looked wet.  SheÕd turned it off, as easily as sheÕd turned it on.  It waited for more fun, perhaps another day, perhaps never.  It would remain rock-hard regardless.  I turned off my dildo and placed it in RoseÕs offered hand.  She glanced at it a moment.  You could smell my honeyed wetness on it.  She smiled at me, a little smirk, nothing more.  Then she put my cock beside hers.  Our fake penises, for just us girls, when the men were away, to keep us happy.  
	Rose stood up.  She took my hand and I stood with her.  Our pussies were wet, honeyed.  She made no move to clean us up.  Instead she walked over to the men.  Very simply, directly.  A toss of her head perhaps, nothing else.  She put her hands on her hips, surveyed them.  
	ÒYou boys have earned a special treat,Ó Rose told them.  Her voice was high.  She did not sound like your typical mistress.  Instead she was more like a little schoolgirl, come to give orders to DaddyÕs big men friends.  Cease your cardplaying!  I could almost hear her say, in my sudden fantasy of her schoolgirl days.  I am sick of playing Jacks by myself!  You big men will play with me, and do just as I say too, for I will be mistress.  
	Rose walked away from the men.  She went to the nightstand.  Not to douche, or wipe off her baby oil, but to draw from it two hair ribbons.  Lightly, carefree as the schoolgirl IÕd just imagined her to be, she tied off her hair into two pigtails.  She tossed me an elastic ruffle.  I gathered my hair into a ponytail and secured it.  I felt a sense of great pride in adorning myself in this way.  There was no hurry, no rush.  The men watched, their minds altogether different from ours.  Their big cocks throbbed in desperation.  They shifted their hips, stabbing at their air.  Melissa studiously caught their pee in her cup when they had to go.  It was their only release.  They seemed to drink more and more, using their peeing as a substitute for what they really wanted to do, but couldnÕt.  I thought of all that sperm roiling within their bulging balls, se eager, so desperate.  Rose gave Melissa some barrettes, plastic little girl ones, and she took a break from her pee-duties to slip them into her hair.  They had teddy bears on them.  The real bears sat just a few feet away.
	ÒAs a little girl, I dreamed of having a special dungeon of punishment for all you big nasty men,Ó Rose said, turning to them once more.  Her honeyed cunt belied her childish air.  She was a woman, though still 19, with big boobs and a cunt dripping from her own pleasure.  But she had the voice, the softness of a little girl.  She brushed her hair back and continued.  The pigtails were loosely tied, they left strands of her hair sweetly falling into her eyes.  
	ÒAll you big men in my life.  Teachers, Principals, neighbor-men, Uncles, and then the ones on T.V. every night:  rapists, child molesters, murders, and those awful men who burned the American flag.  Yes, as I little girl I wanted to put all of you into my bedroom and make you behave.Ó  I sensed there was more to her words than just simple teasing.  Rose turned.  She walked past the daybed to the far wall.  A door, I thought it just a small clothes closet, opened with a twist of her hand upon the knob.  Rose reached within, flicked on lights.  I craned my neck to see, my ponytail swishing behind me.  Melissa looked, her eyes wide.  She reminded me of her look in the cage, her eyes flash-bulb bright as she saw Lord Algonquin enter.
	Rose caught my stare with her eyes, bade me silently to bring forth the men.  I walked to them.  Melissa was given the same duty.  We stood before them, policegirls on our first call.
	ÒGet up,Ó I said to the men.  Melissa repeated my command.  They gazed up at us.  Then they stood, one after another.  They towered over us.  Melissa and I gulped, looking up at them.  Their erections pulsed mightily before us.  ÒCome along,Ó I said.  I crooked my finger at them, at their cocks in particular.  Melissa walked beside them, I led the way.  Into the room we went, the little closet-room that proved to be bigger inside than IÕd thought.
	Rose stood facing us.  All around us were the toys and playthings of little girls.  A small bed, frilly, with Little Mermaid sheets and pillows.  A girlÕs hairbrush, heart-patterned curtains, a big white teddy bear.  But there was more.  Upon the childishly patterned wallpaper were set iron chains.  Along one wall, paddels and whips and a long whippy cane.  There was a trestle, over which many a body had been bent, I guessed, given the deep imprssion in the leather padding where the tummy met the cushioning.  And the little girlÕs bed had cuffs attached to the headboard and footboard.  
	I drew in my breath as I surveyed the scene.  This was obviously from the original whorehouse.  Had 19th-century Pretty Babies been tucked into this bed?  Little girls, back in the days of child labor and child brides?  Or were big girls, girls like ourselves, or women installed in here?  Women who were wives by day, but turned into children at night, in here, amongst all the dollies and picturebooks?
	ÒThis little piggie went to market,Ó I said to myself, under my breath.  I gazed at the nude men, their bare butts staring at me as I stood behind them, Melissa beside me.  WeÕd presented them to Rose.  She was mistress.  She was in charge now.
	ÒHereÕs a little treasure my aunt taught me about,Ó Rose said.  She lifted something from the wall.  I could not tell what it was, at first.  ÒI never got to use it before, didnÕt even know they still existed.  Until last night, when I found this room.  IÕve tidied it up for you.  The room, I mean.  For all I know, this block is just as it was when it was last used.  Perhaps it last clasped some PrinceÕs member, or some Nazi soldierÕs.
	I realized then what I was looking at.  It was a small block of wood.  It was composed of two halves, and hinged at one end, so that the two halves could open and close upon each other, like jaws.  The block looked like a rectangle, and had a hole cut right through its center.  When the halves of the block opened, the hole became a half-moon in either half.  I thought perhaps the block was to be closed over somebodyÕs finger, but the hole looked too big for that.  Yet, suprisingly, the hole was too small for a wrist.  I certainly had nothing to fear from the block.  There was nothing on me that could be stuck through the hole.  
	And then I guessed.  I squeezed MelissaÕs hand as I guessed.  She still watched, wonderingly.
	ÒItÕs for their cocks!Ó I whispered.  Melissa clapped her hand to her mouth and could barely contain her surprise, her delight.  Five of the blocks remained hanging on the wall, their jaws open.  Rose smiled at the Black Knight.  With obvious love for his big, throbbing cock, she fitted the halves of the block over it.  And then she closed them.  The wooden block closed around his shaft, imprisoning part of it, leaving the head sticking out through the hole.  Much of his cock remained on either side of the closed block, but the middle part was as securely held as if it were inside a womanÕs cunt.  Rose locked the end of the block with a little silver padlock.  Hinged on one side, locked on the other, it would not open again without a key.  I saw no key.  Leads trailed from either end of the block.  Rose drew these within the Black KnightÕs legs and wrapped them tightly around his balls.  Then she looped them several times around the base of his penis and tied them off in a neat bow.  He was still strong, his back powerful, rippling, his buttocks clenching, but his lovely organ was now completely subject to the dictates of RoseÕs awful miniature-pillory.
	I let go of MelissaÕs hand.  I pressed my hands to the buttocks of Lancelot.  Let him be next, my knight in shining armor.  Or, rather, without his shining armor on, I realized, lost in my heroic speculations as I urged him forward, my fingers pressing into his ass flesh.  He obeyed.  Like a horse stepping forward to be shoed, a proud stallion, he presented his cock to be fitted by Rose.
	My Lancelot grunted as his cock was enclosed by the little wooden stock.  Then Rose made him wince as she drew the leads back and tied the soft white lead ropes securely around his heavy balls.  Finally she made a little bow with the ropes atop the root of his penis, just like a little girl might.  Lancelot gazed down at himself, amazed, his hands cuffed behind his back, pressed into the small of his back, his broad shoulders hunched over as he looked down at his flower of manhood, his pronging prong, embedded within the clasping wood.
	Each man in turn was served with his own piece of wood.  It closed, it separated, it made his pee slit a separate part of his body, out beyond the jaws of the wood, out where his cockhead was, all purple and hard, begging, yet separated by the wood from the life-giving balls which hung waiting between his legs.
	There was a potty.  It was made of plastic.  It was not connected to any pipes.  It was a training-potty.  Perhaps a little girl had used it once.  ÒCome, you must pee for me, to ensure that everything is still working right,Ó Rose said.  She led the men with their organs sticking out in front of themselves, their wooden bars tied on tightly, over to the potty.  Melissa picked it up and moved it out away from the wall, so that all the men could stand around it at once.
