Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in 
BOTTOMS IN BONDAGE

Chapter One

	I met him in the grocery, of all places.  I was picking up a bottle of milk.  The contents inside the glass sloshed slightly.  He looked at it, me.
	ÒI could save you money on that particular item,Ó he said.  I smiled.  
	ÒSure you could, if I donÕt mind changing diapers,Ó I replied.
	ÒWell,Ó he paused.  His eyes looked directly into mine.  ÒThere are tradeoffs in life.Ó  I gasped.  ÒOh!  You saw me at the beach!Ó I said.
	ÒNo, donÕt go,Ó he begged, catching my arm as I made to quickly turn away.  I could not fight him, though I wanted to.  He was imperial, commanding.
	ÒI remember y0u from the audience,Ó I lisped.  ÒAt the wet t-shirt contest.Ó  I was blushing now.  
	ÒDid you think no one would see you if you stood up on the stage?Ó he asked.  His eyes trailed down my body.  I was in clothes now, of course, primly dressed in my schoolgirl attire.  I was shopping for mommie on the way home from school.  Neat, conservative, the sort of girl policemen make sure get home safely.  
	But he remember me from spring break.  I could feel his eyes stripping me of my clothes as I stood there.  Leaving me as IÕd been then.  On stage.  In only my tiniest bikini panties, newly purchased.  My mother hadnÕt known about them.  Or my trip with my girlfriend Jennie to Fort Lauderdale.
	And, I suppose, he replaced the sleeveless t-shirt IÕd worn there, as he looked at me now.  It had been made of the lightest cotton, wavering in every puff of breeze.  IÕd stood on stage, thrusting my young titties out proudly.  Waiting.  Waiting with the other girls as the man with the spritzer bottle came down the line, spraying.  All afternoon IÕd trotted with Jenny along the beachside storefronts, window shopping, buying food and trinkets.  Letting the boys caress me with their eyes, longingly, as I passed by in my teensy panties and tee.  They could see my youthfully excited nipples indenting the fabric.  And sometimes a ray of bright sunlight would pierce the obscuring cotton to delineate my cherry teats.  
	Standing on stage I saw the yearning boys in the audience, open mouthed, watching as the man with the bottle came closer.  My breasts compressed inside my tight shirt, too big for my age, nearly bursting it.  And my ever-erect nipples, thorns threatening (they hoped) to tear my t-shirt apart.  And I saw him.  He who was with me now.  Older, reserved, perhaps forty, certainly married.  Yet he stood watching me with glowing eyes.  They followed my hands as, suddenly nervous under his gaze, I tugged on the hem of my tee.  Trying to make it cover my panties, my pussy.  It was too short.  Alas, he could even see my belly-button!  
	And now here he was again, beside me, remembering.  Remembering what heÕd seen before and watching me twist under his gaze, knowing what he knew.
	The bottle had come.  My breasts had been sprayed.  The boys had hooted like triumphant steers as my virgin areolaes had come into view.  My shirt, glued to my tits, shorter than ever in its newly wettened state, hid nothing.  Both globes of my mammaries could be seen in their fullness.  The strawberry tips, seen only by my father ere this, shone under the stage lights.  Wet and succulent.  Ready to be picked.
	Jenny shouted in the crowd.  She was proud of me.  Her new driverÕs license had paid off.  SheÕd known boys since she was 12, but I only once.  Fucked by a cousin, quickly, at 13.  He hadnÕt even removed my shirt.  Now, at last, IÕd come out of my shell.  I was willing to try my hand with boys again.  And men?  My eyes caught his.  Or his caught mine.  He did not look at the other girls.  Just at me.  The rest were older, surely more his type.  They were college girls.  Sophisticated.  Serene.  Jenny and I were just interlopers.  Skinny girls from high school, mingling illegally with the college crowd.  Only the rowdiness of spring break had let us get away with being in the bar, the moon rising outside, the night young with promise.  Little girls like us werenÕt supposed to know about such things.  Beer, loud music, carousing, women on stage letting their breasts be bared even as they retained their shirts.
	ÒYou are a freshman in high school?Ó he asked, standing before me now.  In the grocery where modesty prevailed, was enforced by the guard at the door and the matronly women at the registers.  Where store surveillance made sure men and girls stayed apart.
	ÒYes,Ó I shivered, wilting under his gaze.  Yet somehow feeling delighted with myself that heÕd remembered me.  Had he followed me?  Was it just coincidence that he was here?
	ÒMiss, is there anything you need help with?Ó  It was the loutish rent-a-cop.  Someone had seen us.  I wavered, uncertain.
	ÒNo!Ó I blurted suddenly.  ÒMy uncle is helping me shop,Ó I said.  ÒPlease go away.Ó  The guard frowned, turned away.  Even uncles were illegal now, I suppose.
	ÒMay I push your cart for you?Ó my suitor asked.  Even as he asked he was putting his hand-carry basket into my cart.  Putting himself into me, I thought.  Into my life.  There was no going back now.
	ÒYes, please,Ó I replied.  My voice was prim, diffident.  I had my own uncle now, despite mommie divorcing daddy, leaving all our relatives behind.  I found him myself, mommie, in the grocery, on the way home from school.  Buying milk for you.  And heÕd been so sweet, offered to help me make it myself.  That and much else he offered.

***
	ÒYou are on the television,Ó he said to me later.  I came from the kitchen to look.  I was fixing us dinner.  And a pie, too.  I would drink mommieÕs milk with it.
	I plopped down in his lap.  I scooted myself up onto the bulge in his crotch.  I was in his house, now.  His domain.  I hadnÕt taken mommieÕs milk home from the grocery.  IÕd kept it for myself.  For myself and my pretend uncle.  
	ÒYou look very pretty on television,Ó he said.  Lightly he held me by my hips, testing me, watching me flinch.  I had not been touched by a man, ever.  Except my father, of course, kissing him at bedtime.  And by the cousin at the family reunion whoÕd rudely taken my virginity in the bushes behind grandmaÕs house.  Leaving me there, my panties torn, my hymen broken, filled with his seed.
	ÒGotta go,Ó heÕd said as soon as heÕd finished, leaving me bereft in the bushes.  Now I was testing the waters again.  Like a young rabbit I twitched under his close-gripping palms.  He held me lightly by my waist.
	ÒIt is my eighth-grade picture,Ó I told him.  
	ÒI thought so,Ó he replied.  ÒYour breasts are nice and big, so I figured it couldnÕt have been from seventh grade.Ó
	ÒNo,Ó I replied.  I squirmed on his lap.  ÒMake love to me,Ó I offered.  I wanted his hands lower.  Or higher.
	ÒIt would increase the charges,Ó he replied.
	ÒBut I am not charging,Ó I answered.  ÒIÕm even paying for dinner.  Or rather my mommie is.Ó  I giggled.
	Lightly he kissed me on the hair.  My mane of golden hair, unfurling in soft waves over my shoulders, framing my breasts.
	Within a t-shirt they wobbled.  HeÕd asked me to change out of my schoolgirl things.  HeÕd offered me this shirt in exchange.  HeÕd said nothing about my panties.  IÕd opted to keep them on, and my socks and saddle-shoes.
	ÒYou have very pretty breasts,Ó he said.  ÒIÕm glad you were not afraid to show them at the beach party.Ó
	ÒIt was Jenny,Ó I replied.  ÒShe wanted me to get up on stage to break my abstinence.  I hated boys for a year after my cousin fucked me.  And then for another year I just thought about them, you know...Ó my voice trailed off.
	ÒI know,Ó he replied.  HeÕd thought of girls like me, I realized.  Every time Oprah Winfrey delivered another sermon on T.V. heÕd thought about someone like me, more and more.  ÒI liked how you kept your shirt on, even after the other women had taken theirs off.Ó  He said.
	ÒJenny scolded me for that,Ó I replied.  ÒWe argued about it that night, driving home.  You did not mind?Ó
	ÒI just figured you were saving yourself,Ó he said.  ÒFor someone special.  Who knew how to admire you properly.  Just boys at the bar, you know, clones of your cousin.Ó
	ÒAnd you,Ó I added.  ÒAlone.Ó
	ÒAnd me.Ó  
	He took an ice cube from his drink.  IÕd mixed it for him myself.  Screwed it up, of course.  I knew nothing about bar drinks.  But he said it didnÕt matter that IÕd screwed it up, it was a screwdriver.  Or it was supposed to be, anyway.  IÕd laughed.  HeÕd admired my breasts in their jiggling, in his t-shirt.  Then IÕd started dinner.  We were waiting now, waiting as it cooked.  Me in his lap and a cop on t.v., lecturing.  Experts were brought in to deliver opinions on my disappearance.  Fat women with wrinkles and bad haircuts.  
	ÒDid I tell you to keep your panties on?Ó He asked me.  I wanted to say Master.  Yes, Master.  Except the answer was no.
	ÒNo, sir,Ó I gulped.  Next time I would call him Master.  
	Gently he touched the front of my panties, right at the waistband, lifted it.  I watched as he lowered the ice cube.  Right into my panties it went.  I wrenched, shivered in his lap.  It was cold.  His cock grew beneath me, pushing upward.
	ÒI prefer a girl with wet panties,Ó he said.
	ÒYes master,Ó I breathed.
	ÒDo you wish to call me master?Ó he asked.
	ÒYes,Ó I said, squirming.  I stilled myself with effort.  ÒIt beats uncle,Ó I said.
	ÒThough, perhaps, you may cry ÔuncleÕ before too long,Ó he replied.
	I giggled.  ÒYou did not tell me to keep my shoes on either,Ó I said.  ÒWould you like to put ice in them too?Ó
	He laughed.  ÒNo, we shall just take them off,Ó he said.  He lifted my right thigh, squeezing it.  Admiring my milky flanks, all bare for him as heÕd instructed.  With gentle hands he untied my right shoe, then dropped my leg and lifted the other.  Untied the other.
	ÒMay I keep the socks at least?Ó I asked.
	ÒYes, you may keep the socks,Ó he said.
	A knock at the door.  I started.
	ÒDo not worry,Ó he replied.  ÒIt is a friend.Ó  I looked over my shoulder.  A woman entered.  She wore business attire.  She was fresh from the world of work.  She strode over to us and set down a briefcase.  Taking a chair she sat down near us.  It was a hard backed chair, next to the dinner table.
	ÒThere is no possibility,Ó she said.  Her voice was stern.  Master flicked his eyes to her.  His gaze alone was sufficient to challenge.  ÒLook at her!Ó  Mistress felt compelled to add.  ÒShe is too young.Ó
	ÒShe is willing,Ó he said.
	ÒIt is for husbands and wives only, dear,Ó she said.  Master had told me earlier, teasingly I thought, that I neednÕt fix dinner, that he wanted to take me to a party where all would be provided for us.  ÒFood and much more,Ó heÕd said.
	The woman fixed her eyes firmly on me.  I knew I dared not confess my ignorance.  It would spoil my opportunities completely.
	ÒI want to go,Ó I said.  I knew not where.  
	ÒDarling, it is for breaking in young wives, not schoolgirls,Ó she said.  Yet under MasterÕs gaze she was faltering.  ÒNot, well, it is rough sex, dear, you are so young and fragile.Ó
	ÒMy ice cube is almost melted,Ó I said.  I was captive.  Yet in my masterÕs arms I had power.  I did not have to answer Ms. Naysayer.  I did not have to listen to the feminists on T.V.
	Master took another ice cube, opened my panties, deposited it.  Willingly I shivered at the intrusion.  My panties stuck out, as if I had a little thing of my own inside them, to match his own pressing so vigorously up against my squirming bottom.  
	I let the shivers subside.  My hips quivered to a cessation.  But his thing remained, upward pressing.  Urgent, insistent.  I wanted to pull my panties down.  Just the bottom at least.  Yes.  
	He sensed my need, lifted me from his lap.  He unzipped himself, drew forth his cock.  I watched wide-eyed over my shoulder.  I forgot about lowering my panties.  He remembered, took them down, bared my bottom to his upstanding thing.  It was enormous, a snake come to pierce my apple-round bottom.
	Gently, lifting me, he eased me over his thing so that he would not stab me with it.  I settled atop it, felt the snake insert itself into the soft fold of my bottom.  Hard it wedged its length up me, my cheeks splitting over it, enclosing it in young puppy flesh spheres.  Twin spheres of white schoolgirl bottomflesh, unmarked, untouched.  Unpierced, as yet, with his cock settled nicely into my furrow.  The tip of his penis chatted pleasantly with my clit.
	ÒDarling it is not for you,Ó Ms. Naysayer said, drawing close to me.  She had left her chair behind.  She approached me, unbuttoning her jacket.
	I gazed up at her.  MasterÕs cock in my bottom.  Her over me now, Mistress, her blouse full and firm.
	ÒYou have breasts like mommieÕs,Ó I told her.  Naughtily I lifted my hands, touched the buttons of her blouse, began opening them one by one.  ÒDo you have any milk?Ó I asked impishly.  I was the center of attention.  Anything I did sent tremors of pleasure over these two adults, me just a little schoolgirl, them so mature, yet so aroused.  I felt the power of myself and I loved it.  It was new, shocking, satisfying.  Incredibly satisfying.  I was the Directoress now.  The principal.  They were my pupils.  Yet I was unlearned.
	Her breasts spilled out.  She could not restrain herself.  She wore no bra.  She pushed a nipple rudely into my mouth.  I sucked upon it.  Lovingly I sucked upon it, after my initial surprise, feeling the foreign nipple sticking itself into my teeth, forcing them open.
	ÒOh, yes, please let me nurse you,Ó Mistress groaned.  ÒAh, like a baby you suck.  I should never have had that abortion, nooo.Ó
	I nursed at her nipple.  After a little while she switched me to the other.  All the while Master, sweating, still in the business suit heÕd met me in at the grocery, kept himself under control.  IÕd heard of men spurting, felt my cousin inside me.  He came quickly, immediately.  Yet despite my girlish wrigglings master contained himself.  Only a few glistening drops of himself wetted my bottom.  Pre-cum, IÕd heard it was called, saying that a man was ready.  Ready for me, yes, but containing himself somehow.  Holding back his seed until I was ready for him.
	Was I ready?  Mistress lifted her bosoms off me.  ÒYou may go,Ó she said to Master, overlooking me.  I went where he went.  I was his property now.
	Master boosted me off his lap and made me stand upright.  
	ÒWe must go,Ó he said.  He replaced my panties on my bottom.  I felt his wetness there, held tight in my furrow, lingering, as I watched him zip up.  He had to struggle to get himself inside his trousers.  I turned finally, helped him.  It was very difficult.  Together we got him back inside, got the zipper all the way up to where it was supposed to be.
	In my panties, my t-shirt whipping in the wind, master took me outside, out to a waiting limo.  At his front door he had me slip into heels.  They fit perfectly.  What other sizes did he know? I wondered, sitting in the limo now, feeling my new shoes on my feet.  My stockinged feet.  The limo squealed away and we travelled down empty streets.  A light rain began to fall, blurring the windows.    
	ÒYou must arrive without the shirt,Ó Master said.  ÒIt is the custom.Ó  He lifted my tee off me, wrestling to get it over my young breasts, so firm in their roundness.  My nipples wiggled stiffly as the shirt cleared them.  He drew it over my tousled head, over my hesitant arms.  
	I had only my wet panties now.  And my socks, inside his shoes that heÕd bought for me.  The limo stopped and let mistress out.  She would not come with us.  I watched her hurry away.  She was the arranger only.  She was too old to participate, master told me.  The party was only for young wives.  To help introduce them to the labors of marriage.  
	The limo halted again.  The rain had gone away.  I had not noticed its passing.  Fifteen minutes I had sat by master, alone in the limo.  Alone with my thoughts.  HeÕd let me gaze out my side window, watching the street lights go by.  Glimpsing other girls safe in their homes, installed at kitchen tables, doing homework.  Geometry and Latin and Science.  I would be assigned new lessons. 
	Bare except for my wet panties I got out of the limo.  Master took me by the arm, led me up to a brownstone house.  In the distance I saw the flash of police lights.  They were searching for me.  They would not find me.  Unless they heard me, perhaps.  Yes.  Unless they heard me, playing inside the brownstone.
	We were met at the door.  A girl peeked out, let us both in.  She had no bra, her breasts were heavy yet stood up sweetly.  Her nipples offered.  She drew me into her arms.  I did not respond, but did not resist either.
	ÒOh, let me kiss you!Ó she said gaily.  She cupped my breasts and opened her mouth, offered her tongue.  It was a ritual, I guessed.  My arms dangling uncertainly at my sides I let her see the inside of my mouth.  She drew out my tongue.  Together mine danced with hers, briefly, delighting Master.  Then she let me go, took me by the hand, brought me over to the other girls.  Trippingly I went, in my new heels.
	Three girls sat around a tea table, dainty porcelain cups waiting, a pitcher of hot tea brewing on a hot plate there.
	ÒWe are almost ready,Ó my welcoming mistress said to me.  ÒWe shall have to dress soon.Ó  She introduced me to my new companions.  They were young females, all newly married, save for one who like me had been brought specially.  A girl of 16 she was, myself 15, yet looking as confounded in her innocence as I myself was.  She wore a little openwork bolero.  It had buttons, though.  So she could close it over her breasts if they became chilly, I guessed.
	I gazed at her and the other girls.  They were all topless as I myself was.  We would be bosom buddies.  I was offered a chair, sat down.  I glanced over my shoulder and saw that master had disappeared.  Mistress, my new mistress, took my hand, directed my gaze back to my new friends.
	ÒYou are Lisa?Ó she asked.  I nodded.  
	ÒGood.Ó  My other mistress had phoned ahead, told her I was coming.
ÒIÕm Pamela,Ó my new mistress told me.  ÒNever mind that dowdy Ms. Johnson.  You will have a wonderful time.Ó  Her eyes caressed my breasts, dipped down to the level of my panties.  ÒYouÕll love every agonizing minute of it,Ó Pamela added, smiling.  
	ÒAgonizing?Ó I asked.  My 16-year-old sister in innocence flinched at the word as I did.    
	ÒYou are here to learn the wifely duties,Ó Pamela said.  ÒAnd it is my job to make sure you learn them all properly.Ó  She offered me a cup of tea, I accepted with reluctance, sipped.  It tasted hot, sweet.  Pamela turned to the others.  They were less giggly now.    
	ÒIÕve been married for six months, so that makes me ringmistress,Ó Pamela said.  ÒThis is my third party, in fact, and I can tell you that the other two were...ah...difficult, but delightfully so.Ó
	ÒWhat did they do to you?Ó a girl asked, wide eyed.  Like myself she wore panties, pulled as high as they would go.  Stockings ran up her legs, patterned like lace doilies, but tightly clipped at the tops of her thighs with a garter belt.
	ÒWell, I was an anal virgin when I arrived,Ó Pamela said.  ÒAnd when I left I...wasnÕt.  My husband and his friends made sure of that.  Then my husband and I decided to host a party a month ago, and now again.  HeÕs made sure we have all the equipment to train wives properly, I can assure you.Ó  She seemed to remember some past agony, flinched, then regained control of herself.  We watched wide eyed, wonderingly, yet afraid of the answer.  Yet not absolutely afraid, I realized, for I could feel myself tingling in secret places.


	With risen nipples we listened as Pamela outlined how we must behave.  We should do as we were told, she said, at all times.  Though if we misbehaved that was not entirely unwelcome, for it would merit punishment.  ÒBut you will be handled like sex slaves in any event, so do not incur anything extra that you can avoid,Ó mistress advised.  ÒPay attention to your masterÕs requests, and remember that every man is your master; though you belong, in the end, of course, to he who brought you.  
	ÒIn a minute I shall have us dress,Ó mistress concluded.  ÒIn special costumes.  We must be very dainty and elegant for the men.Ó
	ÒBut my husband said we would be treated roughly,Ó the girl with tight-pulled panties piped up.  ÒI think we should all wear boots, and thick pants, like Levis or something --Ó
	Mistress laughed.  ÒFor a tea party?  How long have you been married, dear?Ó
	ÒJust two days ago,Ó she said.  
	ÒAh!  Then this is your honeymoon?Ó Mistress asked.
	ÒYes, my husband took my virginity the night we married, breaking my hymen, but he did nothing else.  He insisted he must not cum until the party.  Yesterday he let me rest all day, MADE me rest.  He treated me with breakfast in bed, and lunch and dinner too, spoon feeding it to me.  But he didnÕt touch me, and insisted I must not touch myself either.Ó  She squirmed in her chair as she spoke this, her hands, under the table, no doubt flirting with the thought of diving into her panties.
	ÒThen you are ready to be spermed?Ó Mistress asked.
	ÒI guess so,Ó the new wife replied, her voice trailing off.  ÒI mean, itÕs part of marriage and everything --Ó  She seemed to want to say more, but mistress cut her off.
	ÒNow girls, for everyoneÕs protection we are going to make up names for ourselves.  After all, youÕll all be dignified ladies of society, given the wealth your husbands have.  So think up a name, then tell us where youÕre from, and your new, pretend name.Ó
	Flustered, we looked at each other.  One girl whispered to another.  I myself couldnÕt think what to call myself except ÒLisa.Ó  IÕd always been Lisa.  Any other name would be somehow out of place.
	ÒWell, IÕm Kitty, and IÕm from California,Ó a girl with voluptuous bosoms announced boldly.  She had beautiful big breasts, the kind you see in sex magazines devoted just to that subject.  She seemed ready to go with whatever tonightÕs game would require.  As she spoke her tongue darted across the upper lip of her mouth.
	ÒVery good, since youÕll be wearing a pet collar soon,Ó mistress complimented Kitty.  ÒAnd you?Ó
	ÒIÕm Linda,Ó The newlywed wife with the pulled-up panties, safe but yearning inside them, replied.
	ÒRose,Ó my innocent companion replied.  ÒBecause IÕm an anal virgin and my master promised me heÕd have all the men take turns popping my cherry.  I donÕt really want it popped, but I did like the idea of having a party...Ó
	ÒAnd where are you from?Ó mistress interrupted.
	ÒIdaho,Ó Rose replied.  Somehow weÕd forgotten LindaÕs to obtain LindaÕs origins, I realized.  But it didnÕt seem to really matter.  Mistress turned brightly to me.
	ÒAnd you, Lisa?Ó  She flinched.  ÒOh, my!  IÕve given your name away!Ó  I sensed I was somehow special to her, perhaps because I was the youngest.  She was already planning to take special pains with me.  So she had been thinking of me, and my name just popped out.
	ÒItÕs okay,Ó I replied.  ÒIÕm Lisa, but donÕt tell anyone.  ÔCause IÕve run away from home.Ó
	ÒWell, IÕm Sandra,Ó mistress said.  ÒYou must call me ÔmistressÕ though, when we are playing.  ItÕs all a game, you know, and IÕm in charge of making sure that pretenses are properly kept up.Ó
	ÒWill the, uh, fucking and stuff be just pretend, too?Ó Linda asked hopefully.
	ÒNo, dear,Ó mistress assured her.  She seemed to savor LindaÕs reluctance.  Her eyes lingered on the anxious girl, sizing her up.  She had a body made for sex; perfect bosoms, a small bottom (she was so thin I knew it must be so, though IÕd seen it not).  And I guessed her pussy must be tight as a vise.  Untried, save once on her bridal night for the sake of formality.  And there were at least two others of us who were equally tight; myself and Rose.  I trembled.  Just opening us would be rough sex enough; I prayed Master would spare me any further events.  Let Miss Bosoms enjoy them.  She seemed tailor made for naughty sex.  There was a wild, wanton look in her eyes.  As if she would not hesitate to devour us all if ordered to.
	ÒLetÕs get dressed next,Ó mistress said, rising from her chair.  Our bosoms bounced as we stood with her.  Already we were obedient.  We were too willing, I thought.  We should resist more.  Yet I did not want to defy my newfound master.  So I trailed along with the other girls as mistress led us into a bedroom.
	Ah!  My heart missed a beat as I saw a bridal bed mistress had prepared in her husbandÕs room.  In his masterÕs chamber.  Where he slept with his young wife, and fucked her as he pleased, she willingly receiving him, even encouraging him.
	The bed was white, with a canopy.  But the bed-drapes had been pulled back, showing fluffy pillows and smooth, crisp sheets.  The end of a rope trailed from beneath one of the pillows.  I guessed more was coiled underneath, waiting for a sadist.  Above the bed a whip hung, a Òtraining whip,Ó mistress called it.  It was small yet seemed quite menacing hanging there, its tail curled up neatly, looped over a peg by some well-whipped wife.  
	Beside the bed mistress had prepared a flower vase.  It held an array of colored condoms.  It was not, I noted to myself, something one could get by calling 1-800-FLOWERS.  Mistress had done it herself, making the condoms resemble daisies and roses, arranging them carefully.  The men, I imagined, would just grab the nearest one and yank it on, oblivious to all but the pussy before him.  Yet we girls glided over to it and inspected it, complimented mistress on her handiwork.  
	On the same convenient bedside nightstand, arranged around the vase, were vials of lubricant.  Different flavors, and some with unusual properties.  Some to make the genitals burn with warmth, others to cool and soothe them.  And there were dildos too, looking like big rockets on the nightstand, for when the men at last flagged in their strength, yet wanted to continue fucking.
	Like the room weÕd just left, I noticed (for the first time, really, in regards to both rooms) that all was reflected by mirrors.  There were mirrors on the walls, and above the bed, on the ceiling.  Everything that transpired would be easily seen by all who cared to watch, no matter the angle of view.  I looked at myself and admired my reflection.  My eyes inspected the other girls, they me.  Somehow it was easier to stare at one another through the reflection on a mirror, rather than looking directly.  We gazed a long time at each other, then mugged for each other, making faces, and mooned each other with our bottoms.  Even Linda felt inspired to yank down her undies and show us her pumpkin.  It was as little as I thought it would be, yet well shaped, with high, thrusting cheeks, still girlish in their demeanor, teasing.  KittyÕs by contrast, was full and womanly, the cheeks well-fatted, ready for child bearing.  MistressÕ seemed in-between, a trace of slim girlishness still shaping her hinds, though another year or two might give her fuller hips.
	Rose and myself presented ours together, our hips bumping awkwardly.  We giggled, our asses twin monuments to girl puppyflesh.  We had the sort of bottoms you see at WaterWorld, sliding gaily down the SluiceSlide.  Nicely developed hips with childish bottoms, luringly jiggly, sweet and firm and round.  First bikini bottoms, the kind that make young girls put away their one-piece forever and don two instead.
	ÒEnough, girls!Ó Mistress interrupted.  I think we would have happily mooned each other all day.  Carefree, naked, girls at a slumber party.  Mistress stopped us when we began cutting pretend farts at each other.
	ÒWe must dress,Ó Mistress said.  By now we were without even our panties, having flung them at each other as we grew wilder in our play.  Nude, shivering a little with apprehension, we watched as mistress got our clothes from an armoire and laid them out on the bed.
	Like Linda, I thought we would put on clothes that covered our privates, to be undressed later by our masters.  Alas, it was not to be.  Mistress gave us each special things, and as I got into mine I realized IÕd be without panties.
	Linda must have been struck by the same thought just then, for she announced, ÒMaÕam!  I must have panties!Ó  She was wearing a camisole, lacing it tightly over her bosoms, her belly button twinkling just below it.  A garter belt enclosed her waist, where they merged into her flared hips.  Her new stockings, white and tightly drawn, were secured by the slimmest of garter straps.  Booties encased her feet, shiny and white and made of patent leather.
	ÒDarling, darling, your husband has already seen your bosoms,Ó mistress purred disapprovingly.  She got her fingers in amongst LindaÕs own and promptly untied what Linda had just concealed.
	ÒBut the other men havenÕt seen my boobs,Ó Linda whined as her charms spilled forth, white-fleshed and ruby-nippled.
	ÒWell they are going to, dear.  What sort of party do you think this is?  Do you think we shall all sit around and play Monopoly?Ó
	ÒWell, I know my husband must sperm me, but --Ó Linda began, with a sideways glance at mistressÕ lovely matrimonial bed.  I realized then that even here privacy would not be assured.  We might be fucked by our husbands in plain view of everyone, perhaps myself with Rose beside me, our lovers taking turns between us.  I felt butterflies in my stomach then.  This party was going to be about Sex, raw sex, and we would be sex objects, nothing else.  We would be in the altogether mostly, I suspected, despite the pretty costumes we were putting on now.  They were just that, a put-on, without cumbersome bras or annoyingly concealing panties.  They were clothes that men liked.  ÒEasy accessÓ clothes, though they might find myself and Rose a bit less easy when it came to getting themselves up us.  And Linda too, poor Linda, so very church-going and proper in her attitude, even now as she stood before us with opened camisole, the laces undone, showing her titties.  She was half-undone, actually, which was worse, for the partly untied cami squeezed her breasts from below, forcing the bared nipples to protrude most lewdly, like fat cowÕs udders.
Mistress slapped a broad-brimmed hat on the girl, made of straw, tightly woven, with a pretty ribbon round it where it curved over the top of her head.  And, just for good measure, to make Linda quite formal indeed, she had her don white gloves.  They were made of woven lace, and you could see her skin beneath, yet they looked quite right on her, as if she were off to the Kentucky Derby.  Each glove was bound at the wrist by a tight, decorative band of white thread, cinching it there, then flared out another half inch, ending in a frilly raggedness, as if hastily cut from longer fabric.
	Lastly mistress gave Linda a parasol, to shade her frail frame from the sun, or perhaps to ward off a little rain.  It was made of the same white silk as her camisole, more decorative than serviceable.  No Englishwoman would have even considered taking it outdoors, so flimsy was the parasolÕs covering.  But Linda seemed quite impressed with it, and twirled it around, over her head.  She practised standing under it and then cocking it back over her shoulder.
	ÒI shall have to walk with this down in front of me,Ó Linda announced, lowering the parasol to shield her pussy from our gaze.
	ÒAnd what about your nude bottom, hmmm?Ó Mistress asked.  Linda considered this a moment, reached back behind her heinie with her free hand.  We burst out laughing.  She looked like a boy with a smarting bottom, holding his hinds as he rushed from some punishment, the parasol in front looking for all the world like some ersatz penis.  Linda blushed, put the parasol back over her head, and let go of her behind.  Nervously she arranged the ends of her blonde mane, found it too short to cover her titties.  
	ÒOh, my,Ó Linda lamented.  Even her breasts would have to show, absent a tied-up camisole.  ÒNow I know why my husband made me cut my hair!Ó  Mistress laughed.  We giggled, our own apprehension showing in our amusement at LindaÕs predicament.  Yes, it would be with bared bottoms and pussies that we would meet our masters, I realized.  This was not a tiddly-winks sort of sex party, like IÕd read about in Seventeen, where girls arrive clothed and eventually get undressed by their boyfriends.  We would be unclothed despite our elaborate costumes.  Naked where we should be covered, would be covered, even by something as simple as a bikini; and covered where we hadnÕt even thought it necessary, as with gloves and the shielding of pointless parasols.
	Mistress herself was allowed more leeway in her attire.  She put on a lovely pastel pink cocktail dress that covered her from her shoulders to her thighs.  It had an abundance of pink ruffles around her upper arms, huge billowing close-piled ruffles.  Below them her arms were bare.  But the dress came with mittenless gloves that mistress slid up her arms, covering them.  The glove-sleeves merged into the ruffles, leaving, at last, only her hands bare.  The pink of mistressÕ fingernails matched the color of her dress exactly.
	Mistress asked me to button her dress up in back, and I did so.  The pink dress had a white sash around its middle, prettily embroidered, above that were many buttons, too many, each made of pearl.  The pearls were cultured ones, and still round.  A little pink loop of thread had to be put over each pearl.  I worked with a delicate touch, not wanting to miss any of the pearls, yet at the same time grumbling to myself that the dress was so unbelievably dainty.  Finally I got all 9,000 buttons (or so it seemed!) closed.  Then mistress surprised me.
	ÒTuck up my dress in back, dear,Ó she told me.  Shove it up under my sash until my bottom shows.  You can let it hang down over either cheek, but make sure the crack shows completely, o.k.?  The full length of it, hiding nothing.  I did as she commanded, with a sinking feeling, knowing we were all going to look like very high-priced whores.  And men just love to fuck whores.  They are made for fucking, and nothing else.  Not conversation (though there may be a little of that, as a preliminary), and not kissing either (though it may happen).  They are made for a man to rut in, despite their glamourous clothes, their killer hair, their nails and stockings.  To rut in again and again until he has spent himself completely.  Emptied himself.  Then they are dismissed as so much out-of-date chattel, and must find another man for themselves if they wish to have one.  Desperately I hoped my master wouldnÕt treat me that way.  To fuck me, and dump me?  Surely not.  But the other men, they would fuck me, and I would not see them again, I guessed.  They would use me like a pretty doll, then discard me.  