	ÒPee into it,Ó Rose commanded.  ÒAnd donÕt wet the seat.Ó  The men laughed.  They were too drunk to care.  They peed all over the potty, hitting the seat, trying to hit Melissa in the final moments.  ÒWell, I can see your things work just fine,Ó Rose said, dismayed at the mess.  The little girlÕs room was not quite a little girlÕs room anymore.  Men had entered.  Male beasts.  Their urine, puddled on the floor and wetting the potty seat, was evidence of the all that the feminists said was wrong with men.
	There were only three of us, young females, and six of them.  Yet we had managed to cuff them with our beauty, our guile, and now we had them by the balls too, and their precious cocks.  We would teach them feminist lessons now, the lessons men learned when they explored Brazil and came upon Amazons.
	ÒIt is the sperm that is the problem,Ó Rose said.  SheÕd picked up a pair of spectacles and placed them on her nose.  She looked bookish.  She had ideas, great thoughts.  ÒAll you men are sex offenders, being nude in front of Melissa here, only 14, and Jennifer, a mere 15-year-old.  How naughty of you to display your rude cocks in front of such innocent young girls!  Fortunately, I believe in treating the problem itself, instead of the offender.  He is just a prisoner of his own balls.  Which is why they must be milked.Ó  Rose beckoned to Melissa.  They stepped behind the little girlÕs bed and hefted something big and silver onto it.  It was heavy.  It landed on the bed with a hard metallic thud.  There were six holes arranged along it, within the gleaming steel.  ÒI got this from the barn out back,Ó Rose told the men.  ÒI ought to make you traipse bare naked through the snow to the barn, to be milked amidst the hay, with cows mooing while you give up your seed.Ó  She smiled.  She loved their cocks as I did.  ÒBut I am not a mean feminist.  No, no.  If you want to spurt out your seed in a little girlÕs room, so be it, just as long as you are milked dry.Ó  The men gazed in awe, in wonder, at the large steel object set atop the bed.  It was every manÕs deepest nightmare, and his deepest fantasy; to get his cock caught in a relentless, unyeilding, unending milking machine of pleasure.  Rose stepped out from behind the bed.  She ran her fingertips along the heads of the menÕs imprisoned penises, caught in the wood, facing the deeper, longer punishment of the milk machine.  ÒDonÕt think for a minute that once youÕre fitted inside the machine, fully erect, and cum, that your cock will be allowed to shrink down to its normal size,Ó Rose taunted the men.  ÒThe machine will not let go.  It will tighten its grip on your cock if it tries to withdraw.  You will be milked remorselessly, and then some, until you have absolutely nothing left in your big bad balls!  DonÕt even try to fight it.  I know, I know, you will try to be manly.  The machine will not care.  You can try to hold out, to keep from cuming, but it will not care.  It will simply fuck you until you give up your seed, and then it will keep on fucking you.  This is what you men really want, isnÕt it?  You just want to be hooked up for life to one of these!Ó  There was a savageness in her voice now.  The men looked a bit more sober than they had in a while.  ÒYouÕre going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow,Ó Rose teased them.  ÒAnd not just in your heads!Ó
	Undoing her recent handiwork, Rose untied the wooden blocks from the men.  They had been for pleasure only, letting her play with them, admire them, as they stood stiffly handcuffed before her.  Now she would watch their butts from behind as they were milked in the milking machine.  Melissa and I, Rose, all of us together, slapping the menÕs butts, laughing with them, at them, worked to get them hooked up to the machine.  The men were so desperate to cum by now that they gave little protest.  Each cock was put in its little hole, right up to the root.  The men had to kneel on the little girlÕs bed to get themselves into the machine completely.  Kneeling, their butts flexing tensely, they made ready to be milked.
	ÒIs it safe?Ó one of the men asked, the last to go in.
	ÒIt is safe, darling,Ó Rose assured him.  ÒI love your cock even more than you do.Ó  And she popped him in, just like that.  He shuddered as he felt the elastic/rubberized inside of the hole close down around him.  They waited, all six of them.  Sweat beaded their brow.  ÒThere is another machine in the barn, for a womanÕs breasts,Ó Rose told the men.  ÒPerhaps you will see it in action sometime.Ó  Her finger hovered over the switch.  I gazed at the hoses stretching out from the back of the machine.  They ran through holes, cut in the wall.  A curtain had covered them where they entered the wall but Melissa drew it back now, at RoseÕs command, so that all could be seen.  ÒThe hoses are connected to a vaccuum pump,Ó Rose told the men.  ÒThey will provide the suction.  It is a mild vaccuum, nothing your cocks canÕt handle.  It has been tested before, on other men, according to a note my aunt left me.  The Nazis used it on prisoners, later it was modified for pleasure.  As the vaccuum sucks, the machine will grip and milk.  Try to hold out as long as you can.  I know I told you to cum, but now that youÕre hooked up, your lovely cocks inside the thing, I almost canÕt bear to see you lose all your precious sperm.Ó  
	Rose waited still, gazing at the men, their knees penitently arranged on the edge of the bed, their chests tight, muscled.  I gazed from behind at their tense buttocks.  I could see Rose weighing her options, wondering if she really wanted to see these fine stallions give up their seed to a machine.  And then Melissa darted to the switch.  She was young.  Men did not have the lure for her that they did for me, for Rose.  Her childishness, her mischievousness, won out over all else.  She flicked the switch and the machine belched to life.

Chapter Three

	I will never forget that scene.  The men yelping, groaning, as the milking machine did its work.  Melissa and I and Rose got behind them and entertained their buttocks with whips.  We slashed away as they were denuded in front, stripped of their manhood by the machine.  It took from them their hard-ons, squeeze by gripping squeeze.  The guy worried about his safety came first, squirting into the vaccum, then another guy, my Lancelot third.  The machine pumped them relentlessly, not noticing.  At last the Black Knight came.  I admired his fortitude.  I rewarded him with stinging slaps of my bare hand upon his ass, to make sure he got all his seed out.  He scared me.  He enthralled me.  I squeezed his testicals until they felt loose in my hands.  And then, at last, Melissa herself flicked the switch off.  We separated the men from the machine.  We were merciful.  We trotted them downstairs and helped them into their clothes.  We did not uncuff them until the very end.  Then, the storm having abated, we called a cab for them and sent them away.
	But I could not forget the Black Knight.  Melissa and Rose and I loitered amidst the close-packed snowdrifts, cozy in our sometime whorehouse.  We took no additional customers.  A week passed, two.  Yet I remembered the Black Knight still, wanted him, and not in a milking machine this time, and not cuffed with police handcuffs.  I wanted to meet him female to man, both of us free, and joust with him on equal terms.
	I went shopping.  I looked for him in the little town, high in the alps amidst the snowdrifts.  And, standing within the doorway to a lingerie store, I spotted him.  He had a woman with him.  I did not care.  I ran, called out.  I caught at my fur cap to keep it from flying off.  He turned.  I fell into his arms.  My breath hot on his chest, I looked up at him.  My cheeks were rosy.  Our eyes gazed at each other for eternal seconds.
	ÒYes?Ó he asked at last.  I was without words.  ÒCome,Ó he said at last.  He put me between himself and the woman and they took me home with them.
	We did not arrive within the hour.  He placed me in his car, in the front seat, the woman on the passenger side of me, he in the driverÕs seat.  It was a rental car.  He drove down winding hills to an airport.  We stopped twice at roadside inns to use the toilet.
	Getting in the car after the second stop, the woman broke her silence.  She had said nothing.  She could not speak English well, the Black Knight had explained to me.  HeÕd asked me about my past, hinted at his.  He said little about the woman.  I sensed she was his mistress.  Her name, I was told, was Elgina.  His was Martin.  He was German, she was Swedish, with lovely blonde hair like mine.  His was black.  He had Spanish blood intermingled with his Nazi heritage.  