	I stepped round in front of mistress, having bared her bottom in back.  Her bosoms shifted beneath the opaque fabric of her dress.  Like the rest of us, she wore no bra and no panties, usually the most essential elements for any girl getting dressed.  I could just make out the red hue of her nipples beneath the dress.  Where the stems rose they made inviting little tents in the fabric.  I almost thought they might rip it, so delicate was the material.  The dress itself seemed to have been specially cut for a party such as ours, for it swooped down low, baring the upper curves of mistressÕ bosoms.  Perhaps, I guessed, it was made to have a bra or other garment underneath (though the bra cups would have risen well above the dressÕ scalloped neckline.)  Mistress seemed pleased, though, primping in the mirror.  She had long sheer stockings on, made of beige nylon. Bands in the stockings, sheer as the stockings they were a part of, held them aloft round the tops of her thighs.  Mistress pulled one down a little, showing a little more thigh, left the other tightly drawn, concealing all but the last sweet inch of her leg, where it merged with her pussy.  The lowered stocking gave her a slightly disheveled look, as if sheÕd been caught not quite dressed.  (Which the men would certainly see, the moment she turned round and showed them her bottom.)  But her hair was impeccable, every strand combed neatly now as she stood before the mirror, admiring herself, being admired by all of us.  She wore pumps with little loops round the ankles, loops that sheÕd carefully tied, ribbon-loops whose ends dangled down in long strands toward the floor.  The slightest walk down the street and they would surely be soiled.  Yet they were perfect now, and I doubted they would ever touch a public sidewalk.  They might be seen Òin public,Ó surely, as her bottom no doubt would be, but it would be a selected public, strangers sheÕd agreed to meet sight-unseen and show herself off to, whoÕd made prior arrangements.
	I myself was half-dressed.  I was assigned leather chaps, which IÕd put my legs into, just fitting the leg-sleeves.  Each was draped in front with a second layer of leather, fringed, so that if I put my feet together it looked like I might be wearing a dress, one so long it covered me right down to my toes.  Of course, a quick glance at my crotch showed I had, indeed, chaps, which offered my pussy no covering whatsoever.  My fleecy pubic mound stared back at me from a mirror, my most private part utterly revealed.  Yet the chaps had not only fringe but indian feathers, hanging down the outside of my trousered legs, with white cotton-puffballs, and large steel sequins, in the shape of oval sheriffÕs badges.  Elaborate decoration, painstakingly done, yet my pubic mound remained bare.  In back, of course, my bottom showed, bulging out without any covering at all.  Above it my back arched high, finally meeting the soft curls of my blonde mane where it tumbled down over my shoulders.
	I wore boots also, white patent leather ones, with much elegant tooling worked into the leather.  Useless decoration again, for most of each boot was covered by my chaps!  A cowboy hat complemented my attire, a broad-brimmed sombrero-like hat, with an elegant leather band round its crown.  Yet, there was a final item waiting for me on the bed -- a bra!  I had to be buckled into it, and mistress helped me.  The cups proved too small, despite my youth, leaving my areolas peeking temptingly out over its top, my nipples threatening to pop from the cups any moment.  The bra itself was sewn shut in back.  I had to put it on as one does a vest.  In front, the twin straps that mounted my shoulders ended without reaching the cups.  But buckles, saving me, rose up from the cups, waiting to receive the strap-tongues hanging down.  Mistress buckled each belt-like strap into its buckle, and at last I was done.  I turned, regarded myself in the mirror.  The tops of my twin areolas still showed.  My bosoms, too big for the cups, bulged within them.  I looked like I might burst forth any time, which no doubt would greatly amuse the men.  I vowed to move gracefully and avoid breathing deeply.  I was the only girl with a bra, and I wanted to keep mine on as long as I could.
	Rose got to keep her pretty bolero.  Mistress pressed it for her on an ironing board that stood helpfully in the corner.  No doubt someone would put it away once the party began.  Clothes were intended to be wrinkled then, not preserved.  But for now it must be very crisp and neat, and mistress made sure it was.  Rose put it back on.  It fit her like a vest, yet had a high collar that enclosed her neck.  Sleeves ran down to just below her elbows, leaving her forearms bare, as well as her hands.  The bolero had buttons, but mistress scissored these off before giving the garment back to Rose.  Now it was for decoration only, and hung prettily alongside her breasts, wanting to hug them but unable to.  
	Rose looked down at herself.  Her cleavage jutted out youthfully, her firm, high breasts each topped by an obviously excited nipple.  Rose was ready for fucking, in her nipplesÕ estimation, whether she wanted it or not.  Boots were given to her, knee-high boots of blue leather, to match the blue colors in her bolero.  And she was given fingerless white mitten-gloves, to match the white colors in her bolero.  She went hatless, though, unlike myself and Linda.  
	ÒMistress, may I please have a hat?Ó Rose asked Sandy.  I smiled to myself.  She was so innocent!  Even more than me.  Bereft of panties, without any bra, she asked for a hat.  As if she did not know yet the effect her lovely, naked figure would have on the rough men that would greet us.  Like some little nymph, captured, she yearned yet for the flowers sheÕd picked, or her little pet squirrels, even as a God stole her away from her forest playground for remorseless fucking.  With big doe eyes she pleaded for a hat until mistress, finally relenting, pleased her with an unauthorized one taken from her closet.  It was big and round, and shaded her face, and made of black straw.  
	ÒYour master will punish you for wearing something he didnÕt prescribe,Ó Mistress said.  Even as she issued her warning she adorned the girlÕs new hat with fresh-cut flowers.  SheÕd taken them from a vase on the dresser, depriving the vase but making Rose all the more adorable.  She poked them into the girlÕs hat band.  They were roses, with thorns still on the stems.
	ÒI want a hat.  I like my hat,Ó was RoseÕs only reply.  She pirouetted in the mirror, admiring the roses, the blackness of the silk, worrying aloud a little about the thorns.
	ÒA few thorns wonÕt hurt you,Ó Mistress replied.  ÒSo long as you donÕt sit on your hat.  You werenÕt planning to do that, were you?Ó
	ÒOh, no!Ó Rose replied.  ÒItÕs very pretty.  IÕd hate to see it ruined.Ó
	Kitty was last to dress.  She seemed not to want clothes.  Mistress had to order her into them.  In the event, they amounted to very little.  There was a vest, made of leather, raw leather like a car shammy.  It hung from her shoulders by spaghetti-thin cords of leather.  She pushed the straps as far as she could to the end of her shoulders, not wanting them.  Beaded straps, intended to hold up her vest along with the leather ones, fell away on either side, looping nothing more than her upper arms.  In front, ties made of leather were intended to be used to close the vest over her bosoms.  But the vest proved to hang so low that it would have not covered her nipples, only the lower curves of her jutting breasts.  Kitty, disdainfully, knotted the ties in such a loose manner that they didnÕt even draw the halves of the vest nearer each other.  And she only did the lower two ties, leaving the upper two completely undone.  The poor vest, half-abandoned, fell away on either side of her boobs, actually folding down over itself, where the untied ties dangled uselessly down to her hips.  Her gently-swelling belly, framed by the abandoned ties, looked all the more inviting, begging to be impregnated.  Her mound was bare, her thighs all bare, but round her calves mistress now carefully wrapped homemade-boots.  They were unique; moccasins with elevated heels that had to be wrapped round the legs in order to fit securely.  Kitty fretted, not wanting them, watched as mistress put her into them all the same.  When mistress was finally done Kitty looked rather like a twin-legged mummy below the knees.  She strode back and forth in front of the bed, trying out her new boots.  Her master knew her well.  She was encased in them, would not be able to remove them even if she wanted to.  For, behind each bare knee, where the boot ended, mistress had fastened the wrapped leggings with a tiny lock.  Only KittyÕs master would be able to remove the boots.  
	ÒOh, please!  CanÕt you unlock these silly things?Ó Kitty complained.  She stomped in her boots, impatient with them, as if they blocked her pussy or her pee-hole.
	ÒMy dear, this is not an ordinary party, as I keep reminding you girls,Ó Mistress tutted at Kitty.  ÒI do not have the key.  Only your master has the key.  I could not unlace you from your boots even if I wanted to.Ó
	ÒOh, my!Ó Kitty exclaimed.  ÒI cannot even take a bath, being stuck in these things!  They would shrink horribly, and bind my legs like the Devil himself.Ó
	ÒIÕm sure thatÕs why your master chose them,Ó mistress replied.  A shiver ran through us all then, for the boots were the first real evidence that we were prisoners here; of our own device, surely, but prisoners all the same.  And more imprisoned every minute, it seemed.       
	Mistress seated herself at a little table.  She made out a dance card for each of us.  Each one was made of black satin, trimmed with black lace.  Mistress wrote on each one with indelible silver ink, from a special marking pen.  She put down our made-up names, stopping to ask us again what they were to make sure she got them right.  Then she put down an ÒA,Ó after our name, if we were still an anal virgin.  Otherwise the card contained only a name.  Then she handed our cards to us.  Each of us was made to tie our dance card to our wrist, with dainty black thread that was attached to the card.  Mine, of course, had a big ÒAÓ on it, as did RoseÕs and LindaÕs.  Sandy and Kitty, experienced with men, had only their names, though SandyÕs was written as Miss Sandy.  She was our chaperone, though she was charged with seeing that we did NOT stay safe.  Her duty was to make sure we were fucked.  
	Tremblingly I tied on my dance card.  It was very admirable, I liked it but for the Òscarlet letter,Ó as it were.  Rose seemed a bit bothered by hers also.
	ÒWhat, you girls have each been given an ÒA,Ó and you are unhappy?Ó Mistress teased.
	ÒI shanÕt ever have one again after tonight, with this one advertising me so blatantly,Ó Rose whined.
	ÒNo, dear, you shall not.  It is my job to see that you shall not.Ó  Now letÕs go back to the tea room, girls.  And remember, though this party is in the manner of a little girlsÕ tea party, we are all big girls.Ó  She smirked, looking us over as she led us out.  ÒWe had BETTER be, for the men all have big things.Ó
	We plopped back into our chairs round the tea table, more clothed than weÕd been before yet feeling much more naked.  IÕd only had teeny panties before, and damp ones at that, hiding nothing.  Now I was encumbered with chaps, boots, a bra, and a hat, all in very elegant leather.  Yet I felt totally vulnerable, exposed, and I knew the other girls must feel worse, having not even a bra!  Rose in her bolero, Linda in her cami, Kitty in her useless Indian vest.  Even Kitty looked a little uneasy now.  Dress-up time was over.  The men would be with us any minute.
	ÒOne more thing,Ó Mistress said.  She passed around behind each of us, drawing from a small box she held a leather collar.  Around each of our necks she fastened, then locked, one of these beastly devices.  I could not remove mine, nor the girls theirs.  Finally mistress closed one around her own throat.  Dangling down from each collar, in front, was a small gold heart.  
	ÒWhat does mine read?Ó I asked, seeing the other girls had sayings on theirs.
	ÒYour heart reads the same as ours, dear,Ó mistress replied casually.  ÒIt says, ÒÔI Love You.ÕÓ
	ÒYou mean IÕm going to walk up to men with THIS around my throat, ÔI Love You.Ó???  Pristine Linda was most disturbed.  ÒTo STRANGERS?  I LOVE you?Ó  
	ÒYes, dear, and thatÕs exactly what youÕll do, too, love them, unless your master intervenes to stop it.Ó
	ÒOh, I donÕt want this!Ó Linda boo-hooed, shedding a few little tears.  
	ÒDarling, think of how much you love your husband, and how you want to please him in every way.  You do, donÕt you?Ó Mistress asked.  Gently she wiped the pouting girlÕs tears from her cheeks with a lace napkin.
	ÒYes,Ó Linda sobbingly agreed, her voice catching but no more tears welling up.  ÒYes I DO want to please him.  I love him VERY much.  ThatÕs why I married him.  But these things heÕs making me do.  Well, I can hardly guess what he has in store for me, and I donÕt like even thinking about it!Ó
	ÒThen that must be why he brought you, dear,Ó Mistress consoled her.  ÒFor training.  YouÕve been to school before, havenÕt you?Ó
	ÒYes!  Of course!  For arithmetic, and writing, and cooking!  I was very good in home economics.Ó
	ÒThen you must be very good in this school too, dear, for sex is even more important than cooking to a marriage.Ó
	ÒWell...Ó Linda considered, thinking, I knew, that man could live without sex but not without food.  Yet, truly, even I at my tender age knew that any man would pass up a meal for fucking.  I knew this just from being around boys.  At school theyÕd complain endlessly about needing second helpings in the lunchroom.  Then, next day, IÕd see them necking out back of the cafeteria with some girl, and theyÕd miss lunch entirely.  Yet all afternoon theyÕd be grinning from ear to ear.
	ÒNow is anyone else thinking of backing out?Ó Mistress asked, surveying us as we sat fidgeting round the table.  We were half a dozen pair of jiggly boobs, all anxious and yet very pretty.  We shook our heads no.  Mistress smiled, rose, strode to the door IÕd entered through.  She opened the drawer of a heavy oak dresser near the entrance.  She plucked a key from it, and locked the door.  Finality.  We were done in now, for sure.  My next dance card, and the next after that, would never have an ÒAÓ on it again.  Mistress replaced the key in the dresser.
	ÒThis drawer is self-locking,Ó Mistress warned us.  I opened it before you girls arrived, so IÕd be able to get the door key out.  But once I close it, I cannot get the door key out anymore.  Only one of the masters will be able to open the front door, and which one has the second key, or where heÕs stashed it, I do not know.  Firmly she shut the drawer, and its closing seemed to echo in the room.  I think we all looked a little pale then, despite our rouge and makeup.
	Mistress returned to our table.  She gazed at me a moment, almost longingly.  ÒLisa, you are so young and sweet,Ó she said at last.  ÒTruly you are my favorite!  I want you to wear what I wore at my first sex party.Ó  From her small box, the one that had held the collars, she drew forth a pair of shiny metal handcuffs.
	ÒOh, my God!Ó Linda exclaimed.
	ÒShush, girl!  Or IÕll dress you in these instead,Ó mistress warned.  Linda watched as I felt mistress draw my arms behind me.  I wanted to bolt, to flee, but a desire still possessed me to please my newfound master.  I did not want to go back to mommie just yet.  I wanted to play, to have fun!  Yet could I, bound like this, I asked myself.  Too late!  I felt the cold cuffs snap shut.  They were tight on my wrists.  I did not ask about they key.  I knew the answer already.  A master would have it.  Someone would unlock me, but it would not necessarily be my own master.  For, indeed, they would not know, in advance, which of us had been cuffed.  It was a ritual passed down, woman to woman.  I would possess the cuffs from now on, until I passed them along to another.  And one more item too, I realized, my eyes rounding with shock as I saw it drawn from the box.  A ball gag!  Big and round and apple-red.  Boys at school threatened talkative girls with them, though in fact they owned none, simply read of them in magazines.  Except one boy.  Somehow heÕd gotten hold of one and passed it around in class one day, amongst the boys.  TheyÕd chucked.  We girls had not asked teacher any questions that day.  ÒBoyÕs Day,Ó they called it after that.  The day the girls shut up in class.
	Now mistress put the gag to my lips.  I opened my lips, receiving it as IÕd hoped to receive masterÕs cock.  Firmly she shoved it home, nearly gagging me, momentarily.  It bulbed within my mouth, trapping my tongue beneath it.  I had to think to swallow.  Yet, worse, the ball bulged from between my parted lips, showing everyone my submission.  I felt like some assistant to William Tell.  Would he pierce me right through my apple, gauging even his speed correctly so that the pointed arrowhead rested harmlessly within my gaping mouth?  Or would it travel on, stabbing me right through the base of my skull and nailing me to a wall somewhere?  I trembled at the thought of walking around, greeting men with a ball gag on and a sign hanging from my neck reading, ÒI Love You.Ó  The other girls looked at me with trepidation.  Things were getting very serious now.
	Along one wall there was a curtain.  ÒI must open the curtain now,Ó Mistress advised us.  She rose and clattered across the floor in her heels, her bottom showing all the way.  Drawing on a cord, she moved the curtain back with little effort.  Curiously, she drew from a cord hanging down at the center of the drapes (for there were two, which now withdrew simultaneously).  When the drapes were gone mistress walked forward, and I saw that there was an opening in the wall.  Mistress stopped at the opening, and to my surprise I saw the men just beyond, lounging in tailored tuxedoes.
	ÒPlease come in.  The partyÕs about to begin,Ó Mistress called, her voice sounding small and insignificant from where we sat.  A light breeze ruffled her hair, shivered her dress.  As she turned the men caught the breathtaking sight of her bottom.  Only her husband, among the men in the group, had seen her like that before.  As she walked back to us her bottom beckoned them, swaying and jiggling with wifely lure.  The men hustled up from the chaise lounges theyÕd been resting in, smoking and talking.  They tossed their cigars aside and followed Sandy, eyes glued to her heinie.  She led them to us.
	The men seemed imposing as they entered.  They were big men, tall, some of them extremely well built; others, like my master, more regal, slim but strong.  They gazed at us with covetous eyes, irrespective of who owned whom.  We were, in fact, on display, like wares in a shop window.  Except there was no window.