	ÒTake off your panties,Ó Elgina said, breaking her silence.  I looked, glanced at her in the tightly packed car, the three of us squeezed in together.  ÒTake off your panties,Ó she repeated.  I glanced at the Black Knight, at Martin.  He said nothing, gazed ahead at the road, driving.  Trembling, aware of the beautiful Swedish woman as she gazed at me, glared at me, I slipped my fingers beneath the fur fringe of my miniskirted overcoat.  Up they slid, along my thigh.  I found the him of my leather miniskirt and slipped within.  Higher up, I found my crouch, my pussy-pouch, sheathed in the fine silk of my panties.
	I tugged.  I lifted my hips slightly off the seat, tugging at the slip of fabric between my legs.  I drew off my panties.  Carefully I freed them from the spikes of my high heels.  They were expensive, from France.  I passed them to the Swedish woman.  She held them aloft a moment, a hint of my scent tickling her nose.  Then she rolled down her side window.  She tossed my panties out of the speeding car.  ÒYou will not need them,Ó she said simply.
	We drove on.  We arrived at an airport.  There was a helipcopter waiting.  We were ushered aboard, the whirling helicopter blades whipping at my coat, threatening to lift up my skirt up behind me.  
	I settled into a seat, again between Elgina and Martin.  The trip was silent.  We changed planes a half-hour later.  A jet this time.  Again the same seating, more talk this time, a pleasant hostess served us sandwiches, drinks.  We flew over the alps and down past the tip of Italy.  The plane banked left, headed out into the sparkling blue sea of the Mediterranean.
	ÒYou will like my villa,Ó Martin said to me.  ÒIt is in Egypt.  There are trees, sand.  There are neighbors nearby.  It is located at an oasis.Ó  
	I fell asleep on the plane with my head on MartinÕs shoulder.  I dreamed of Arabs, Lawrence of Arabia.  My legs shifted inside my dress.  I was conscious in my dreams that I wore no panties.    
	We disembarked.  A limo whisked us away, the three of us in the back seat.  We enjoyed drinks together.  I sipped mine.  I had left my friends behind, my parents.  I was with strangers.  I felt unsure, uncertain.  It had been a schoolgirl lark, looking for him, finding him, running to him.  I fidgeted in my seat.  He ignored my fidgetings.
	It was night when we arrived at his house.  He took me upstairs to a bedroom.  ÒThis will be yours,Ó he said, a father to his daughter.  I was tired, yet frisky.  I had jet lag, not from time but from sitting, from being confined.  ÒI have business to attend to,Ó he told me.  ÒElgina will see to you.  Obey her.Ó  He left then.  He turned and left and locked me in my room.  I sat on my bed.  I pouted.  A bit later a key turned in the door, Elgina entered.
	ÒTake everything off,Ó she told me.  ÒYou must bathe.Ó  A maid entered.  She was from Russia.  She spoke no English at all.  She had dark hair.  She ran bath water for me as Elgina watched me undress.  I was led to the tub.  I played in the bubbles.  There was a rubber duckie there.  He swam with me in the warm water.  
	The maid made me soap myself.  She watched.  Then Elgina entered the bathroom, ordered me out of the tub.  Rinsed, patted dry, I was taken to bed.  
	I had to put on pajamas.  They were like pantyhose, long stockinged, attached at the crotch.  They were made of cotton, striped with gay red and white candycane stripes.  The buttocks had been cut completely away.  My ass bulged through, bare as could be.  I admired its whiteness in a mirror.  In front, all had been cut away again, baring my navel, my pussy.  Only the waistband remained, and the stockings, attached by the slim strip of material that ran under my crotch.
	Elgina made me sit on the edge of the bed in my new stockingpants, my pajamas without any covering for my heinie or pussy.  She sat beside me, clothed as she had been on the plane, and combed my blonde locks.  All was silence.  Perhaps she admired me, I could not guess.  At last, done combing, she fitted a large plaid bow to the top of my head.  She kissed my cheek.  ÒGet in bed.  Morning will be here soon enough,Ó she breathed.
	I scrambled across the sheets and lay back upon them.  I put my head upon a cool, soft pillow.  It was comforting.  The covers were tucked up around me by the maid.  Elgina fed me a pill to make me sleep.  There was no bedtime story, no need for one.  I drifted off at once.
	A rustling of my shoulder.  ÒGet up.Ó  The voice was ElginaÕs.  I lifted my shoulders up, felt the covers pulled down off me in the cool of the morning.  There was brightness in the room, sunlight.  I blinked the sleep from my eyes.  Elgina drew me by my legs to the edge of the bed.  I swung my feet down, barely touched my toes to the floor.  She admired my long stockinged legs.  There were shoes waiting on the floor, new and shiny and black, with silver buckles.  The maid fitted me into the shoes as Elgina watched.  She held a switch in her hand.  She flicked it idly across her bare thigh.  She wore a short skirt, made of chamois.  Her legs were bare to her knees, where moccasin boots proceeded to grip them down to her ankles, her toes.  A beige blouse, her breasts shifting within it, covered her above the waist.  She wore no bra.  There was a small rope tied about her neck, slim, braided from strands of soft leather.  It looked like a cheap dogÕs collar on an animal nobody wanted to buy a real collar for.  She did not seem to mind.  Puppies sometimes wore collars like that, I realized.  Perhaps she was MartinÕs pet, a special status, somewhere below mistress but above that of a whore.  What was I, then?  A mere tart?  Surely I had presented myself to Martin that way at RoseÕs.  Was I still that?
	I shifted my toes within my new shoes.  Elgina made me stand.  ÒCome,Ó she said.  We walked from the room.  
	ÒI have no clothes,Ó I said, startled, in my pajamas only, my stocking pants without the seat or the front to them.
	ÒYou have not any need for them,Ó Elgina said.  She brought me to Martin.  He waited by the stairs.  He took us downstairs to the living room.  I felt awkward passing through it, myself unclothed, he and Elgina neatly dressed in casual clothes.  Martin wore shorts, a shirt with pockets, an explorerÕs round-brimmed hat.  He held a riding crop in his hand.  We went to the rear of the house.  Martin opened the back door and we went out.  
	The sun was hot.  We walked across hot sand.  I was grateful for my new shoes.  They protected my feet.  We passed several cactus, spiny, hard.  Martin said they were imported from America, growing wild now in his backyard of sand.  A desert stretched out before us.  There were trees in the distance.  The heat shimmered across the sand.  I walked between Martin and Elgina, then a little ahead.  I was curious.  I had never been to Egypt.  A bird flew overhead and I gazed up at it, wondering if it was the Phoenix.  Elgina nudged me in the small of my back.  ÒRun ahead,Ó she told me.  ÒShow Martin how you can run.Ó
	I glanced over my shoulder at them.  Martin watched me stern-faced, but with a twinkle in his eye.  I grinned.  I leapt ahead of them, racing across the sand.  I tuckered out quickly.  I did not wish to run, I wanted Martin.  The sun beat upon my white skin.  I could still make out my even whiter bikini lines, my breasts and pubis like snow, but they would tan quickly if I did not reach shelter soon.  The trees were ahead.  I wanted to go back to the shelter of the house, but walked quickly toward them instead.  A glance over my shoulder showed Martin still following, his riding crop in hand.  He would not let me go back to the house.
	Within another minute I was under the trees.  I stopped.  They were still, their branches rustling minutely, the desert air just touching them with the lightest of caresses.  Martin and Elgina came up behind me.  ÒGo on,Ó Elgina said, touching my bottom.  
	ÒThere are Arabs ahead,Ó I said suddenly, freezing.  Camel traders were watering their steeds at an oasis of water.  It shimmered like a glistening diamond amidst the barren desert.
	ÒThey will not bother us,Ó Elgina said.  ÒThere is a fence between, electric.  Do you see it there?Ó  She pointed.  I gazed.  Running between the trees I saw it now, a steel mesh barrier, topped with barbed wire.
	ÒCome,Ó Martin urged me.  His hand gripped my ass and pushed me ahead.  White-bottomed, shivering despite the heat, I padded across the sand.  It was shaded here.  
	ÒWhere are we going?Ó I asked.  
	ÒYou will see,Ó Martin replied.  ÒIt is a sport among those of us who are wealthy.Ó  Bottom clenching, my ass wriggling now with a frightened sense of sensuousness, I made my way across the sand.  The traders looked up, saw me.  A man picked up a pair of binoculars.
	ÒThey are staring at me,Ó I said, my voice whisper-soft.  I clapped my hands to my bosoms.  My pussy remained uncovered.
	ÒOf course.  You are gorgeous,Ó Martin replied.  The Arab women looked up, saw me.  Poor people all, simple nomads.  We were from the north, invading Aryans long after the age of colonialism was supposed to be past.
	ÒTurn around.  Show them your ass,Ó Martin said.  There was a hint of racism in his voice.  I complied.  I could do no else.  He placed his hand at the back of my head and bent me over like a mechanism under test.  He was testing my compliance.  I was obedient.  The fullness of my bottom was displayed to them.  Elgina ran her hand along the undersides of my cheeks, the silky inner curves.
	WHACK!  Robert stung my upturned ass with his crop.  I yelped.  Like a child I yelped, spanked by daddy.  He did not hit me again.  He unzipped himself and fed me his cock.  I gagged on it.  It was huge, my nightmare come true, the bull within me.  I tried to tongue it but it was too big to tongue.  I could only absorb it, try to absorb, I told myself.  Let it be a part of you as it jams its way down your throat.  DonÕt fight it.  It is useless to fight it.
	When he withdrew, I was permitted to stand.  His cock pulsed wetly before me, erect, his seed still safely within his balls.  I looked at Elgina.  She had unbuttoned her blouse and taken it off.  It was knotted around her waist.  Her breasts, big and round, bounced softly before me with her every subtle movement.
	ÒCome.  You must receive your morning enema,Ó Elgina said to me.
	ÒWhat?!Ó  I was horrified.  What did she mean?  I turned my head to Robert.  He delivered a stinging cut to my ass with his crop.  Wobbly-cheeked, tears coming to my eyes, I stumbled ahead.  And then I saw it.  Laid out on the sand, by our maid perhaps, was a white quilted comforter.  There was a picnic basket beside it, and next to that, a small nozzle and some tubing.  Sitting in a patch of sunlight was a metal container.  The sun was warming it.  
	ÒCamelÕs milk, diluted with water,Ó Elgina said to me, as if we were schoolmates on a summer vacation.  ÒAn excellent enema.Ó  I noticed she spoke English more easily now.  I guessed her earlier incomprehension had been but feigned, to keep me quiet.  Secrets couldnÕt be divulged by a girl who pretended not to understand.  She was an obedient mistress to Martin.  I wondered how long theyÕd been together.  For the summer perhaps, or longer?  Martin did not look like a man who kept girls for long.  Perhaps thatÕs what drew me to him.  His uncaring, as if I were disposable, just a chattel.  
	With trembling knees I allowed myself to drop to the softness of the comforter.  All around was baking hot sand.  There was just enough shade over the comforter to keep us cool, at least until the sun rose higher.  A big tree spread its branches nearby.  I was grateful for it.  I stayed poised on my knees, not wanting to go further.  I would stay at the edge of the comforter for the rest of my life, poised between having Martin and not having him.  
	The toe of a boot in the cleft of my ass.  ÒCrawl forward,Ó Martin urged, ordered.  I dropped to my hands and knees and advanced into the middle of the blanket.  Elgina dropped down beside me.  She unlooped the tubing.  
	ÒPut your head down,Ó Martin told me.  His cock waggled just beyond the tender incurving of my heinie.
	ÒShanÕt we eat first?Ó Elgina asked.  Her words saved me.  Martin relented.
	ÒAll right,Ó he sighed.  He seemed slightly bored by it all.  I plopped down on my heinie, glad to have it safely under me instead of stuck up in the air.  With uncertain eyes I glanced at the tubing, cast aside by Elgina in favor of sandwiches.  The tubing looked wicked.  It had a tip that was small, narrow, perfect for threading a girl right up her ass.  I shifted on my bottomcheeks.  Elgina offered me an orange soda.  I accepted, sipped quietly on a straw that protruded from its neck.  It was delicious, better than IÕd ever tasted.  I knew the circumstances had much to do with it.
	Elgina shifted the picnic basket.  There was a pillow.  I had not seen it.  It looked soft.  It was white like the comforter.  Elgina placed it close to me.  From the picnic basket she took a syringe.  She pointed it at me and gave it a little squirt.  Fluid shot out at me.  I shifted, twisted away, sitting on my bottom.  It missed me.  With an air of significance she laid the syringe on the pillow next to me.  I looked at her.  
	ÒMuscle relaxant,Ó she said quietly, smiling.  ÒYou will thank me for it when the time comes.  Tell me when you want it.Ó
	I felt a thousand butterflies take flight in my tummy.  I ran my fingers over my belly to try to soothe myself.  ÒWhy?Ó I asked simply.  I was sad.  I wanted to cry.
	ÒBecause I am going to fuck you up your little ass,Ó Martin said to me.  His voice was grave, serious, a ring of laughter in it somewhere.  It brooked no dissent.
	ÒNo,Ó I said.  He reached for me.  I drew myself back from him, still sitting, still enjoying the softness of the comforter under my bare bottom.  It kept me from sitting on the hot sand underneath.
	Elgina caught one of my wrists.  Her breasts loomed into my back, bulging.  She was swift.  She was a cat prowling for prey.  My other wrist was caught.  As I tried to hold my soda steady she pulled them back.  I resisted.  It was arm wrestling.  Slowly she yanked my wrists behind my back.  I heard a click of metal.  Some of my soda spilled on the comforter.
	I drew in my breath sharply.  The metal of the handcuffs came down like jaws of fish taking the bait from my fishing pole.  First one, then the other.  For each one I gasped.  A gasp of my breath in offering.  
	ÒSit close.  I will feed you,Ó Elgina said.  She took my soda from me.  I shivered, despite the heat.  I let myself be drawn next to her.  Gazing at Martin, at his hardness, I let my head fall upon her shoulder.  My blonde hair interwove itself lightly upon her blonde hair.  She smiled.  She drew a little sandwich from the picnic basket and fed it to me.  Martin gazed out across the sand.  His member throbbed.  ÒThe first couple of times youÕll need the relaxant,Ó Elgina whispered to me.  Girls sharing secrets.  ÒHe would hurt you too much otherwise.  He is ruthless when he fucks.  And, as you can see, he is quite large.Ó  Yes.  I could see.  Deep down I knew it was what had drawn me to him.  That and his hardness.  Not of penis, but of mind.  I had loved Lancelot, but MartinÕs hardness had won me.  The Black Knight.  My Black Knight.  Or was I just a fair maiden caught up by the roadside, to be fucked and then tossed away?
	MartinÕs head turned, his eye caught mine.  ÒDo not be afraid,Ó he said to me.  ÒI am not ruthless as I once was.  But I am demanding.  I donÕt want to fool around trying to get you to relax for me.  I want to go right up you.Ó
	Elgina twirled a finger in my hair.  ÒDonÕt look so forlorn,Ó she smiled.  ÒArab women beg him every time we go into the city.  To be taken back with him, to be made one of his possessions.  And European women too.  But he denies most of them.  He doesnÕt care.  You won him easily.  You should be proud.  Spread your legs so he can admire your pussy.  Why do you keep them clipped together?  Open yourself for him.  You must learn to open yourself so you will not need the relaxant after awhile.  He will get you open regardless, do not fight it.Ó  She pushed my knees apart with her hand.  I let them fall apart, my legs, let my pussy be seen.  Martin gazed at it, smiled at me, a pirateÕs grin.  ÒYou will be fun to open up,Ó he said simply.
	We ate there on the sand, the shade slowly shifting, the Arab nomads watching.  Camels neighed in the distance.  One of them mounted another.  We watched, the Arabs watched.  Songbirds from the desert, come for the water at the oasis, flitted among the tree branches above us.  One, perhaps two, perhaps a couple making love and making a nest.
	The wind ruffled my hair.  There was an elegance to the dinner party, me still in my altered pajamas, my pussy, my ass showing for the convenience of my master.  Elgina fed me as one might a bird in a cage.  I felt like one, admired, loved, but handcuffed.  I could not fly.  In my new black heels I probably could not rise and stand too easily.  The heels were long, sharp.  I was a prisoner.  My bottomcheeks spread softly on the comforter.  My anus widened somewhere within the cleft, knowing it must, feeling the softness of the comforter pushing up into it.  A more direct assault would be upon it shortly.