	Like the other girls, my rounded eyes flicked from one to the other.  We were runaway slaves, captured by our masters.  When my eyes met those of my own master I blushed, dropped them.  I felt ashamed wearing the ball gag, as if I myself had ordered it put on.  It seemed a symbol of my wantonness; letting him steal me, strip me, and now even dressing up for him, in naughty clothes that hid nothing.
	The men, despite their decorous attire, seemed about to tear us from our seats round the table and fuck us directly.  But mistress raised her hand.  It was slim, delicate, with long fingers and longer nails.  It could not have restrained a big dog, tugging on a leash.  Yet it stopped the men.  It stilled them.  With a shudder I realized the Òrough sex,Ó so often referred to, would be ritualized; perhaps administered by mistress herself, for the menÕs wicked pleasure.  IÕd hoped to get whatever must be done to me over with quickly, taken by my master and fucked hard and fast, breaking my desire to flee; perhaps given to a friend afterward, for a final vigorous fuck.  But this decadence would be slow, leisurely.  We might be tied up and God knows what done to us, for hours perhaps, til we screamed more loudly than the souls damned in Hell, til our voices gave out and we lay with mouths open in a rictus only, tortured still.  Boys had sometimes boasted of this to me, reading up on it first in Penthouse Forum and then taunting me with it in the lunch line, me and the other girls.  How we would have this done to us, and that, and always they made a big thing about how we would be wearing boots.  I glanced down at myself, well-booted, all us girls (save mistress) well-booted, and realized what IÕd let myself in for.  The pretty game of dress-up had been not so much a girlÕs fantasy as a boyÕs, with the men gloating outside, waiting to rape us while we primped and pranced before the mirrors in mistressÕ bedroom.
	Five men.  Five females.  Mistress rose, her frail body dwarfed by the hulking men who towered over us.  Yet she controlled them, despite her frailty.  With her stocking-sheathed legs, her bottom showing in back, she held them in check with but a glance.  (Though for how long, I wondered?)  Mistress had a hat of her own, it turned out, a pink policewomanÕs cap.  She lifted it from atop a bookshelf and plunked it on her head.  She took hold of the bill and straightened it.
	ÒAttention, men!  Bring yourselves to attention.Ó  Sluggishly the five men formed up into a kind of line.  ÒPresent arms!Ó Mistress ordered.  With an audible groan of relief the men zipped themselves down, yanked open their trousers.  Through their flies their cocks sprang, huge and hard and throbbing manfully.  Mistress stopped before each one and lifted it with a single finger.  She inspected it.  
	ÒOnly the largest cocks are allowed,Ó she reminded the men.  ÒIÕm going to measure each of you and you had better not have lied on your applications.  Your dick better be just as big as you said it would be, right down to the last centimeter.  And I want to know who has the biggest penis, so extend yourselves with all your might.  You will not want to miss out on the prize for it.Ó  Manfully the men thrust out their organs, all stiff as boards, their butts clenching and unclenching beneath their expensive, tailored pants.  Carefully Mistress measured the first man with a tape measure, both his length, right down to the hairy base; and, wrapping the tape measure around his girth, the width of his cock.
	ÒOh, God!Ó the first man exclaimed.  I could see the touch of mistressÕ hands had him trembling right on the brink of release.  
	ÒContain yourself until I can get your measurements, sir!Ó Mistress admonished.  When he groaned again she stuck a fingernail directly into his peehole, as if her delicate bit of nail could hold back his torrent.  The man bit his lip, trembled, groaned again.  ÒControl, sir, control.  You must hold yourself in all night, not just for the inspection.Ó
	ÒI-I canÕt,Ó the man admitted suddenly, giving a final, heart-rending tremble.
	Mistress lifted up the front of her dress, displayed her bush to him.  ÒDo you have no consideration for my pussy?Ó  She asked.  ÒSee how neatly IÕve trimmed it, just for you, for your private enjoyment.  Making sure every little curl was just so...Do you think you were chosen because you could cum quickly?  Like some boy in high school?  YouÕre supposed to be a man, and hold yourself--Ó  It was too late.  With a shocked gasp Mistress realized suddenly he was shooting his seed right into her pretty mound.  She looked down, open-mouthed, dismayed, as he poured shot after shot of sperm directly onto her pubic hair.  At last the torrent ceased and mistress stood there, appalled at what heÕd done to her dell.  ÒLook at me!Ó  she cried.  ÒI spent hours doing my hair, putting up makeup, picking out clothes, and you just shoot your wad right onto me?  The sperm dropped in great globs from her mount, as if she herself was somehow magically endowed with an ability to make seed.  Much of it, though, remained, spoiling her with male fluid that would not come out without careful washing.  She hadnÕt been slimed, but spermed.  
	Mistress tucked the front of her upcurled dress under her sash.  She did not want to get sperm all over it.  She would just have to let her pretty bush show.  She took her special box, that which had held our collars, and pulled out a small black ring.  A cockring!  WeÕd teased the boys at school about putting them in those, discussed the possibility at great length at our girlÕs slumber parties.  Now I finally got to see one, a real one.  I watched, mesmerized, as mistress slipped the ring firmly over the flagging cock of the man whoÕd just come.  
	ÒThis will control your emissions better in future, sir,Ó mistress told him.  He was young, he would be up again soon, I could tell.  Even as her fingers fitted the ring to his staff it strengthened, inspired by her touch.  ÒI didnÕt think you were such a little boy that youÕd need one of these.  ItÕs for training, you know, training cocks to retain their seed until the appointed moment.  The moment when (ahem) the woman is ready.Ó  Before her hands left him he was quite stiff again, the ring hopelessly bound round his penile base, digging into the flesh there.  His organ seemed bigger now, bloated by the ring.  He could do nothing to rid himself of it, short of cuming.  And he wasnÕt about to let that happen, I could tell!  The men chided him that theyÕd buttfuck him if he couldnÕt hold himself in a second time.  Tremblingly he stood there, his dick imprisoned, yet lewdly shown.  Mistress moved on to the next man.
	ÒWhy, youÕre not as big as the last fellow, sir,Ó Mistress scolded him, taking his measurements.  Indeed.  The first was chosen, it seemed, almost for his penile attributes themselves.  He was young and looked like a swimmer, but his cock was deliciously big.  HeÕd gotten in based on its size, I thought, not because of his status.  The other men, older, looked like dignified businessmen, but the boy whoÕd spurted looked like someone who might deliver a pizza to your door.  But in a tuxedo, of course, like the smashing one he wore now.  My eyes remained on him even after mistress had left him; standing with his penis exposed, quivering madly in the confines of the cock ring.  I longed to rise from my chair, tear off my gag, and then gag myself on his rod, make him spurt down my throat.  Master saw me admiring him, admonished me silently with his gaze.  Wilfully I glanced away, looked upon the young boy once more, drank in his cock with my eyes.  A glance back at master found him brimming with silent anger.  I tossed my mane of hair, impishly refused to look at him after that, preferring instead the boyÕs wondrous organ, a feast for eyes and pussy both.
	ÒGirls, please rise,Ó Mistress told us when sheÕd finished taking the last manÕs measurements.  The others got up, but mistress had me remain seated, for I was gagged.  ÒEach girl to a man other than her master,Ó mistress ordered, Òfor to do otherwise would be a waste of opportunities!Ó  The girls padded out, lined up one to a man, and each man, knowing beforehand what must be done, forced the girl to her knees.  He stuck his dick in her face and ordered her to suck it.  Even mistress was included, dropping to her knees to take a man next to her husband.  Linda was assigned to my master.  I hoped, maliciously, that heÕd spurt all over her pretty camisole.  
	I watched as the girls, choking first, then getting hold of themselves, sucked each man deep into her throat.  Some deeper than others, of course.  Rose and Linda looked least able, while Kitty and mistress seemed to plumb new depths with the offered cocks.  Why go the route of the tight-clasping pussy when the tummy can be fertilized directly?  A silly question, of course, but I nonetheless thought the girls looked like extras for some Aliens movie, their heads fastened to cocks that would impregnate them with some alien spoor.
	Like milkmaids at milking time the girls bobbed their heads, up-down, up-down, rhythmically drawing forth the menÕs seed.  Yet, reluctant steers, the men held back, grimacing.  We had our own stud farm, it seemed, yet the chosen bulls were reluctant to lose their strength.  At last each girl received a messy tribute in her mouth.  Linda spluttered, losing some of the precious seed, shocked at the indignity of having a man come in her mouth.  Kitty and mistress worked their own men until theyÕd claimed every last drop.  Even the young man came again, spurting lustily into RoseÕs mouth, and I envied her.  When the young ladies rose they all had sperm moustaches, like little girls, save that the milk theyÕd drank could make babies grow in their wombs.
	ÒMmmm, delicious!  Thankyou, sir,Ó Mistress said to the man sheÕd serviced.
	ÒIt tastes awful!Ó Linda protested, trying to lick all the sperm off her upper lip.  Mistress gave her bottom a playful slap and told her to get a cock ring.  
	With glowing eyes, each girl fitted a man with a cock-ring.  Master seemed to take newfound pleasure in persnickety Linda.  Her gloved hands fitted him carefully.  She held him ever so daintily, trying not to get her lace mittens sticky.  When the ring was pushed home she knelt and licked him again, not liking it, she told him, but feeling she must do him at least as well as the other girls.  Soon, lured by her tongue, master was hard again.  He seemed to want to rod Linda and spurt in her again.
	ÒNo, sir, we musnÕt,Ó Linda said, glancing sideways at the other girls.  They, like Linda, had given their assigned men a welcoming lick, bringing them back from the dead, so to speak, making them rise once more to play all night; cockrings now safely in place.
	ÒGirls, now that we have welcomed the men we must welcome each other,Ó mistress told her young charges.  The men retreated to chairs, watched with expectant eyes.  Mistress selected Linda.
	ÒWhat must be done?Ó Linda asked, wide-eyed.  
	ÒWe must kiss,Ó mistress replied.
	ÒOh, I donÕt like kissing girls!Ó Linda whined.  Mistress simply turned her around.  Then she knelt.  She placed her hands on the insides of LindaÕs thighs.  ÒOh!  I can feel your breath on my bottom!Ó Linda exclaimed.  Gently mistress forced Linda into a wider stance.  She looked at the rest of us.  ÒItÕs called Ôbottom smooching,ÕÓ Mistress told us.  What the eskimos at the South Pole do.Ó  With that she parted LindaÕs hinds and thrust her mouth right into the girlÕs crack!  ÒOh!  You are kissing my asshole!Ó Linda shouted.  She teetered in her booties, almost falling backward over mistress as the woman speared her anus with her tongue.  ÒMaÕam!  Please!Ó Linda cried.  The girl, bent backward, catching herself in a backwards fall by landing her hands on mistressÕs shoulders, bleated like a lost lamb.  Indeed, we were all lost, it occurred to me, cocks and now asses exposed to the most intimate of oral caresses.  
	There was a loud smooching sound, mistress making it for effect, and then she withdrew her mouth and tongue from LindaÕs hiney.  ÒThis is the proper way to greet friends at an orgy,Ó Sandra told us, addressing all us girls, as she lifted her face from between the bunching, youthful cheeks of LindaÕs bottom.  SandraÕs lipstick was smeared a little, and I thought I caught a trace of brown on her tongue.  This was worse than being a brownnose!
	Sandra rose, took Linda by her diminutive shoulders and spun her about.  ÒNow, you greet me,Ó Sandra told her.  (I was beginning to think of her as Sandra now, instead of mistress.  With all those strange, hulking men present she seemed more one of us now.  They just gazed, detached, resting in the somnolence of their stuffed easy chairs.  One of the men had poured drinks for his Òbrothers in ringsÓ and they quaffed them liberally, perhaps to ease the pain they were feeling from those awful cock rings!  
	Linda was on the verge of blubbering.  ÒOH!  I shanÕt greet you, like that!  Never!Ó she cried.
	ÒYou must learn it, dear,Ó Sandra said with surprising understanding, as if she herself had wrestled with a similar lesson not too many months back.  ÒYou are very beautiful and your husband will no doubt want to show you off at many, many orgies.  You must know proper behavior when you arrive, lest they think you some unskilled minor and refuse you and your husband admittance.  That is why we have this little school here, donchÕa know?Ó  Linda glanced anxiously at her husband, her eyes growing wider as they crossed over the forest of toadstool cocks all standing up, long-stemmed and bloated.  His eyes were stern.  He was suffering his own agonies at this very moment, on his most important part.  He would brook no mercy for her silly asshole!
	ÒBoo Hoo!Ó Linda sobbed.  She slid down SandraÕs body.  Her wet tears spilled from her eyes and wet SandraÕs tummy as she dropped to the floor.  Hitting the floor with her knees, softly, LindaÕs eyes jolted open.  Her mouth was right at the bush of another woman.  Sandra grabbed her man of red hair.
	ÒOh, so you wish to give me the personal greeting?Ó Sandra laughed.  The men chuckled.  
	ÒOh, nooo!  Your bottom is much better --Ó Linda yelped.  But it was too late.  Bending her legs into a bow, a wishbone of desire, Sandra forced LindaÕs pretty young face directly up into her twat.  ÒDonÕt stop Ôtil I taste like honey,Ó Sandra said.  Then she looked over at the men.  ÒShe will need encouragement,Ó Sandra told them.
	My own master looked at a man beside him.  ÒIs she your wife?Ó he asked.  
	ÒYes,Ó the man replied.
	ÒMay I do the honors?Ó my master asked.
	ÒFor me to do it would be, as Sandra said, Ôa waste of opportunities,ÕÓ LindaÕs husband replied.
	My master rose and undid his belt.  He pulled it out of his belt loops with a quick, menacing slither.  He doubled it as he advanced across the room, his big cock waggling and tossing bits of pre-cum here and there as he came toward us.  I could say nothing.  I was gagged.  
	Master bent and thrust a hand straight into LindaÕs wiggling hiney.  Roughly he parted her asscheeks with his thumb and sought her newly-kissed hole.  Its wetness eased the bold insertion of his thumb into it.  
	LindaÕs back bolted upright.  Her face popped from SandraÕs dell before being ruthlessly shoved back into her waiting twat.  With his fingers master dove within LindaÕs sweetly wet pussy.  It was excited despite her misgivings.  Almost as roughly as master had captured her, Linda now wriggled her bottom in an effort to free it.  But Master was strong.  There was no escaping his grip.  The effort seemed to tire him, though.  He would give her a reason to settle down.
	Master released LindaÕs behind.  For a moment she seemed to buck it up with glee, thinking sheÕd won, showing it off to the world as being free, her own possession.  
	WHACK!  Master brought his belt down hard.  Linda screamed into SandraÕs cunt.  Her face seemed to plow into it more deeply, as if refuge awaited her there.  Her bottom, so nobly free just a moment before, now reared up with pain.
	WHACK!  WHACK!  A double salute!  One for each enchantingly peevish asscheek.  Linda cried into SandraÕs cunny, wetting it for her.
	ÒLick, darling, lick!  It is not how wet it is, but how it tastes,Ó Sandra advised.  ÒDonÕt try to take a shortcut by simply crying into it.Ó
	Master continued his remorseless, blasting assault, and as I watched I realized that whatever he did to Linda would probably have to be done by LindaÕs husband to me!  He seemed to savor the blows.  They relieved him of thinking about his own agonized organ.
	Suddenly I leaped up.  Stumbling across the room in my new boots, my hands bound firmly behind my back and my mouth gagged, I approached the trio.  My big boobies bounced freely, the only part of me that wasnÕt restrained.  I dropped to my knees beside Linda.  Through my gag I begged her to lick as ferociously as possible.  If only to spare my own bottom!  
	I felt rough male hands in my hair, at the back of my head.  My master!  Would he punish me?  Certainly IÕd not been given permission to rise from my seat at the table.  Ah!  He undid my gag.  It fell down around my neck, half buckled still, but loose enough for my mouth to be free of it.  A second collar.  It could be replaced any time.
	ÒLick!  Lick!Ó I cried, and drove my face in beside Linda, fighting to get at SandraÕs pussy.  Linda howled as another searing stroke of the belt assailed her.  I was spared, for my own ass was reserved, I knew, for LindaÕs husband.  To spare myself I licked like an earnest doggie at SandraÕs cunt.  Master walloped LindaÕs tender hiney again.  From the corner of my eye I spotted it in a mirror.  It was rapidly approaching the color of a ripe tomato.  Linda waggled it about as if begging someone to pick it, but no one came.  Like an over-ripe tomato it would soon be, left outside in the burning heat of the midday sun.
	ÒYou taste like honey!Ó I cried suddenly, triumphantly to Sandra.  When I looked up I saw that her nipples were like coral, poking hard into her party dress.  Her face was uptilted, passionate.  