	ÒIt is time,Ó Elgina said at last.  She took a napkin and wiped crumbs from my mouth.  ÒFinish your soda.  It will make your breath sweet.Ó
	ÒNo,Ó I said, but she poked the straw into my mouth.  I sucked.  I finished the orange liquid.  Cream soda would come next.  Up my ass, though, not into my mouth.  Elgina unlocked my hands.  Our dinner party was over.  I was surprised at the unlocking.  Yet why should I be?  Could I escape?  I was a captive still, a European girl out in the desert, far from home.  MartinÕs bulk hovered near.  His riding crop lay forgotten nearby.  I did not want him to remember it.
	ÒGet on your knees,Ó Martin said.  ÒYour beauty is making me impatient.Ó  He put his hand to his cock and rubbed it.  Freely he rubbed it, letting the Arabs watch him.  He looked away from me, at them.  He laughed a wicked laugh.  He sneered at them.  
	ÒDo as you are told,Ó Elgina said to me.  ÒHere, I will help you.  You are so young to play these games.Ó  With loving hands she rolled me off my bottom and got me on all fours.  She laid the syringe aside and put the soft pillow beneath my head.  She pressed my face down onto it.  My lips mouthed the pillow.  I hid my eyes within it.  I felt my bottom, high rising, a moon floating above the desert.  I felt all eyes were upon it.  
	ÒLovely,Ó Elgina said, stroking my silky soft flesh.  She opened a sterile napkin packet and swabbed a place down in the intimate undercheek portion of my ass.
	ÒYou can stick it in her thigh if you want, the effect will be the same,Ó Martin told her.
	ÒI know, darling.  IÕm a nurse.  IsnÕt that why you chose me?Ó Elgina replied.  There was a hint of jealousy in her voice.  ÒIt will hurt more here.  The sting will be deeper.Ó  I felt a stab then, deep, like a javeline thrust deep into my girlishness.  It was as slim as a stiletto, like an icicle dropped from the rooftop, impaling the little girl down below.  It was my own innocence that was being impaled, I knew, a Jamaican vodoo doll with the pins being stuck into it.
	Tears welled in my eyes.  Elgina noticed them, did not brush them away.  I sniffled.  She uncoiled the enema tube.  She lubed the tip.  Martin watched, stroking himself aimlessly, caring, not caring, I could not tell.  Workmanlike in her manner, as if about to milk a cow, Elgina got behind me.  She massaged the cheeks of my bottom to help me relax.  Then, parting me rudely, clinically, like a nurse might in a hospital, she stuffed the tubing up my ass.  
	Oh, I fought her at first.  I tried to close my little anus-mouth against her.  But it was no use, the relaxant was having its effect already.  Up me she went, then farther, following the twists and curves of my intestines inside me.
	Then the fluid was loosed.  It flooded in.  She controlled the flow with a little knob.  I felt like I was full to bursting, finally.  It did not take long.  She kissed my bottom.  She withdrew the tube.
	The picnic basket was edged up behind me.  Martin and Elgina got on either side of me.  ÒReady to empty?Ó Elgina asked.  I nodded.  They lifted me bodily.  I was seated on the edge of the picnic basket and my bowels emptied into it.  Somehow the basket did not leak.  It was lined inside, I guessed.  The fluid gushed from me and at last I sat perched on the edge of the basket, my lovers holding me, poised between one perversion and the next.
	ÒOnto your knees,Ó Martin said.  I was placed back onto all fours, my head forced down again into the pillow.  The basket was taken away.  Martin got behind me, snorting, a monster about to go where no man had gone before.  Into the little earthling, the little earth girl.  We have come to serve girls.  That is why we have come to earth.  To serve them with our big cocks.  
	ÒOooch!Ó I cried out.  I balled my fist into my mouth.  I felt him poking at me, then surging within.  My anus was sleepy.  It opened wide upon him, drugged.  I was desperate to resist but I could not.
	Deep, deeper, up me he went.  Full inside now, thrusting hard.  He was too hard.  He was too vicious.  He began to rod me, uncaring, like a dog.  I cried out for him to stop.  
	ÒOpen, yourself,Ó came to me from somewhere in the distance.  ElginaÕs voice.  The words came rippling into me like from a dream.  I seemed to feel him moderate the swiftness of his strokes.  Or was it just the relaxant?  In and out he went, Elgina fingering me now, finding my spot.  She rubbed me down below as he porked me in behind, his huge sausage sawing in and out of me.
	I came.  Honey moistening my lips, I came.  All shuddering I came.  Elgina wanted hers, then.  She plopped her bottom onto my pillow, placed my face right up between her thighs.  She lifted her skirt.  She wore no panties.  In the stillness of the desert I had not realized her nakedness underneath.  Her waiting pussy she shoved into my face.  I licked, I drove my tongue into her as Martin shoved himself in and out of me from behind.
	Three Europeans in the desert, protected by a fence, we blasphemed ourselves before Allah in the hot sands.  Before the followers of Allah.  Khomeini would behead us.  In the hot desert he would behead us, with the songbirds making their nest in the branches above our heads.
	Martin finished.  He withdrew, his crime against nature done.  I felt his sperm bubbling in my ass.  He had injected me with it.  His big syringe had made me take everything he had to give.  His balls slowly sagged beneath him.  I was grateful.  I hoped they would be long in refilling, though I knew they would not be.  He sat back.  He restored himself within his pants, zipped himself up.  Elgina loosed the knot at her belly and covered herself again with her shirt.  ÒGet up, darling,Ó she said.  She stood on the comforter, lifted me.  The maid would come later to fetch the detritus of our picnic.  
	Stiff-legged, wobbly-bottomed, I rose.  I was a newborn yearling just come into the world.  Martin did not look at me.  He seemed not to care.  I was just another pet, here today in my youth, gone tomorrow.  I stepped off the comforter.  Elgina held my hand.  I brushed my hair from my face.  I walked carefully in my high heels.  Martin walked ahead.  He did not seem to think of us anymore.  We followed, like Japanese women we followed, faithfully.  We walked across the sand back to the house.  Inside it was cool.  
	ÒGo to your room,Ó Elgina told me.  ÒTake a bath when you wish, or sleep, the maid will bring you food later.Ó
	I traipsed up the stairs.  My bottom hurt.  I was alone, unwanted now.  Master was finished with me for the day.  I wished to escape.  The Arabs would feed me and care for me.  They would appreciate me.  But they were humble traders, nomads, between here and nowhere, lost in the desert as I was lost in the huge house, unknowing.
	I did not go to my room.  I was too young, too curious.  I had the blood of youth in me, mischief.  I crept into the library.  I sat in masterÕs big leather chair.  I felt my asscheeks open on it.  Sperm bubbled from my rosehole.  I did not care.  Let his chair be stained.  It was his sperm, anyway. 
	I slid my pajama pants down off my waist.  I wanted my silly stockings off.  I got them to band round the tops of my thighs.  I flicked my pussy.  With my pjÕs tight around my legs I flicked myself again.  It felt good.  Sitting in masterÕs study playing with myself, staining his chair.  Somehow the feeling of the stocking pants, binding my thighs, all ripped in front and back to show my pussy, my ass, lowered now, sheathing my legs up to my thigh tops but leaving all else bare, somehow it thrilled me.  I sat in masterÕs big leather chair and played with myself, letting the stockings constrain my legs still, touching myself in intimate places, my breasts, my nipples, my newly moist pussy.
	Mischievous, thinking to increase my pleasure, I reached for a big leather book on masterÕs desk.  I opened it.  I gasped.
	Pictures of ruthless bondage assaulted my eyes.  Girls, young girls too young to describe, and women too, bound and gagged.  I kept rubbing myself.  I could not stop.  My eyes wide with horror, I could not stop.  Throughout the pictures, Martin was there.  Big and huge and fucking whomever he wished.  I was frightened.  I had not seen such wickedness.  Even in my small adventures, exploring, poking into the adult world as best I could, discovering their secrets, I had not seen such as this.  Martin was dressed as an executioner.  Many of the girls were Arabs.  I shuddered.  Somewhere deep down inside I knew that many of them had never returned home.  They could no longer run across the hot desert sand as I had this morning.  
	Martin looked younger in these photos.  He had said out on the comforter that he had mellowed.  Yet I shrank in horror from the photos.  Worst of all, I shrank in horror from myself.  How could I rub myself looking at these pictures?  I slammed the book shut.  I did not want him anymore.  I must escape somehow.
	Footsteps on the stairs.  Had he heard the book shut?  I ran to the window.  It was locked.  I fumbled, I found the latch.  My legs were sleepy.  They fought me.  I shoved the window open and clambored up onto the sill.  It dug into my pussy.  A wedgie in my pussy.  I longed for more, yet in my fear I could not stay.  I lifted my pussy from the impressing windowsill.  With my ass swaying behind me, looking ridiculous in my long stockings, I clambored in my high heels down the sloping tiled roof.  I clung to the windowcurtains, drawing them outside with me.  They were long.  With my arms outstretched I got my feet to the edge of the pitched roof.  I calculated.  A tree was there.  I let go of the curtain and turned as I pitched forward, foward toward the tree, the ground, twisting round in my new high heels on the rooftop.  
	I caught the tree.  Latching onto a branch I caught it, heaving, my breasts large fat gourds sighing up and down, heavily.  The branch was like a big penis, stiff and hard.  It held my weight with unyeilding strength.  Gripping it, I swung down from the roofÕs edge.  I hung in the air.  I was helpless, strung up like the girls in the photos.  My feet dangled, my arms screamed above me, hanging on tight with my hands high above me.  
	Yes.  The sand was close.  A few feet, no more.  I let go of the branch.  I dropped.  My heels poked into the sand, stabbing it.  I fell into a crouch.  My hair whirled around as I twisted my head, all-seeing, a cat observing her newfound surroundings.
	ÒGod damn bitch!Ó  Martin was at the window above.  I could not see him under the safety of the overhanging roof, steep pitched.  Elgina was at the door.  It stood open, she stood within, contemplating, half in, half out.  There was a riding crop in her hand, MartinÕs.  She was gagged.  A handcuff dangled loosely from one of her wrists.  Her shirt was gone, her breasts proud, uplifted.  They moved with a heaviness, her chest seemed belabored.  I had interrupted their games.  She was half-victim, submitted to Martin, half-domme now, come to punish me for trying to escape.  My eyes ran down her legs to her mocassin boots.  She turned.  She shut the door behind her.  The zipper of her skirt was half unzipped in back.  Her blonde hair rolled in lovely waves down her back.
	ÒMmmf!Ó Elgina ran to me.  She did not drop the crop.  She grabbed one of my wrists with her hand that was circled just above with the dangling cuff.  She made her decision then.  We would escape.  We would use our beauty as our passport.  Not looking at one another, she still holding me by the wrist, we ran behind the house.  We ran out across the hot sand.  We ran toward the trees and the electric fence.
	The Arabs saw us coming.  In the distance, behind us, shots began ringing out.  Wild shots.  From a wild man, Martin.  The shots went wide, high, he was shooting from an upstairs window.  Elgina tore her gag from her mouth as she ran.  ÒThere is a handgrenade in the picnic basket,Ó she breathed to me.  Her breath was short, ragged.  I breathed heavily, my breasts flying, bouncing.  ÒIt can knock down the tree.  If the tree hits the fence, if we are that lucky, it will smash it down and we can walk across the fallen tree trunk.Ó
	ÒHow did you?...Ó 
	ÒIt was not my idea.  Martin brought it to toss at the Arabs.  Sometimes they come close to the fence, to watch.  Today they did not.  He pitched a handgrenade at them last time.  It kept them back today.  It is our lucky break.Ó  She looked at me.  ÒThough, in truth, I would not have taken it if you had not inspired me.Ó
	We ran more closely to each other, girlfriends now, squeezing hands.  Her grip was firm, strong.  She would be my lover.  I would take no more men unless she permitted it.  We reached the comforter.  It lay silently, forgotten under the shade, my pillow still there, ElginaÕs switch, unused, left behind.  She reached down into the picnic basket.  My shit sloshed within.  She drew up a plastic bag from it, coated with the residue of my enema.  Inside was a handgrenade.  She ripped open the bag and took it out.
	ÒCome, step back,Ó she ordered me.  Tossing her hair to get it out of her eyes she stepped away from the tree with me.
	ÒWhich way do you have to blast it to make it fall over the fence?Ó I asked her.
	ÒIÕm not sure,Ó she confessed.  ÒA lumberjack liked me once, I ignored his advances.Ó
	ÒThanks a lot,Ó I scolded.
	ÒYeah,Ó she replied.  We girls donÕt always make the right choices.  Hopefully we would be right today.
	KA-BOOOOOM!  The sound seemed to echo across the desert.  There was a blasting of sand.  We flinched, turned away, clapped our hands to our ears.  When it seemed safe we blinked our eyes open, felt our limbs.  We were intact.  There was a sizzling, a hissing sound.  The fence!  It was down.  The tree lay across it.  The eggs of the songbirds were splattered somewhere, lost, shattered.  Birth control arrives in Arabia, though its still for the birds, reads the newspaper headline.  The pope and the ayatollah agree females should be impregnated with each fuck, made to bear young.
	Without chadors, without veils, crossing out of the protected European estate into the world of the Arab nomads, we crossed the tree.  Teetering we crossed it, too stupid to take off our shoes.  The sand was hot.  We were in a hurry.  We crossed on the big tree as best we could.  It was broad underneath our feet.  Its roundness was so wide as to make a floor for us.  It was an old tree, perhaps from the time of Napoleon.  He blew off the nose of the Sphyinx and we were blowing a hole right through the middle of the strict Islamic code for women.
	We hurried up to the Arabs.  There was a slowing in our tread as we reached them.  We were blonde, white-skinned, naked.  They were dark, veiled in robes.  Elgina met them with her riding crop in her hand, cautiously.  An Arab strode out.  He greeted us, her.  He extended her hand to her.  She made to shake it but he grabbed her crop-hand and tore her riding crop from her grasp.
	ÒA fine implement,Ó he said, turning it in his brown fingers.  They were streaked with the dirt of desert sands.  He stashed the crop in the waistband of his robe.  ÒDo not be afraid.  You will be well treated if you obey,Ó he said.  Other men had gathered.  I thought perhaps we would parley with them a moment.  It was not to be.  Perhaps they could not imagine, in their strict observance of Islamic code, entertaining the thoughts and feelings of a woman on an equal man-to-woman basis.  
	The men lifted us up.  Our feet left the desert floor.  I thought perhaps they would set us atop the camels, or a horse.  They did.  But it was in a most discouraging way.  
	There was a white stallion.  Perhaps it had belonged to the man who greeted us.  A soft blanket was thrown over it.  I saw that it had been recently stripped of other gear.  Elgina was thrown first over the horse, tossed like a sack of potatoes.  Bottom up, legs dangling, she was plopped onto her tummy atop the horseÕs back.  It neighed, pawed the sand.  I was cast down beside her, my rump bare and wiggling behind me, my ankles kicking.  Quickly they looped ropes about my wrists, hers.  The loose handcuff dangling from her wrist amused them.  Then they wrapped the ropes under the horseÕs belly and secured our feet with them.  My hip bumped ElginaÕs.  I looked at her.  There was shock in my eyes.  She gasped at me, tears welling, then streaking her cheeks.  
	The horse shifted forward.  We were off.  Going into the desert, the sun blazing down on our nude bottoms.  Our breasts hung like gourds beneath us, crushed upon the side of the horse, protected from his hide by the blanket.  My nipples were stiff.  My hair fell over my face like a veil.  I would go to Allah veiled by my blonde hair.
	Clouds came.  A miracle.  Allah looked upon me with favor.  I bumped and jostled next to Elgina as we rode out into the desert.  ÒYou are lucky,Ó an Arab said, striding beside us.  He held ElginaÕs crop in his hand.  He turned his free hand up, palm open.  He sought rain with it.  There was a thundercrack somewhere, in the distance.  ÒYes, very lucky,Ó he repeated.  I did not know whether we were spared some horror because of the sudden impending rain, or simply a good totem for him, a lucky rabbitÕs foot.  Two blondes in the desert, their feet tied off, veiled by their own hair, but with their bottoms bulging up nakedly, an offering to Zeus who once ruled this place under the Romans and might well rule it again today.