	ÒYes!  Yes, I must,Ó was all she could say, moaning it out.  Mistress was almost our slave now, and ruthlessly master made it so by grabbing both myself and Linda by our hair and yanking us back from her.
	ÒShe must not cum,Ó Master said gruffly to us, as if weÕd been disobedient in the first place for licking her!  
	Kitty had watched all with ravenous eyes.  The girls had settled back into their seats around the table, but Kitty rose boldly now.  Sleeking her hands down her thighs she looked over at the men for permission.  They nodded.  She smiled.  A catÕs thankyou.  
	Casual in her indian-wear, her little beads jangling prettily, Kitty came over to Sandra.  Politely she knelt and eased SandraÕs legs fully apart.  With one little lick she tasted her.
	Òmmmm,Ó Kitty said.  She smiled, her lips wet, turned her head back over her shoulder toward the men.  ÒMay I have more?Ó she asked.
	ÒNot now, not now,Ó a man replied.  He seemed mesmerized by her lioness qualities.  She was the lioness king.  His penis quaked with desire.  He longed to let her romp and roam over him, master him.  I guessed he must be the man who married her.  Or perhaps not.  Perhaps he was another man, moved by her performance.  We were all advertising here, I supposed, showing off our best parts in the living room, for later copulations in the bedroom.  Cocks might be put to pussies all, or not, and who did whom first was being decided right now.  Which did I like best?  My mind fled from the question.  Could I really be about to embark on a night of passionate, unbridled Fucking?  I had no experience of it.  New phalanxes of butterflies took off in my tummy.  I stared at the big organs, arranged like cannons ready to fire, across the room.  Their owners saw me staring, smiled back at me like Cobras waiting to strike.  
	Trying to recover herself, Sandra straightened her dress, pulled on its hem.  She went to a shelf and picked up a brush.  With light strokes she glossed her hair, tidied it.  She placed the brush back down, delicately, as if intending to use it more later, perhaps for other purposes.
	When she returned to the table, Sandra picked up a teddy-bear shaped bottle of honey.  She seemed to have a new use in mind for it, though previously we had all used it to sweeten our tea.  What else could one do with honey?
	Sandra urged us to our feet.  ÒCome, dears, lets visit a bit with the menfolk,Ó she urged.  She guided us before her across the room.  In front of the men we lined up, shivering in our nudity, yet all dressed and undressed still in our party costumes.  
	ÒHereÕs something to get you started,Ó Sandra said to me, and pushed the bottle of honey right up against my pubic hair.  She squeezed the plastic bottle, it squirted.  Honey besmirched my carefully groomed dell.  I gasped.  Sandra turned me round and ordered me to bend over.  I bent, trembling.  I put my wrists to the front of my boots.  I was in some new P.E. class, doing toe-touches for what purpose I knew not.
	ÒOh!Ó I gasped.  The tip of the squirt bottle found my virgin anus and violated it.  In it went, penis like, and when lodged within my clenching tightness it released its cargo.  ÒOoooh!Ó  Honey shot up my ass.  I turned my head round, gawping with embarrassment at Sandra, the men.  How foolish I felt!  Getting honey squirted up my asshole?  This was silly, ridiculous.  And so very, very naughty!  What would the 911 people think of this?  It would make sky-high ratings on AmericaÕs Most Wanted.
	For good measure Sandra gave me another shot, a long one, seeming to relish the fact that she was the first to deflower my hiney.  ÒYou may rise, dear,Ó she said finally, reluctantly.  I stood, turned about slowly, cheeks clenching, embarrassed to face my audience.  The men grinned at me.  They would see me do this and much else tonight, I feared.
	Each girl was honeyed in turn, Kitty at last doing Sandra herself.  We looked pretty, I thought, with our sticky dells, such obvious advertisements for love.  Mistress admired her handiwork, glanced at the men for approval.  They nodded, delighted.
	ÒYou must eat now, girls,Ó Mistress said.  ÒBut before you do I want you to see where youÕll go potty.  Number one, of course, can be done into any convenient receptacle, perhaps into a naughty girlÕs mouth who complains too much,Ó Sandra said, giving Linda a significant glance.  ÒBut for number two we have a special place.  Come!Ó
	ÒOh!  I shall be glad to see it,Ó Linda prattled to Rose.  ÒThat honey makes we want to poop right now!Ó  In stately procession we followed Sandra out into the garden, still looking awesome in our boots and gloves and other finery, despite the erotic torments weÕd already endured.  The men followed eagerly, Snoop Doggy Dogs all, their snouts eager to probe our shitholes.
	With clenching bottoms we stood in the brightly lit garden.  I imagined it was bright as day out here.  And, no doubt, a police helicopter might come by anytime, though whether they would think they saw me would be another matter entirely.  TheyÕd see a wealthy womanÕs garden, enclosed from all but the sun and peeping toms, and adults at play.  A sight to behold, surely, but not a place to go looking for underage girls.  Just to violate the sanctity of the garden would probably roust O.J.-calibre lawyers.
	And there, sitting nonchalantly before us, was what Sandra now described as Òour potty.Ó  Sitting out in the open, for any bird, perhaps, to use also.  It was a simple white chair, with a seat of horizontal wood slats.  With wooden arms, and a wooden back.  
	ÒYou will sit facing the back of the chair, of course,Ó Sandra said.  ÒPut your legs through the arms of the chair.  And then poop out, your ass sticking off the end of the chair.  Your shit will plop into the reflecting pool.Ó  Sandra bent down daintily, looking smashing in her party dress even as she described such a lewd, base act.  She slid back a cover and there, sparkling in the light, was a deep reflecting pool about two feet across, with tropical fish swimming in it.  ÒItÕs deep as a well, and your turds will float to the bottom and fertilize the lush plants growing there,Ó Sandra said.  ÒDonÕt worry any about the fish.  ItÕs rather fun, actually, to see if you can bop one of them with a turd.  But you canÕt pollute the water.  The wellÕs too deep for that, and my husband and I only use this for parties.  ItÕs a party potty.Ó
	A party potty?!  IÕd never heard of such a horrid thing!  Defecating outside, in the bright sunshine, where any enquiring neighbor boy might be peeping in with his face hidden in the hedgerows that towered about?  It was a protected garden, yes, with encircling walls made of brick and mortar, and hedges rising above even them, but high school boys were known for overcoming such obstacles!  Even a few men, perhaps, might be watching us now, even photographing us!  Secretly I wished they might be, so that the police might come and rescue me.  Yet, to have pictures of me passed around, or shown on T.V., pooping in a backyard garden?
	Alas!  I felt my own bowels tremble.  Surely I did not have to go potty just yet?  CouldnÕt I hold it?  Please, God, let me not go again until I was safely home!
	Behind us a man lifted a metal cover from a grill.  I turned, smelling hot dogs.  The man, LindaÕs husband it was, I think, speared a hotdog and dropped it into -- No!
	Near the grill, arrayed before a splendid low wall where poinsettias grew, were five doggie bowls.  Each one had a name painted on it.  I saw mine there:  Lisa.  Before the bowls, covering the rough concrete of the backyard patio where we stood, was a downy-soft beach towel.  There were several in fact, one on top of another in layers, to protect the knees of doggies who might kneel before the bowls to feed in them.
	And now, with great relish, LindaÕs husband plunked two hotdogs into each bowl.  ÒLisa, do you prefer mustard on yours, or ketchup?Ó he asked me first, though my bowl was near the middle, flanked on either side by others.  Perhaps it was because he had a special claim on me, I thought.  
	ÒI-I like mine plain,Ó I answered, not knowing how to, wishing only to be rid of the ghastly thought of kneeling like a hungry doggie before all these lusty men.  
	ÒAnd you, Kitty?Ó  
	ÒPut lots of relish on mine,Ó Kitty replied.  She was calm, self-possessed.  She seemed unfazed by the thought of rudely displaying her hiney, eating in a bowl like a dog.  She seemed almost delighted by it.  I trembled.
	ÒLinda?Ó
	ÒPut lots of ONIONS on mine!Ó Linda blurted.
	ÒNo, darling, for that would give you bad breath, and no one would want to kiss you then,Ó Sandra laughed, seeing through the girlÕs ruse.  The men chuckled.  Ah, what fun it would be to finally fuck this young filly, I saw them thinking.  Poor Linda was only ensuring sheÕd get fucked all the harder, violated all the more thoroughly, by her querulousness.  Even men as handsome as these had been turned down by girls, forced to put up with the mind games girls liked to play.  But not tonight.  This would be their night of revenge.  They were playing out Linda, not vice versa.  Let her quibble and invent excuses.  Let her pretend to wash her hair.  There was no escape from here, and her hiney and other charms were already bare.  The men only grew harder knowing how delicious it would be to finally bring Linda to heel.  And the hardness that she inspired in them made their cock rings all the more agonizing.  She was tormenting them with her querulousness, and she would pay for it.
	But not yet!  Such was the delight of the game.  These were experienced adult men, not randy boys dying to get off.  And Sandra and Kitty were well-trained in adult ways.  Things must be held back, delayed, toyed with, like cocks caught in a ring, or pussies artificially honeyed.
	ÒCome, girls, itÕs time for your din-din,Ó Sandra invited, pointing to the bowls.  
	ÒNo!Ó Linda cried suddenly.  She was young, vigorous.  SheÕd played soccer when sheÕd been nine, running across the field with her pigtails flying.  She dashed for the living room.  But suddenly she darted away from that direction, for some wicked man had slid a glass door shut across the entrance.  We were trapped, out in the garden, ÒprotectedÓ from all save the men who wished to impregnate us.
	Ah, silly thing!  As Linda ran her pretty bonnet made to fly off and, instinctively perhaps, she clutched at it, kept it properly on her head.  A man chased her, still gallant in his tux, laughingly.  He ran with half his strength.  He liked seeing her flee, liked the wobble of her bottom and the foolish bouncing of her breasts.
	And then the rest of the girls were running, and myself also!  They would have to catch us, yes!  We would not submit so easily.  I ran, holding gracefully onto my my own hat also, and Rose too held her pretty hat, valuing it I think more than the virginity she was soon to surrender.
	A man grabbed me by my mane, my betraying locks streaming out behind me.  I was forced to stop but, turning around, I caused him to let go of my hair.  In retaliation I grabbed at his dick.  There was no missing it.  It was too big and swollen for that.  ÒAh!Ó he cried.  I squeezed him hard.
ÒYou will make me cum, and I will make you pay doubly for that!Ó  It was LindaÕs husband.  I saw the steel in his eyes.  There was no getting away from his threat.  I loosed him, but ran again, him watching me a moment, gazing at my wriggly nude hiney, savoring the jiggle of white assflesh.  I turned, caught his eye, would he follow me?  Did I want him too?  He leapt forward.  I screamed, ran again, lost my hat this time.
	I returned to the courtyardÕs center.  Walking now, my hair mussed, my body held tightly by LindaÕs husband.  HeÕd caught me, claimed me at last.  Most of the other girls were already there.  Like me, their lipstick was smeared.  I turned my face up to my stolen husband again, he kissed me again, long and deep.  WeÕd sat on a rough stone wall, fronting daisies, my bare bottom right on the brickwork, unprotected, kissing each other, our hands lightly exploring.  A touch of romance amidst all the bittersweet torments.
	LindaÕs husband and I rejoined the others.  I glanced at my own master, guiltily.  But he held Rose.  She and I would know each other intimately this night, I knew.  Two virgins, shared by men not their husbands, while their wives were fucked by others in adjoining rooms.  Or in the same room.  Perhaps in the garden.  We would take our pleasure where we found it before the night was over, I guessed.
	ÒYou will eat from the bowl,Ó LindaÕs husband said to me.
	ÒYes, sir,Ó I replied quietly.
	ÒCome, girls,Ó Sandra invited us.  The rest of the girls were back now.  We walked, four abreast, nude bosoms jiggling like jello with our nervousness, to the edge of the blanket.  We knelt, four girls about to be dogs.  Forward we crawled on hands and knees to the waiting dishes.  Sandra stepped forward, stood over us.  ÒDo not use your hands,Ó Sandra warned us.  ÒEat as dogs do.  Lift the hotdogs with your tongues.  Use your mouths only.Ó  She knelt then, too, with Linda on one side of her and myself on the other.  She placed a hand on each of our backs.  She urged us down, lightly but firmly.  On the outside flanks Kitty, wise beyond her years, and Rose, too innocent to know, bent to their meals.  Linda and I, flinching, needed SandraÕs tutelage.  With her hands running up through our glorious hair she pushed our heads into our bowls.  ÒEat,Ó she repeated.  ÒFill your bellies.Ó
	We ate then, four female dogs, presenting our bottoms brazenly for mating even as we nourished the wombs inside which offspring might grow.  I had trouble getting the hot dog into my mouth, like taking my first cock.  Finally I got it up and bit into it.  I swallowed.  I lifted my head, wanting to ask for ketchup.  Sandra pushed it back down.  LindaÕs husband swaggered over, stepping in front of me.  I glanced up and saw his organ, directed down at my head, my bowl.  ÒEat it all just as it is or IÕll add something to it,Ó he promised, and gulping, I saw his meaning.  He wanted to pee into my bowl!  Sandra did not need to use her hand again.  I plunged my face into my bowl, careless of my makeup.  I forced myself to eat the hotdogs completely, thoroughly, every last morsel.  When I was done I licked my bowl clean to make sure there was nothing left to be Òadded toÓ by LindaÕs husband.
	ÒUp, girls!Ó Sandra called.  We stood.  Gratefully we stood, getting our bare bottoms back underneath us, though they still stuck out fretfully far, pert and quite invitingly bare.  A man passed her a bottle and she ordered us to open our mouths.
	Sandra poured the contents of the bottle into a silver tablespoon.  ÒNothing like a bit of castor oil to get a girlÕs young bottom properly pooping, is there?Ó Sandra smiled.  We did not share her smile.
	ÒEw, yuck!Ó Linda wailed, being the first to taste the awful medicine.  SheÕd slipped round Rose, perhaps thinking to escape again, but it had only put her first in line for the next ordeal.  
	ÒOne more,Ó Sandra insisted, making her take a second tablespoonful.  LindaÕs eyes bulged as the medicine was forced down her throat.  ÒMmm, makes your tummy feel warm, doesnÕt it?Ó Sandra asked.  
	ÒWarm and tingly,Ó Linda replied, rubbing her belly like some foolish child, her mouth still making faces from the taste of the oil.
	ÒAnd now you, Rose dear, so quiet and cute.Ó  Rose obediently opened her mouth and received the fluid.  A doe taking food from Sleeping Beauty.
	Each of us in turn received our medicinal tribute.  We found ourselves all rubbing our bellies.  It warmed them unusually and made them sparkle.  I knew the feeling would travel lower soon, and grow uneasy.
	ÒOhhhh!  I have to go potty!Ó Linda blurted as the last of us took the fluid.
	ÒYou know where it is, dear, right over there,Ó Sandra said, then thought better of letting the girl go as she pleased and caught her arm.  ÒCome, I shall take you, Miss Fussbudget, to make sure you do it properly.Ó
	ÒOh, I donÕt want to use the potty!Ó Linda cried.  She seemed a two-year-old now, intent on avoiding toilet training. 
	ÒYes, you must,Ó Sandra said.  She guided the girl to the grate atop the reflecting pool.  It was a plate really, for it was not made of bars but a solid lid, so a girl in high heels could stand upon it.  
	Still in her party dress, Linda in her camisole, the two of them wrestled a moment atop the solid grate.  At last LindaÕs will gave way.  She had to go too badly to fight any longer.  Our own bottoms yearning now to poop, making us dance in little trembling gyrations as we stood watching, Linda clambored her bootied feet onto the chair.  She speared them through the chair legs, spreading herself in a bold wide-legged vee upon the chairÕs seat.  Her behind projected out over the end of the chair, making its own reflection in the pool as Sandra pulled back the lid.  
	ÒBear down,Ó Sandra ordered, pushing LindaÕs face forward, into the back of the chair.  Linda bowed her back inward and grunted.  A man fished a little cat oÕ nine tails from his pocket, eyeing her widening anus.  How sweet it would be to soil the cat striking such a lovely exposed bottom!  Even I saw the awful beauty in that.  
	ÒUnh!Ó Linda groaned, oblivious to the waiting cat.  Her asshole enlarged some more and the first turd poked its nose from within her derriere.  
	SWICK!  Down came the cat, lightly but firmly, striking the creamy right cheek of LindaÕs ass, pale now after her earlier spanking.
	ÒOoooooh!Ó LindaÕs eyes gaped wide.  Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that someone would whip her while she sat on the potty!  But the courtyard was for recreation, and for adult games.  SWICK!  Again the lash hit, anointing LindaÕs other cheek with sparkles of pink.  The girl strove with herself, not wanting to poop now but unable to stop.
	PLOP!  The first turd went into the pool, nearly splashing her outthrust bottom.  Mistress watched it plunge quickly down into the depths.  
	ÒNo, you missed a fish that time,Ó Sandra told her.  ÒHit one and your whipping will stop.Ó
	ÒOh, me!  Oh, my!Ó Linda glanced at us but found no mercy.  Even we girls were enthralled by the wicked beauty of it, pooping in an exotic fishpond while a man flogged her oh-so-vulnerable ass, each skittering knot on the catÕs nine tails ominously close to her her anus.  And our own need beckoned, making us wriggle our bottoms with insistent urgency.  We had no mercy for a girl who was making us wait.  How awful it would be to lose our shit, to poop it out where we stood, down our stockings, into our beautiful boots.  We would be truly spoilt then, not just prettily mussed.
	ÒHurry up, you nincompoop!Ó I cried suddenly, astonishing even myself.  We girls would be fighting to get ON the potty soon, and here Linda, already seated, was still striving to hold herself back.
	ÒHurry up or weÕll take a crap right on your head,Ó Kitty added coarsely, and in her case I knew she probably would, delighting in seeing her shit soil LindaÕs lovely red hair.  Her own was dishpan blonde, off-blonde, off-brown, she was envious.  She would give Linda a hairdo like none other if the girl didnÕt finish quickly.
	The man passed the cat to Linda.  ÒI must relieve myself,Ó he said, and directly he peed right into the fishpond, scaring the fish so thoroughly that they dove deep, unlikely to resurface before Linda was through.
	ÒUnh!  Unh!Ó  Linda was so nervous she was constipated, despite the castor oil.  (It had been cut, I thought, for the turds were all quite solid, enough to get us going without giving us the runs.  That wouldnÕt be dainty at all, dumping diarrhea into the fishpond.  We were being timed, that was all, made to shit on a schedule.
	With harder strokes than the man had given her Sandra now urged Linda to shit out her turds.  ÒHurry, girl!  The others are waiting!Ó she almost begged her, seeing by our tense faces how tightly clenched our bottoms must be.  Indeed, I myself was wondering if I could hold myself in.  I prayed IÕd be able too.  My bottom wiggled like a dogÕs tail.  I was becoming Lassie.
	At last Linda announced that she was finished.  Sandra took a box of kleenex, conveniently perched behind a rosebush on a garden wall, and drew forth several tissues.  Brushing back her long hair from her chest Sandra bent forward and wiped Linda.  She tossed the used tissues into a little flowered waste can beside the chair.  Her breasts, large and gourd heavy, shifted and swelled within her party dress, inspiring one of the men.
	ÒIt is time you showed yours,Ó he said, and advanced on Sandra so quickly that she had no time to retreat.  He kissed her first, grabbing her by the waist, pressing his thick cock into her dress, up against her belly.  When he let go of her there was a cum stain on the front of her pretty dress.  Pre-cum, I supposed, though it might have been a little ejaculation.  Men have those sometimes, losing only a little of their load, a kind of relief valve that threatens to but does not release their entire burden.
	Sandra made to step back, but the space around her was hemmed in by decorative garden walls, low walls only at times ankle high, heaped high with blooming flowers.
	ÒOh, sir, please donÕt rip my pretty dress!Ó Sandra begged, as if perhaps wanting to save it for some future party.  Alas!  The man grabbed her temptingly low neckline and yanked it down.  The dress tore a little, but remained tight still, freeing her boobs.  They joggled out into the open air, jostled with each other, all white against her softly tanned skin, with deliciously pointed red nipples.
	ÒNow you shall look very pretty when you whip the girls and bend over to wipe them,Ó the man chuckled.
	ÒAh, pull me down in back at least!Ó Sandra begged.  ÒIÕm showing everything!Ó  And indeed she was, for her lovely dress was rucked up in back and tucked up in front, showing her bush and bottom, her titties luridly jiggling above.
	ÒDonÕt touch anything,Ó the man replied sternly.  ÒDo as you are told and a little else perhaps, but touch nothing about your attire.  And remember that when youÕve run out of games IÕm going to whip that hot female ass of yours until you howl like the bitch you are.Ó
	ÒOh, sir, you will not scar it?Ó Linda asked fretfully.
	ÒI shall do as I please, it is too pretty, in my opinion,Ó he replied.  ÒNow take care of each girl and wipe her properly.  Use your tongue if you have to or I swear, if any of us finds one speck of shit on any of them, you will indeed be scarred.Ó
	ÒYou are wicked, sir, am I not the perfect hostess?Ó Sandra scolded him.
	ÒYou are indeed,Ó he replied, the two of them having reached some kind of a truce with regard to his lust, which I knew must be eating at him dreadfully.  His poor organ was still enclasped in that awful ring, and the other menÕs too, giving them pain every minute they watched our antics.  They yearned to spend themselves right there, into the fishpond, shooting off at $1,000 dollar fish.  But they held themselves in, somehow, with the help of those fearsome rings.  They could not escape them nor could they cum as long as they remained on, though I imagined if push came to shove they could shoot regardless.  But the rings ÒhelpedÓ them hold back, helped bar their release, to their eternal torment.
	Quickly, to avoid the whip, the rest of us girls pooped our loads into the pond.  Sandra carefully wiped each of us clean, inspected our anuses to make sure sheÕd done her work properly.  Then inside we trooped, looking forward with anxious anticipation to yet more games, knowing the marital bed still waited.
	When we got inside, the phone was ringing.  SandraÕs husband went to fetch it, an annoyed look on his face.  He shot a glance at his wife.  
	ÒI thought our new number was unlisted,Ó he glared at her, reaching for the phone.
	ÒIt is, dear.  It is,Ó she replied, flustered.  Absently she toyed with her long mane of hair.  It was a rare moment of marital concord on a night full of endless domination and submission games.
	ÒLook here, this is an unlisted number!Ó SandraÕs husband barked into the receiver.  The rest of us fidgeted, flirted.  Gradually it dawned on us that SandraÕs husband was just listening, not speaking.  Then we saw that his face had grown pale.  
	Uneasily, realizing that something serious must have developed, we stood and watched him, silently.  Hot cunts and dripping penises throbbed on the summer night air, yet were were momentarily oblivious.  
	Slowly, the face of SandraÕs husband brightened.  A wave of relief rippled, eddied amongst us.  And then he put down the phone.  He looked right at me.
	ÒOur guest here, Little Miss Wanted, has brought us a problem,Ó SandraÕs husband said.  ÒShe was spotted outside on the porch.  Specifically, on the potty.  By a police helicopter.Ó  A gasp.  I wanted to melt into the floor.  The other girls, the men, all of us felt absolutely plunged into the depths of humiliation.  For if I had been seen, we all had been seen.  Our big bottoms, our girlish heinies, our flying boobs as we dashed about, and the men with their ram-rod stiff cocks, their seed choked back by the wicked rings.  ÒDonÕt worry, though,Ó SandraÕs husband continued.  ÒThe cops who spotted us are cool.  Two are men, and three are women.  Two of the women are Òbi,Ó you know, bi-sexual.  And, watching us, they realized for the first time that they were all swingers, or swinger wanna-beÕs.  TheyÕre coming here, and theyÕre going to join our party.Ó
	There was a knock at the door.  The sound of a nightstick striking wood.  Loud, but not too loud.  As if to draw our attention, to demand it, but avoid attracting others.  Quickly Sandra rushed to the door, fluffing her hair as she went.  Her heels clattered loudly.  She turned the knob, opened the door partway.  I heard her gasp.  Her peeking face and right bosom greeted the officers.  With fearful hands she drew the door back farther, let them in.
	They did not swagger.  They were surprisingly lean.  Not the typical donut cops you read about.  The women varied; one was aggressive in demeanor, another less so, a third looked to be a mere trainee.  And the men were spartan, broad-shouldered, one tall and the other moderately so.  
	I thought they would assemble themselves in the center of the room and glare us all down but, surprisingly, they glided in more like guests to a party than officers to an arrest.  Sandra, stumbling behind them, did her best to direct them to a couch and chairs.  The trainee wound up sitting on the aggressive womanÕs lap.  There were barely enough seats for everyone.  
	As for myself and the girls, two of us were standing and two had floated back over to the little tea table.  It was in a corner of the room, somewhat apart from the living roomÕs center.  There, in the main part of the living room, the men had settled in, each to his own chair.  The police sat just beyond, in a little group, arranged on the far side of an innocuous coffee table.  It had suddenly become a sort of Ògreen lineÓ between the men and our new guests, though I wondered how long it would remain so.
	ÒMay I please get you something?Ó Sandra, flustered beyond belief, asked our guests.  Poor Sandra!  Her pretty dress was ruined, ripped open in front, stained with pre-cum, and worst of all, tucked up in front and in back.  Her lovely bottom wobbled atop her slim legs, all nervous and shameful.  And her pretty bush, so neatly curled, had honey and sperm squirted upon it.  From between her thighs you could catch the scent of a woman aroused, for she had been brought literally to the brink by the lickings of myself and Linda, spurred by the belt.  And on her tongue, perhaps, there lingered the slight taste of shit, a memento of her exploration up LindaÕs ass.
	ÒObviously your mommie didnÕt teach you how to dress properly for a party,Ó the aggressive policewoman said to Sandra.  I read the womanÕs badge.  It read, simply, ÒBenton.Ó
	One of the two policemen stood.  Before Sandra could react he grabbed her by her slender arms and drew them back.  Our hostessÕ boobs stuck out all the more lewdly, her nipples quaking stiffly before The Law.
	ÒHold my jacket,Ó Benton said, whipping it off.  She handed it off to the modest woman who was her partner.  The trainee slipped from BentonÕs lap onto the lap of the other policewoman.  
	Quick as if she were putting on handcuffs, Benton undid her bra.  A magnificent pair of breasts bounded into view, capped by generous, dollar sized nipples.  Benton yanked off her police cap and pulled down her hair; then replaced it.  I saw that her long, flowing hair was well-cared for, despite her feminist demeanor.  It was glossy and blonde.  I wondered if I would soon be discovering whether it was dyed that way, or natural.  
	ÒCome here!Ó Benton commanded.  Sandra made to comply but was summarily forced over BentonÕs knees.  Obviously this was not going to be a standing interview.  
	ÒWhatÕs your name, young lady?Ó Benton demanded.
	ÒS-Sandra,Ó our perfect hostess quaked, still trying to be gracious even as her bottom stuck up into the faces of BentonÕs fellow officers.  SandraÕs fingertips gracefully touched the floor, her head was alert, uplifted, as if about to answer questions in court about a parking violation.
	ÒWell, ÔSandra,ÕÓ Benton replied, ÒSandra who withholds her last name and, rumor has it, may have even made it up for purposes of this party, ÔSandraÕ dear, I believe in Law Enforcement.  But our justice system is broken.  I send tarts like you to court and the next thing I know youÕre out plying your trade again, putting poor men in cock rings and misleading young girls.  ItÕs time you had your fanny warmed by somebody with a respect for the law!Ó
	Benton smiled as she pronounced her sentence.  There was admiration in her eyes for such a fine bottom as SandraÕs.   
	Our hostess, still pert, looked up and gave Benton a blushing smile.  ÒOh please.  I look so silly,Ó she begged, truly hoping to be let off.  Her breasts jiggled haplessly beneath her, ripe fruit at harvest time.
	ÒNO!Ó  Benton suddenly shouted, slamming her hand down on mistressÕ pert hiney.  For her part, Sandra looked truly shocked.  Perhaps she had been lulled into a false security by the fact that the cops had entered so peacefully.  Now Benton was in charge, and mistress but a pretty victim.
	ÒNO!  NO!  NO!  NO!Ó Benton called aloud, accompanying each mommie-like injunction with an admonitory slap on SandraÕs bare heinie.
	ÒOh, Boo!  Hoo!  Hoo!Ó Sandra blubbered, truly crying, so shocked was she by the sudden deprivation of her mistress status.  Her breasts swung like fruit in a storm, her rapidly reddening bottom heaved.  Her legs kicked and flailed, forcing the other cops to duck and retreat, lest they meet unexpectedly with SandraÕs spiked heels.
	ÒNO!  NO!  NO!Ó Benton yelled rhythmically now, giving her all to SandraÕs bottom.  I admired, shiveringly, how thoroughly and unflinchingly she beat her.  SandraÕs ass was wonderfully soft, but it was firm too, and BentonÕs hand was bound to sting as it rebounded from such a youthfully moulded surface.  A wifeÕs ass, surely, but one that had yet to swell with the bearing of young or sag with the onset of age.
	ÒOhhhh, I think I got as good as I gave,Ó Benton said a few minutes later, shaking her hand to and fro, confirming my thoughts.  Below her, sprawled over her knees, her dress more ripped than ever, Sandra bawled.  Her twistings upon BentonÕs knees ceased, her legs fell defeatedly to the floor.  Her breasts hung loosely, their swollen gourd-heavy shapes juddering into stillness.  Relative stillness, for Sandra cried and cried and her every sob and hiccup brought new life to her luscious boobs.
	ÒNow stand up!  Straighten that dress!  And bring me a Bloody Mary!Ó Benton ordered our hostess.  
	With the help of the cop whoÕd put her over, Sandra stood.  Her eyes were bleared with tears and her hair, from all her flailing, was a shambles.  Sandra wiped her cheeks, tugged at the curled hem of her turned-up dress, careful not to lower it lest the hiding of her bush bring on some new punishment.  
	ÒHurry, young lady!  IÕve got a beat to patrol, children to protect!Ó Benton glared up at Sandra, a smirk touching her lips as she mentioned kids.  Unexpectedly, Sandra leaned forward and pecked a kiss on BentonÕs lips.  Her enchanting bottom presented itself anew to our view, the fig peeping, her back bent low and her bottom offered up to us all.  It was bright red from its punishment.  
	ÒIÕve never felt so totally dominated, even by my husband,Ó Sandra marveled.  ÒThank you.Ó  She rose, curtseyed as best anyone could with a flaming bottom, and left her new mistress to fetch her a drink.
	I sensed a new awareness in Sandra as she crossed the room.  She was victim, yet somehow in control.  All eyes were pasted on her ass and, flicking from there, on her lovely hair or her pretty long legs.  She was Exhibit A, and for the moment there was no B.
	Sandra worked quickly, efficiently at the little wet bar near our tea table, and hurried back to her mistress, still stirring the drink as she walked.  It was as if she didnÕt want to linger lest some other woman take center stage.
	ÒHere it is, maÕam,Ó Sandra announced, presenting the drink to her mistress with a slight, stiff bow of her figure, her trim legs pressed neatly together, her countenance one of absolute desire to please.
	Mistress/Benton sipped.  She considered.  Then she looked up at Sandra and flung the drink into her face.
	ÒOh!Ó Sandra gasped.  In a mirror I saw her drenched face, horrified, her mouth open and her eyes agape.  A slice of lemon had travelled along with the drinkÕs contents and somehow managed to get caught in her hair.  It dropped out, hit her nose, and plopped onto her heavy breasts.  In her hand Benton held the now empty glass, and in her other hand still held aloft the little parasol that Sandra had so neatly placed in the drink.
	ÒYou are a disgrace!Ó Benton admonished Sandra.  She smiled a bit, betraying her glee at finding such a professedly incompetent barmaid.  But Sandra had truly not expected this new debasement.  Only slowly did she come out of her shock.  She tugged at a few strands of her hair, wet and bedraggled where it fell round her face.  She adjusted her dress where it wrapped her ribs, just below her bare bosoms.  If any hostess had proceeded from utter decorum to the abyss of unkemptness, it was Sandra.  Yet her stockings held tight to her thighs, one still prettily lowered down a little below the other, offering more leg.
	ÒWhere are your panties?Ó Benton asked Sandra sternly.  ÒDid you take them off, or did you never put any on in the first place?Ó
	ÒI-IÓ Sandra almost appeared unwilling to answer.  ÒI didnÕt put any on in the first place,Ó she admitted at last.
	ÒWhat!  You host a party in a short dress like that, and you donÕt even have the decency to wear panties?Ó Officer Benton cried.  ÒThis is a matter of utmost importance, this flaunting of morality.  Far more important than some runaway girl whoÕs probably in for a good spanking from the man who took her.Ó  She flashed a glance at me, gazed round at the men, not knowing which cocky Adonis had stole me.  
	And the men, for their part, all nodded, as if hoping to receive special treatment from Benton for some part in the crime.  We were safe here, I thought, in our wantonness.  There would be no telling because all would be part of it.
	Mistress Benton had pillows removed from the couch, for placement on the coffee table.  Sandra was laid down upon it.  One pillow went under her head.  The other went under her hips.  Her hands were lifted and prettily cuffed beside her face.  Each was cuffed to a separate leg of the table, one on either side of her face.  As for her legs, they hung free for a moment.  Sandra let them part in a sweet wide vee, her pussy offered atop the cushion below her ass.  Sandra neither struggled nor complained.  It was as if she desired the spotlight of all our eyes more than the freedom letting go of it would give her.  She would suffer for our admiration.