	Bouncing and swaying atop the horse, we rode for a good two hours upon the horse.  In the distance, over some mountains, Zeus clashed with Allah.  There was lightning, like summer lightning, in the distance.  Its sprinkling of rain did not reach us.
	Now and then the crop flicked us.  An Arab, unseen, on the other side of the horse, played the crop across our upturned fannies.  I guessed it was the man who called us lucky.  Two white female bottoms were always lucky in the desert, I supposed.  He seemed to strike us furtively, as if others, seeing, would admonish him.  He was mean sometimes, stinging a little harder, more generous at other times.  I bit my lip, wanting to cry out but afraid to.  Afraid it would lead to harsher stings.  Perhaps his fellows would decide the game was alright after all, and they would all flay us mercilessly.  I turned my head to Elgina.  Jostling beside me, her boobies smooshed like mine, I saw she bit her lip also.  She nodded at me, tears brimming in her eyes.  ÒYes,Ó she seemed to be saying, silently.  ÒDo not complain about the cuts.  It would only make it worse for us.Ó  Like women in labor we bore them, weeping sometimes, very quietly.  I knew then I should have stayed in my parentÕs summer villa, a schoolgirl in her bikini, tied off too low on my hips perhaps, seductively, my bra missing sometimes, but still free, not a prisoner as I was now.  But I had been looking for men on the beach, someone to take me and love me.  Now I was taken.
	Our horse entered a courtyard.  There was shade.  A ladle of water was drawn from a roadside well.  The Arab who had first met us lifted it to my lips.  I lapped, sipped at the water.  I was a kitty in my backyard.  I saw the crop was missing from his sash.  He had given it to his brother to flay us on the journey, to keep us humble.  Wear the chador, or be naked and flayed instead, blonde ladies, it is your choice.
	The others dismounted.  Our horse went forward, Elgina and I not thirsty anymore, our tongues slaked.  Now we had another problem, building over the long two-hour ride.  There was no Howard JohnsonÕs to receive us.
	I gazed up, aware that my surroundings had changed.  We were within the courtyard to a building, large pillars around us.  They glinted with gold.  Deeper within we went, our white stallion advancing.  There were no other animals here, save us, Elgina and me, female animals.
	ÒOh, look!Ó Elgina was closest to the horseÕs head.  She turned away from me, was looking beyond.  I lifted my head with difficulty and gazed over the top of hers.
	A throne room!  We were in a large, luxurious throne room.  A sultan sat upon a pillowed chair, carved from ivory.  Maidens attended to him on either side.  I saw they were leashed together.  Harem girls, made to attened upon their sultan-master.
	ÒSire!  We have brought you treasures from the desert, stolen from a blasphemer!Ó An Arab voice called out.  His deep manly voice echoed in the large room.  I heard birdsong, looked up, saw caged parakeets hanging from the ceiling in cages.  There were exotic plants dangling down between them, from Europe, the Orient, America.  Plants that required much water.
	I heard the Sultan rise from his chair.  There was a rustling of clothing as he rose, all bowed before him.  Down on their knees they got, their heads lowered.  Some rose back up then, the most esteemed men.  The others remained submissive.
	The Sultan strode with casual indifference over to myself and Elgina.  From the frying pan...I heard inside my head.  My conscience.  My too little listened to conscience.  
	A grip upon my jaw.  My mouth was forced open by the SultanÕs fingers.  He inspected my teeth.  ÒHmmm, not bad,Ó he said.  He looked inside ElginaÕs mouth next.  
	ÒThey will good give head, master,Ó I heard an Arab say.
	ÒThey must, if they are to be spared their disobedience of AllahÕs laws,Ó the Sultan replied.  He was prudish, proper, at least before his subjects.  I guessed AllahÕs laws took a back seat within the depths of his harem, when he dallied privately with his girls.
	ÒCome round to the other side, Master, they have fine bottoms,Ó the voice said.  The man who greeted us.  Who betrayed us as soon as he greeted us.  We were just objects to him, to be sold to the highest bidder.  The sultan paid well, I guessed.  The Arabs would be nomads no more after tonight.  They would buy apartments in Cairo and serve mammon.
	ÒYes, they are fine arses,Ó the Sultan agreed.  
	ÒThis one got porked this morning, see,Ó the Arab indicated, poking my heinie with his finger.  ÒThe European blasphemerÕs sperm is still within her.Ó  I blushed.  Deeply I blushed, more deeply than ever in my life.  	The sultan pinched my bottom.  Testing, squeezing the silky flesh.  ÒYes, a fine ass indeed,Ó he said.  My blushes consumed me.
	ÒHer pussy is tight,Ó the Sultan said finally.  No part of my Ôbusiness endÕ must go uninspected, I guessed.  He caressed my pouch.  Freely he touched it, as if examining merchandise in a store.
	ÒThey are both tight, master,Ó the Arab said.  
	Elgina gasped beside me.  I sensed the Sultan cupped and stroked her love mouth also, as he continued to fondle mine.
	ÒOoooch!  He is pinching me!Ó Elgina said to me, then.  
	ÒWhat do you think he has been doing to me?Ó I asked.  I blamed her for our predicament.  Yet it was I who had sought out Martin, found him in the alps, let him bring me here.  I was more to blame than she, perhaps.
	ÒTalking, girls?Ó the Sultan came around in front of us again.  We were to be submissive, but Elgina could contain herself no longer.  Nor could I.
	ÒI-We have to pee, sir,Ó she said, bashful but bold.  To speak of such things to the Sultan was unheard of in these parts, I knew.  We were unlearned.  We were from Europe.
	The Sultan laughed.  He said something to the Arab who had brought us.  He approached.  He had the crop in his hand again.  ElginaÕs crop.
	ÒPee!Ó he said.  ÒPee in front of the Sultan if you are so bold to speak to him, and about your bodily needs at that.  Pee for him!  He commands you!Ó
	There was silence.  Elgina and I shifted atop our noble stallion.  I could not hold myself in much longer.  The water they had fed me had gone right to my bladder.  
	ÒAh!Ó  Elgina gasped into the air, head uplifted.
	ÒOooch!Ó I felt it then.  The crop!  Stinging, gliding, sweeping across our upturned bottoms.  Two strikes, three, skimming our upturned pumpkins, our shuddering cleft globes.
	And then I heard it, felt it.  My pee sprung from my cunny like air from a balloon.  Hisss!  Pisss!  Down into the crotch of my half-lowered pjÕs I pissed.  Elgina sighed, her own piss now squirting out, along with my own.  Together we peed for them, lost mares in the desert.  
	Arab maidens appeared, stroked our hair, kissed us as we peed out our long pent-up urine.  There was laughter.  The crop cut into our bottoms.  We peed and squirmed, the crop striking us again.  Elgina turned her face to mine and we kissed, captive and mindless atop the horse.

	Days went by.  We were kept in the harem.  We were cared for by the maidens.  The Sultan had not harmed us.  We had been let down from the horse, our bottoms smarting, led naked into the depths of his palace.  
	At night a man would come to the harem.  He would lead away a girl, two sometimes.  I would lie awake listening then, at night, in my bed, Elgina beside me.  We slept with the other girls, two each to a bed.  I would hear soft cries, the sound of leather, gruff Arab commands from men.  Sometimes there would be music, partying.  Some girls would be invited, others not.  Elgina and I were left behind, safe in the harem.  Later when the sounds of the party died down I would hear screams, harsh voices.  The girls would come back submissive, cowed.  They would be kept in another chamber, apart from us.  Or we would not see them again.
	My turn came.  One evening I was told, in a furtive whispering, as if I was not to know, that it would be my turn that night.
	My hair was done up.  Lipstick was applied to my lips.  Eyeliner.  I was stripped bare.  A robe was given me, lucid, loose.  It would hide nothing.  
	The man came for me.  He took me by the hand.  I turned, waved goodbye to Elgina.  I was drawn down a long hall.  The man pulled on my hand, I trailed behind him, resisting.  He drew me as a lover draws his beloved to a bedroom to take her virginity.