	A ball gag was brought out.  BentonÕs own gag, fetched from her pocket.  ÒI save this for my special prisoners,Ó Mistress B purred.  Sandra twisted her face to and fro a little, resisting, but like a semi-willing child at the dentist finally let the gag between her lips.  When Benton withdrew her hands Sandra gawped at us with what looked like a huge cherry stuck in her mouth.  Her delicate frame trembled, a shiver passing down the entire length of it, as if she herself dared not contemplate what awful erotic torments lay ahead.
	ÒAh, the nipples,Ó Mistress B said with wicked admiration, producing a heartfelt wrench of fear in her bound victim.  No...Please...  I could almost hear Sandra say, her words softly muffled by her gag.  Mistress B cupped SandraÕs lovely, swelling mammaries, tickling the stiff buds atop them with a sharp fingernail.  ÒWe must fit them with clear cups, to show such sweet teats off to their best advantage.Ó  Sandra shook her head no, looked to her husband for his disapproval, but he said nothing.  Mistress B bent low.  ÒI must lick them so they are nice and wet and can ensure a good seal,Ó she said, a doctor advising a most penitent patient.
	Sandra shivered, her head falling momentarily back as Mistress BÕs tongue touched her nipple.  Then Sandra lifted her eyes to watch as her nipples were tongued for the cups.  Just beyond, fetched from a pocket, the second patrolwoman dangled a pair of little clear suction cups.  They had a bit of rubber tubing at each of their pointed tips, where air could be withdrawn from them.  
	Shuddering, Sandra watched as her breastsÕ uppermost points became wet with gleaming saliva.  Then, carefully but with a certain deliberate roughness, Mistress B fitted on each cup, forcing a wedge of nipple and surrounding breast up into it.  The extruded breasts, trapped within the cups, made Sandra look weirdly erotic, as if her breasts had given an extra little push to her nipples to highlight their beauty.  
	Both cups fitted, Mistress B smilingly placed her lips to each stem of tubing and sucked out all the air in each cup.  Then the tubing was clamped.  Each clamp at the end of each tube was connected to a little chain that hung between the tubes.  It was made of tiny connected bells, and they rang whenever SandraÕs boobs gave the slightest shiver.
	Mistress B knelt at the end of the table and tongued SandraÕs slit.  ÒMmm, honey and sperm, a nice combination,Ó Mistress B said, tasting the remnants of earlier games.  ÒYou shall have cream up here before the night is through, young lady, delivered through a cock I keep in my vest pocket for just such a purpose.Ó  Sandra flexed her thighs, as if inviting the violation.  Mistress B lifted each of her ankles, placed her spike-heeled feet flat on the table.  ÒSuch slim ankles, they shall have to be cuffed sometime, right here perhaps, right on this table.Ó  Mistress B gloated.  Sandra watched her from beyond her heaving, tortured chest, wanting only to please.
	ÒUndo her!  Undress yourselves!Ó Mistress B ordered her troops.  ÒWe shall stay the night and teach these civilians proper behavior.  But keep your belts on.  We must be ready for any contingency.  Anyone who takes theirs off will have their badge pinned to a nipple!
	With a bit of bustling and unceremoniousness the five police officers shedded their duty attire.  At length only their utility belts remained, though by the size of the cocks the two males presented I knew no woman would refuse them submission.
	Sandra was uncuffed and raised from the table.  Unsteadily she took to the floor, gazing down to admire the awful sight of her poor nipples stuck up inside the clear glass cups.  ÒServe us!Ó Mistress B commanded, picking a discarded newspaper from the floor and giving SandraÕs bottom a vigorous swat.  Sandra, straightening her hair as best she could, her back turned, gave a little yelp.  She spun about on her heels, still wearing her gag.
	ÒGod, if only weÕd had her serve us like that at football games,Ó one of the friends of SandraÕs husband remarked.
	ÒWe should have invited a lesbian to supervise her,Ó SandraÕs husband replied.
	ÒAnd to think we always said such bad things about them,Ó a man remarked wistfully.
	ÒIÕll have you know IÕm bi, gentlemen,Ó Mistress B announced to the men, eyeing their cock-ringed organs, stiffly presented.  ÒYou will find out on this night yourselves the importance of that distinction.Ó  She smiled.  ÒI hope, for your sakes, that you can claim ÔDisability of the PenisÕ as an exemption under WorkmenÕs Compensation.  For you wonÕt be using yours for many days, I assure you, if I have my way.  YouÕll be lying around like newly-circumcised men, unable to move.  At least when you call in sick you can just tell your boss I whacked off your penis, unlike a certain Miss who cut off her husbandÕs.Ó  The men, hearing this lecture, didnÕt know whether to laugh or tremble.  They were, after all, in desperate need of whacking off, but what Mistress B promised seem to go far beyond even a pubescent boyÕs lusty needs.
	ÒThe only thing you lack now is a butt plug, my dear,Ó Mistress B announced grandly to Sandra.  Our hostess had, unwisely, remained by Mistress B, fretting over her ruined party dress.  With glee Mistress B swiftly upended her, forcing her head down to greet her new shoes.  They alone, with their pretty pink ankle ties, remained the only unsoiled item on her.  And her stockings, which had magically survived so far without runs or staining.
	ÒOh!Ó would have popped most assuredly from SandraÕs mouth, but the ball gag blocked it as Mistress B prised her hiney open.  In went a plug, small but effective, and Sandra jerked her back as it shoved home, lifting her head in alarm but leaving her shoulders at the height of her knees.  She was a most marvelous victim, resistant yet somehow compliant, a far cry from Linda who struggled and strove at every turn.  It was the difference between a young girl and a young married wife.  Linda was still skittish and unsure.  Sandra was delicate, yet strong, well formed and full grown, ready for marital jousting.  Like any young woman, her main role in this stage of her life was to be fucked...nothing more, nothing less.  Childish things had been put away, a mate had been selected.  She was, one hoped, still a few years away from child rearing and the duties of being a mom.  She was in the honeymoon years of her life, giving pleasure to her new husband and receiving him within her in return.  She accepted her fate and did her best to perform her duties to the highest, most admirable standards.
	ÒRise!  You remind me of a bitch in heat, bent over like that,Ó Mistress B ordered.  ÒServe your husband and his friends whatever drinks they wish.  And cut them with plenty of cola.  They will need all the energy they can get when I turn to policing their genitals.
	Wobbling atop her stilted heels, their points sounding sharply against the floor, Sandra left Mistress B on her newly appointed rounds.  I pitied Sandra, with her awkward gait, made so by the butt plug, with her earnest eyes and her popped-open mouth.  Her hair was a wreck, her dress torn and stained, her bush showed signs of erotic wetness and games played hours ago.  Yet she struggled valiantly on, somehow graceful despite her degradation, a mistress turned victim par excellence.  I think I have never seen a braver, more devoted slave before or since.  
	Sandra took a little scratch pad and pencil from the bar.  Her knees trembling, she stepped with clicking, unsteady heels over to the four men arranged round her husband.  She was a 50Õs hamburger stand girl, come to life in some wildly postmodern male fantasy.  
	The men ordered, gruffly, and Sandra dutifully wrote down all they said.  Then she stumbled back to the bar and began mixing drinks.  Even now she tried to maintain a sense of decorum, mixing each drink carefully and slicing up little lemons and limes to decorate them.
	Traipsing back to the men, her boobies jangling the little decorative bells that swung between them, she bent low and offered the drinks on a silver tray.  Her bottom jutted out behind her, still red from its smackings, as she dipped properly before each man.  
	ÒTurn around,Ó her husband commanded at last, when all the drinks had been delivered.  Sandra obeyed, showing her husband her bottom.  
	ÒDoes it still hurt from being spanked?Ó he asked her.  She nodded silently, vigorously.
	ÒGood.  Alcohol always gives a little extra sting,Ó he replied.  He splashed the contents of his drink directly on her ass.  Sandra lurched, for as I watched her mix the drinks IÕd noted that sheÕd made them of straight vodka, or gin, with no soda at all.  Perhaps sheÕd hoped to put the men to sleep so Mistress B couldnÕt have them.
	While she was still recovering from the first assault, a second man rose and threw his drink in her face.  A third splashed her bosoms, as did a forth.  A fifth, sadistically perhaps, cast his on her belly, drenching her dress.
	ÒThe rule is that the party is over when the hostess is totally trashed,Ó a man laughed, and indeed there was nothing left of ours.  SandraÕs hair was disheveled beyond repair.  Her face and bosoms dripped alcohol, her dress was ripped and what little remained clung wetly to her ribs.  Sadistically, a man took the little plastic sword that had come with his drink and began cutting runs in SandraÕs silk stockings as she stood bare-assed and bare-faced before them, her head hung so low her hair shrouded her countenance.  She had been made, I realized, to be broken.  The whole game had revolved around her state of dress and undress and finally her utter defilement.  Her husband removed her butt plug and shoved his face up into her ass, rending the cheeks of her hiney with his gripping palms.  Sandra, forced to bend forward by the sheer enormity of the pressure invading her rear, unwillingly offered her breast-fruit to her husbandÕs cronies.  Two men eagerly grabbed at her and began licking her boobs, finally releasing the tips from the cups and gorging themselves on the highly sensitized flesh that popped out.  A fourth man, drawn by the lure of her pussy, knelt between her stiff, parted legs and shoved his tongue up her twat.  Sandra cried within her gag, her eyes popping wide as her mouth.  Lastly, a fifth miscreant, just to make sure that the party was indeed over, uncorked a bottle of champagne and liberally doused her over the head with it.
	We girls at the tea table sat stunned and hot, like chaste angels at an orgy, contemplating sin.  I myself longed to rub my clit, and had to keep pinching my thighs to keep myself from doing it.  Beside me Rose simply stared, lost still in her innocence, while little Linda, so Puritanical earlier in the evening, rubbed herself without shame.  Behind me I heard kissing.  A quick look confirmed that Kitty was devoting her tongue most religiously to the nipples of own uplifted breasts.
	ÒGirls!  Come and suck off my two patrolmen,Ó Mistress B ordered.  ÒThey are inspected regularly by police physicians, so I can assure you that they are free of disease.  Drink their sperm so they can receive the precious cockrings over their deflated members.Ó  
	It was like a cattle call.  All five of us girls rushed over to the two available men.  Each of us was eager to claim an Adonis all to herself.  But it could not be.  Two of us had to share one, and two others the second.  I found myself sharing mine with Rose, who seemed utterly guileless in the art of licking.
	ÒDo it like itÕs a popsicle,Ó I told her.  She found this of help and began doing the shaft, while I coveted the sperm-loaded head.  I wanted to be hit in the face with the stuff, so impressed had I been by the femininity in SandraÕs complete submission.  
	She, meanwhile, was shuddering helplessly from peak to peak of orgasmic bliss as a veritable mountain of male flesh rose up beneath her.  They ate her ass, her pussy, they clawed at her breasts and suckled her nipples like ravenous babes.  Someone mercifully removed her ball gag and soon she could be heard moaning and crying like some damned soul in Hell, perched atop an orgy of male desire.
	At last I got my wished-for faceful, just in time to see Sandra being hauled off to the marital bedroom.  I rose up.  I let my artless friend worry about the cockring, which already she was handling with uncertain fingers, as the policeman in her care sat dazedly waiting.  
	ÒYoung lady?Ó Mistress B snapped at me.
	ÒI must follow my master, maÕam,Ó I replied with a quick turn of my head toward her.  Then I hurried off, lest I be her next victim.  Stumbling in my silly cowboy gear, I ran after Sandra.  I could not help myself.  I had to see her fate.
	ÒMaster, what are they doing to her?Ó I asked, finding my own just inside the bedroom door.  
	ÒLisa!Ó he said, admiration in his voice, turning to me.  ÒYou are quite a brave little trooper, seeing all this,Ó he replied.
	ÒNo more so than Rose,Ó I said, turning my pert nose up at him.  I did not want to be turned out at the crucial moment.
	ÒNo more so than Rose,Ó he agreed.  He patted my bottom.  As if to prepare me for something, he eased me around in front of him, my back to him, and began unbuckling my bra.  His dong caught in my ass.  I did not insist he remove it.  Silently I pretended to stand on tip toe a few times, as if to spy something over on the nightstand, sliding his swollen dick up and down my furrow.  Temptingly I pushed my hole directly against it.  His head seemed huge.
	We watched as Sandra was thrown into the marital bed.  SheÕd increased her struggles once she saw what they had prepared for her.  Above the bed swung I.V. tubing.  I wondered at it, realized a friend must have somehow snuck into the home and installed it after we girls had dressed-up in here.  Amidst the clutter on the nightstand, displaying every conceivable aid for conception, a blood pressure cuff had been placed.  I saw a thermometer too, and my naked bottom tensed as I realized, by its red tip, that it was a rectal thermometer.  Master sensed my ass cheeks tightening round his head and took my instinctive response to be one of planned invitation.
	ÒLet me get your boobs free first,Ó he murmured.  My elaborate bra still contained them, though my pussy had spent the entire night bare.  
	ÒI did not mean --Ó I began.  He had pushed me forward in response, as if to bend my head down to my knees.  He let me up, but did not stop undoing my bra.  I was, apparently, going to lose that no matter what.  It was my MasterÕs will.  
	ÒWhy does she fight so?Ó I asked.  I watched as Sandra threshed in the bed, twisting and turning as the men ruthlessly bound her wrists cross-wise over her head, tying them in felt-lined leather restraints to a bar that hung at a fixed height from the ceiling.  This too was new.  Sandra flinched when, looking up at her newly bound wrists, she saw that they were utterly immobile.  Yet I wondered at her, despite my own incredible nervousness.  Had she not played my Mistress?  DidnÕt she boast of past parties with us?  Surely the restraints could not actually be hurting her, though they did hold her arms very securely.
	ÒShe fights because she is going to have an abortion,Ó Master whispered to me.  
	ÒBut she is not pregnant!Ó I chirped, loud enough for Sandra to hear me.  She looked at me with pleading eyes, yet said nothing, though she wore no gag.  
	Master laughed.  His engorged cock shafted up my tender heinie with relish, bumping me nearly off my feet.  He caught me, hit me again deep in my crack.  Oh, my poor virgin anus!  He was hitting so close to my tightly-closed hole, whacking me in my furrow just a centimeter above it.  His cock juices, pre-cum, dribbled down my furrow and collected in my indipping hole.
	ÒWhy do you think weÕve been wearing these rings?Ó Master asked me.  His voice was amused, with a tinge of annoyance.  As if Einstein was being forced to explain elementary physics.  
	Before I could answer master continued, ÒIt is so we can retain our seed until it is time to pump it into your Mistress.Ó
	ÒTo make her pregnant?Ó I asked.  What is an atom?
	ÒTo make her pregnant,Ó he replied, and freed my breasts.  They bounced into his hands and at once he squeezed and cupped them, as if his own palms had become my new bra.  
	ÒBut she can --Ó I began.
	ÒShe has been denied birth control by her husband,Ó Master replied.  ÒFor tonight.  Specially for tonight.  And IUDÕs, and all other forms.  And RU-486 is still illegal here.Ó
	ÒSo with five --Ó I actually counted the penises arrayed around me, then added the one jammed in my butt.  ÒWith five cocks she is sure to get laid,Ó I concluded.  My high school viewpoint was showing.
	Master laid.  ÒShe will certainly get laid, my sweet child, but she will get quite pregnant too.  Since we wonÕt know know who fathered the child, though, her husband insists that she must have an abortion performed.Ó
	ÒWhen?Ó I shivered.
	ÒAhh, that is the question, isnÕt it?  He swears heÕll let her swell up to the size of a giant watermelon, wrecking her figure.  She wants it done as quickly as possible.Ó  We watched as SandraÕs figure was upended.  Grasping her ankles, a man and her husband unceremoniously yanked up her ass until it was above her head.  Three plump pillow were put under her hips, to elevate them.  Then her feet were let down, spread wide on the bed, and finally bent at the knees to give her a classic ÒbirthingÓ look, as if she were in a hospital delivery room.
	ÒWill she deliver?Ó I asked.
	ÒNo way, her husband wouldnÕt know whoÕs child he was saddled with.Ó  We were repeating ourselves, but we seemed to enjoy it.  Master began undoing the buckle of my leg-sheathing chaps.  He palmed my tummy, checking perhaps if any baby were growing inside me.  He pressed deeply, found nothing.  I could wear corsets.  There would be no damage.  
	ÒShe could always slip away and get one,Ó I said.