	I was brought to the courtyard.  It was different.  Men stood with their cocks displayed, fine princes, come from all across the desert.  They looked at me frankly.  My robe was taken from me by two of the maidens.  Mats were laid out, and pillows.  The Sultan greeted me as one might an ambassador from a foreign country.  He nodded, sitting on his throne.
	ÒYou see my fine sons here,Ó he said to me.  ÒThey all wish to partake of you.  I cannot decide which I prefer.  I have given you to all of them.Ó  I gasped.  With my young firm titties trembling on my chest, I gasped.  I shook my head no.  ÒYou do not understand,Ó the Sultan told me.  ÒYou are to take them.  They will not take you.  You are from Europe, you are bold.  You tell me that you wish to pee, and you do so in my presence.  So I give you this chance to test yourself.  See if you are really the fine young woman you hope to be.  I know you are but a schoolgirl.  So I give you this opportunity to test yourself.Ó
	ItÕs a gang-bang, my conscience told me.  But I didnÕt want to listen.  I curled my fist beneath my chin, considering.  The men were very handsome.  Could I take all of them?  What if I fell short?  What if I changed my mind after the first one?  They gazed at me.  On the pillows were dildoes, condoms, lubricant.  An an occasional riding crop, for a disobedient little filly who should know better than to try to take a whole roomful of men.
	ÒWhat if I say no?Ó I asked the Sultan.  I was pouty, insouciant.  Snub nose upturned I looked at him.  I was from Europe.  I could say no.  Women there did it all the time.
	ÒIf you take them all I will give you your freedom,Ó the Sultan said to me with a wave of his hand.  ÒI prefer not to think of the alternatives.Ó
	I returned my gaze to the men.  My eyes sought their cocks.  They were big, huge, but surely no bigger than Martin.  My womb yearned.  They watched me as I watched them.  I flicked my hair from my eyes.  I turned to the Sultan again.  ÒElgina must help me,Ó I said.  He smiled.  
	ÒYou are a clever girl,Ó he replied.  ÒI had hoped you would ask for her.  Bring her friend!Ó he shouted.  His voice was exultant.
	ÒAnd all the other girls too,Ó I added.
	ÒNo, no,Ó he laughed.  ÒJust the two of you.  Two whores from Europe.  Young whores, I admit, but whores all the same.  We know what sort of girls the blasphemer Martin kept.Ó
	Elgina came trotting out, led as reluctantly as I had been.  Her robe of silk, specially put on for her presentation to the Sultan, was taken from her.  She stood nude as I was.  She glanced at me.
	ÒAnother fine mess,Ó she said to me softly.  Then she looked at the men, examining them with her eyes.  I could see she was counting cocks.  She turned to me again.  ÒUse all your openings,Ó she said to me in a voice whisper-soft.  ÒAnd your hands, too.  DonÕt love them, however gorgeous they are.  Just get them off and grab another one.Ó
	ÒOkay,Ó I breathed in reply.  We were co-conspirators.  We would succeed.  We had to.
	We walked hand-in-hand down a short flight of steps.  They were made of marble.  Out into the midst of the men we walked, us as naked as them.  They crowded in around us.  They presented us with gifts of baby oil.  We accepted.  They began squirting us and we squirted back, all of us close-pressed.  I laughed.  I could not help it.  It was fun.  Hard cocks surrounded me in every direction, as far as the eye could see, and I with my little pussy, pledged to take them all.
	Hands came to us.  They rubbed us lovingly, caressing our newly slicked flesh.  Quickly they found our most sensitive parts.  We gasped, retaliated.  We caressed them where they were most deliciously vulnerable, cupping and squeezing their testicals, fondling them.  We toyed with their cocks as a girl might examine candy canes in a store.  
	I kissed a man.  He kissed me back.  Beside me Elgina dropped to her hands and knees.  Fingers and lips sought within my openings, making me jerk as I stood there huddled amonst the men.  Down on her knees, Elgina received her first soldier, bending low to take him from behind.  That was the best way.  Like females had done it for millennia, bent over, submissive.  I fell to my knees.  A man grabbed me by the hair and shoved my face to the surface of the mat.  My cheek pressed against it.  Saliva pooled within.  My tongue lolled on the tip of my lip.
	ÒAaah!Ó  I was entered.  Shoved within, a man used his slick tool within my little anal hole.  I tried to relax, bit my lip.  He was rude, hasty.  He could not get up me far.  A crop struck my bottom.  A gruff command was issued in Arabic.  I guessed its meaning.  I strove to part my legs wider, accept him better.  I had no other choice.  
	He gave up on my back door.  He withdrew, squirted clean baby oil over his cock, and probed within my cunt.  I was easier there.  Up he went, fast moving now, then back, up again.  His brothers urged him to hurry.  They did not like having to wait their turn.  
	Like cows we were fucked.  First one man, then another, then a third.  We were allowed to roll on our backs after the third round, given drinks, permitted to rest a little.  ÒYou must take them all,Ó I heard the Sultan say in the distance.  Up we sat, wiping our brows.  Elgina and I surveyed our handiwork.  A few cocks were flagging, most still remained as hard and vigorous as ever.
	ÒItÕs a tough job,Ó Elgina said to me.
	ÒAnd we are the only ones to do it,Ó I replied.
	ÒThey should get an Internet connection here, and promote masturbation,Ó Elgina said to me.  
	We grabbed at the nearest cocks then, sucking them into our mouths.  From behind more men took hold of us, intent on relieving themselves in turn within our little love holes.  Down we went again, aching now, knowing we could not stop until the last drop of sperm was sucked from every man in the room.
	We were athletes, olympians.  We worked the crowd.  The crowd worked us...over.  Our hair flew as we twisted our heads, riding now, riding steeds who lay beneath us, our loins joined in lovemaking.  I rode three men that way, then a fourth.  My brow was wiped and my squeezed titties soothed, hot cloths bathing me between sessions.  On and on Elgina and I went, taking man after man.  Crops whipped our bottoms sometimes when we flagged, playfully, urging us on.  Mouths sucked at my nipples as if I were the Earth Goddess herself, feeding all EarthÕs children.  I cried out into the night.  The girls in the harem heard me, I knew.  Elgina screamed out her pleasure.  We were wanton, abandoned to love.
	Deep in the night, amidst a shuddering veil of perspiration and desire, we finished.  I could not stand.  I knelt upon the mat, Elgina lying beneath me.  The last man, finished, rose and went to his fellows.  They reclined in chairs that surrounded the love mats.  Only Elgina and I remained.  I toyed with her hair, softly, first the locks on her head and then the curls sweetly nested in her pussy.  She smiled at me.  I smiled back.  Then I collapsed into her arms and we lay half-dazed, hugging each other.  
	My nipples were sore the next morning.  My cunt ached.  The maids brought me a blouse and told me to put it on.  I did not want it.  They gave me panties.  I wanted to run naked in the desert.  Elgina began dressing beside me.  ÒHe is giving us safe passage back to Europe,Ó she said to me.  ÒMartin is dead.  The Arabs came in the night, over the fallen tree, and killed him.Ó
	ÒGood,Ó I replied.  ÒHe made enough of them suffer.  Let him suffer in turn.Ó
	ÒYou are turning into one of them,Ó she smirked.  
	ÒI feel like one of them,Ó I replied.  ÒI have all their seed in my womb.Ó
	We were taken by limosine to the airport.  Still uncertain, wobbly-legged, we boarded our plane.  We had no luggage.  In Italy I kissed Elgina goodbye.  I had just enough money for a cab, given to me by the Arabs.  I rode back to my parentÕs villa.  I knocked on the front door.  My mother opened it.
	ÒDarling!  Where have you been?Ó she asked, almost shouting.  She hugged me.  
	ÒI was gone a little bit, mommie,Ó I replied.  I was sheepish, bashful.  She sensed I had done new things.  The scent of Egypt was still in my clothes.  My hair was fragrant, too fragrant, as if oiled with exotic spices.  I wore lipstick that made me look older.  Her eyes gazed over me.  
	ÒDo you--?  Did you--?Ó  She wanted to ask, did not.
	I went upstairs and flopped into my bed.  I fell asleep right away.  I slept soundly.  In the morning, when I awoke, there was a little medicine cup beside my bed.  Mommie had put it there.  I looked over, peeked inside.  RU-486, it said on a little white tablet.  I swallowed it at once.        

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