	ÒShe will be a complete slave of her husband until the day he takes her to the abortionist,Ó Master replied.  ÒOr perhaps the doctor will be brought here.Ó
	ÒIt would be so tragic to kill the baby,Ó I said, feeling my master peel my freshly unbuckled chaps down my thighs.  I parted them a bit wider, helping him get me out of my clothes.  I wished heÕd place his hand between them.
	ÒIt will be a pleasure baby only,Ó Master replied.  SandraÕs legs were completely bound now at the ankles, with felt-lined cuffs.  The men looped restraints round her knees and pried them wide.  When theyÕd tied her off she was unable to close her legs at all, though she could with a little effort spread them yet wider apart.  My eyes flitted to the menÕs cocks, the dildoes arrayed on the table.  This was not a place for a good little schoolgirl like me to be, that was for sure.
	ÒIÕve got to call my mom!Ó I blurted suddenly.  SandraÕs husband looked at me.  He switched his eyes to my MasterÕs.  
	ÒGet her completely out of her things,Ó he said.  ÒI had thought to do this in total privacy, with just us men, letting Kitty entertain the girls.  But since she is here, she can help.  And get her own due in turn.Ó
	ÒReally, I must --Ó I began, but master would hear none of it.  Perhaps he was the slave of SandraÕs husband.  As I put up a struggle of my own now, he yanked down my pants-that-were-not-pants and pulled them over my boots.  A man grabbed my flailing arms, held them firmly behind me.  My boobs lifted, spread.  His cock shafted purposefully through the mane of my blonde hair where it tumbled down behind my head.
	ÒQuite a little Indian,Ó my newest Master remarked.  Holding me, he watched my struggles as one watches a fish flopping uselessly on a dock.
	ÒThatÕs why I chose her,Ó Master said, relieving me of my boots, then stealing my hat.  I watched as Master frisbeed it over to the seat of a chair, where it landed perfectly.  ÒWe may need that later,Ó he said, stooping and bundling the rest of my things into his hands.  He walked toward a chest made of cedar wood and tossed them in.  He locked it.
	I felt myself released from behind.  Seeing my hat as the only article of clothing left to me, I ran to the chair.  I grabbed my hat and yanked it down onto my head.  Then I dashed for the door.
	When SandraÕs husband strode up behind me I was still at the door, futilely twisting its handle.  It was, of course, locked.  My heinie wriggled with my frustration.  My thin legs knocked their knees.  I was feeling really scared now.  I was only 15!  This marital bedroom was no place for a young girl, a freshman with her breasts newly formed.  God forbid that I should have to learn to give milk through them in my sophomore year!
	With a commanding slap SandraÕs husband whacked my heinie.  I leapt up, spun about, grabbed at my ass and held it with both my hands.  	ÒGet your little fanny over there,Ó SandraÕs hubby snarled at me.  He pointed to the nightstand with all the intercourse equipment displayed on it.  I saw he was not a man to be reasoned with.  Bowing my head I scuttled quickly past him, then slowed my pace a little and walked obediently to the table, holding my poor punished ass all the way.  The men laughed at me.  I blushed.  I was, momentarily, the absolute center of attention, despite the presence of a full-grown, well-spread woman in the room.  Somewhere deep in my womb I relished this, though it had cost my bottom.
	Releasing my fundament I dithered a moment amongst all the scary things, not knowing what to do with them.  Dildos, condoms, oils, lotions; cream to ease stiff joints and heating pads to warm exposed flesh, grown chilly in the long hours of the bedroom that I imagined Sandra might spend here. 
	ÒOhhh!  I shouldnÕt know what to do with any of this!Ó I muttered to myself, wiggling my tush a little in pent-up frustration.  SandraÕs husband had let me keep my hat on, at least, and instantly I was glad for it as a light was switched on from above.  I looked toward the bed to see where it was directed.
	The cunt, of course.  SandraÕs.  The uppermost portion of her inner thighs and her well-furred nest were now subjected to an intense, spotlighted glare.
	Suddenly a wave of pity washed over me.  With the brim of my hat shading my brow, I stole a wettened towel and a lipstick from the table.  I kneed my way onto the bed and settled beside Sandra.  Softly I wiped her face, whispered consoling words to her.  Carefully I applied my lipstick to her mouth.  She would look her best, if I could help it, despite the lewdness of her enforced posture.  Would someone give her lipstick when she lay prepared for her abortion?  
	Sandra looked up at me with leaden eyes.  But as I applied the lipstick they cleared.  Her vision strengthened.  By the time I was done she was looking up at me boldly, almost wantonly, as if to dare me to join her on the bed.  She mumbled something.
	ÒShhh,Ó I replied, consoling her again, putting my finger to her lips.  I was Mistress of her now.  ÒI wish I could free you, but I canÕt,Ó I said softly.  ÒYou must take the cocks, and please pump them dry so theyÕll have absolutely nothing left for me.Ó
	She nodded.  ÒThankyou,Ó she breathed.  She licked her lips lightly, tasting her new lipstick.
	ÒYouÕre welcome!Ó I replied, bending down on all fours and kissing her on the cheek.  I was unmindful of my bottom.
	WHACK!  
	ÒYooch!Ó  I leapt up again, another searing handsmack from SandraÕs horrible husband searing my bottom.
	ÒGod, what an ass she has!Ó he exclaimed to his fellows, watching with them as I wriggled around on my knees, my back quite erect now, my face screwed up with the pain of the blow.  He was a heavy-hitter, that was for sure!  I waited to hear what my crime had been, but he said nothing of that, merely ordered me to rip open SandraÕs tummy-binding dress.
	Most cautiously I bent over again, presenting my reddened bottom, and yanked at mistressÕ ruined dress.
	ÒShe will break a nail doing that,Ó my Master advised SandraÕs husband.
	ÒGet scissors!Ó He replied, giving me another ass wallop.  I shot up like a fish pulled on a line from the water, began sobbing at the frustration of it all, not to mention the pain.
	ÒMaster, please!Ó I implored him.  He turned to SandraÕs husband.
	ÒDo not hit her while sheÕs using the scissors,Ó he said.  
	SandraÕs husband nodded his agreement, looked at his wife.  ÒNo use giving her an abortion before sheÕs pregnant!Ó He chuckled.
	Getting a scissors from the table I returned to my ex-mistress.  ÒDonÕt worry, IÕll try not to poke you,Ó I said.  Carefully, keeping one eye out for the safety of my hiney, I sliced through the remnants of her wrecked dress.  Freeing her from its girdle-like embrace (due to the binding effects of the spilled liquor and the bunching of it), I pulled it out from under her.  I knew not what to do with it.  I bunched it up and tossed it off the bed, onto the floor.  My own master picked it up and deposited it in a flowered wastecan.  Such a pretty dress.  I should have liked to have worn it myself, had it not been destroyed.  It made me think of the baby soon to be formed in her, only to be thrown away later.  Such a pity.  Yet I myself did not want to see her spoil her pussy by shoving a baby through it.  Impulsively I bent down, licked her twat.  
	ÒYou taste like honey!Ó I exclaimed, turning my head toward her face.  My long draping hair teased her clit.  She moaned softly, begged me to lick her again.  I did so, quickly, lest I give the men any naughty ideas.
	Bounding off the bed, sprightly in my nudity, I approached my Master.  There was an Important Subject I had to discuss with him.  IÕd put off mentioning it, for fear it would provoke some depravity equal to the shitting outdoors, under a blaze of spotlights.
	ÒMaster, I have to pee!Ó I said, wriggling my hips as if to give my words added emphasis.
	ÒGood!Ó he replied.  I stared wonderingly at him until his next words were spoken.  ÒAnd you will most certainly be allowed to, in good time, but until then you will be our helper and do exactly as you are told.  Now salute me, like the good trooper you are and prepare to receive your orders.Ó
	ÒMy -- orders?Ó I asked, absently lifting my hand to the brim of my hat in a sluggish salute.
	SWAP!  In came the swooping hand, that awful hand of SandraÕs husband, and I was sent leaping up onto my tippiest tip-toe, howling like a banshee and grabbing at my still-reverberating butt.  I felt my ass cheeks shiver in my hands, reeling from the blow.  I bit my lip and stilled them with my palms.  Holding myself, I turned to SandraÕs husband.  My breasts poked their nipples at him.  I would stab him with my little thorns.
	ÒSalute smartly, but with your legs spread wide, not closed like a regular soldiersÕ,Ó he said.  ÒYou are a bedroom soldier, and will serve nowhere else.  Jut out your hips when you give your salute and, if your other hand is free, splay your cuntlips to the man who is addressing you.  IÕll make sure you take orders properly in my bedroom even if I have to flay your butt alive with this hand of mine to make it happen.Ó  He showed me his hand.  He was a lumberjack.  It was big and calloused.  
	ÒI wish you were an accountant,Ó I gulped, hoping to make him more complacent with my back-handed complement.  I found his hands fascinating, particularly knowing how obedient they made me, even with one simple slap.  God forbid that I should ever be put over this manÕs knee!  How had Sandra ever managed it?
	Her husband took my arm and turned me around, held me, as if manipulating a child.  WHACK!  His calloused palm connected with my rear.
	ÒOooooo!Ó  I danced about the room, on my toes as never before, clutching at my poor spoilt rear.  It felt like it was on fire!  ÒWhat have I done wrong NOW?Ó I asked.  Desperately I hoped to hear some crime spelled out.  My bottom would never last an hour if he whacked me any time he felt like it!
	ÒYou must call me and the other men Ôsir,Õ whenever we speak to you,Ó he said casually.  ÒAnd what else you must do will be spelled out for you when you fail to think of it, so think hard, lest I bang your tail all the way through to the other side of your body!Ó
	Indeed, he might certainly do that, I realized.  I went to my master and grabbed his big shoulders.  Incautiously, but needing to, I stuck out my fanny to the cooling air.  My master laughed, gazing down at my jiggly heinie, made all the more wiggly by my need to pee.
	ÒYouÕd better listen up!Ó he warned.  ÒSandraÕs husband means business when it comes to the important subject of fucking his wife.  Anything you do to detract from the experience will be soundly punished, I assure you.Ó
	ÒYes, master,Ó I sniffled, a tear running down my cheek.  ÒI mean ÔYes, Sir!Õ I corrected with unprecedented rapidity, standing tall and whipping my hand up to my forehead in a perfect salute.  My titties jiggled like jello fresh from the mold.  My hips arched toward his dong, beggingly, my hand shooting down to properly splay my cuntlips.
	ÒThatÕs better,Ó I heard SandraÕs husband cackle in the background.  ÒThatÕs the first swat youÕve avoided.  LetÕs hope a bright girl like you can keep it up, for your assesÕ sake!  ItÕs tough to listen up in school if youÕre forced to stand the whole period!Ó
	Alas!  They knew my real name, and apparently even my wonderfully high grade point average, yet I knew not even any names by which to distinguish them!  Even my own master was still ÔMasterÕ to me.  What a hopeless mess IÕd gotten my poor tushy into.  And my poor bladder!
	Wriggling like a fish I next set about their next chore for me:  relieving the men of their urine!  A bucket was pointed out to me, a simple one made of metal, like gardenerÕs use.  I presented it to each manÕs bloated cock and he pissed into it for me.  As I went from cock to cock the bucket got heavier, but I was not allowed to empty it.  
	ÒYouÕll have to carry all our seed.  You may as well get some practise with our urine!Ó SandraÕs awful husband laughed.
	Hefting the bucket with trembling hands, scared to death IÕd spill it, I was ordered into another room.  Alas!  IÕd hoped it would be a toilet but instead it was a small closet with, of all things, a window!  At SandraÕs husbandÕs instructions I dumped the contents of the bucket out the window, onto some rose bushes.  Poor roses!  They would surely wilt from all those nasty menÕs pee!  I was told to leave the bucket in the closet.  When I returned, my duty done, the closet door was locked shut behind me.  Its key was placed up on a high shelf that I could not reach.
	I did nursely duties next, taking SandraÕs pulse, blood pressure, getting her temperature from her anus.  (Fortunately the end of her bottom overhung the piled-up pillows.)
	ÒHave you ever started an I.V.?Ó Master asked me.  He was supervising my duties.  His dick stuck out at me but I was denied it.  It was reserved for SandraÕs waiting womb.  Her soon-to-be-ÔbabyfiedÕ womb.
	ÒNo, sir,Ó I replied, saluting him, thrusting out my hips, kneeling on the bed, the rectal thermometer still in my hand.
	ÒWell, then, this will be your first stick!Ó he said, and traded me my shit-dipped thermometer for a drug needle.  ÒShe will need fluid during her ordeal.  We may not feel like bothering with pouring her drinks.Ó
	ÒI could,Ó I offered.  
	ÒShe needs the I.V.,Ó he replied.  ÒYouÕll be busy getting the men up, or keeping them up, or inspiring them to produce more sperm in their balls.  And we men will be too busy with her, or you, to bother.Ó
	ÒEven for water?Ó
	ÒEven for water.Ó
	Alas!  With trembling hands and a queasy stomach I moistened SandraÕs upraised arm with a swab pad dipped in alcohol, concentrating on the crook of her arm opposite her elbow.  Above her wrists an I.V. bag dangled, swollen with saline.  Sandra threshed below me.  I spoke softly to her as I bound her arm with a rubber cord, tying off her veins to make them swell for the needle.  She did not hear me, wanting the attention of drinks, not wanting the I.V. to reduce her to a mere cunt.
	ÒOuch!Ó Sandra winced as I drove in the needle.  I glanced down at her.  Glossy, wet-lipped, she looked as if she were some fashion model, not a wife about to be fucked.
	ÒPlease, IÕm trying not to hurt you!Ó I begged.  The I.V. ran.  It was in!  My first try, and I had avoided injuring her.  I unbound the cord, let the saline flow down her arm to her body.  ÒYou have such small veins, IÕm amazed I accomplished this,Ó I said, following masterÕs instructions as I checked the I.V. to make sure everything was right.
	ÒYou should have put my arm down first, let blood flow into it before you stuck it,Ó she breathed.
	ÒWhy didnÕt you tell me?Ó I asked.
	ÒMy husband is a sadist, he wanted it done this way,Ó she replied.  ÒHe hoped youÕd miss many times before you stuck me.Ó  
	I shot a glance back over my shoulder, aware of my all-too-vulnerable hiney.  Wherever I went, whatever I did, it seemed to stick out behind me, invitingly, inspiring these wicked me to want to do awful things to it.  But SandraÕs husband was smiling.
	ÒYou are quite the little nurse,Ó he said.  ÒI shall have to moderate my handsmackings of you, if only to save your bottom for later fucking.Ó
	Thanks a lot, Sir, I thought to myself.  And if I ever, EVER see your ass sticking out while youÕre, say, plowing your wife, and have a key to get out of here, you will GET something you will never forget!  I stole a glance up at the whip hung neatly over the bed.  Yes indeed, that would serve my plan most effectively.  God help me if I ever struck his balls with it, though.  No escape would save me then, even if I had a key.  But a butt-whipping he might put up with, if I surprised him with it and was careful with my aim.  Surprisingly, I realized, I was focused on the hairy ass of SandraÕs husband instead of my masterÕs own, which was much handsomer.  Perhaps it was the reason her husband had given me so many whacks, to make me think of him instead of anyone else.
	ÒGit along there, little doggie, or IÕm going to have to give you some encouragement!Ó I heard SandraÕs husband rasp behind me.  Shiveringly I tidied up the mess made from the I.V. and needle wrappers, the cord and the wipe pad, and slipped off the bed.  I threw away the debris, then reported to SandraÕs husband for new orders.  At least, while I was in front of him, he couldnÕt whack my poor behind!  So I had unconsciously chosen to report to him instead of my own master.  He smiled, seemed to like that I was thinking of him more than my master, and told me to lube up the menÕs dicks.
	With fondling hands I prepared the men, oiling their penis masts from stem to stern.  Each one of them had a tough job ahead of him, ploughing a woman while his cock was simultaneously constricted at its base.  The cock ring would hold back his seed until the final possible moment, when at last, enraged with passion, he would spurt through the restriction and impregnate her.  I stared in awe at their greased poles when I was finished, arrayed like soldiers themselves before me and my hat.
	ÒSirs, I salute your manliness,Ó I said, of my own volition, barely suppressing a girlish giggle.
	ÒNot in the book, but appreciated,Ó SandraÕs husband replied.  I gave each of them in turn a forward flip of my hips, showing my tight little virgin cunt, offering the pink inside to penises I dared not take within me, so awfully would the men have to rend Sandra before they finally achieved their release.  And then a thought occurred to me.  I turned to SandraÕs husband.  My own was not even in my thoughts anymore.
	ÒSir, out of pity only, may I whip your butts whilst you fuck?  It would give you a speedier release.Ó
	ÒAh, again you speak and save yourself from punishment by the quality of your suggestion,Ó he replied.  ÒGrab the whip.  Whack us as much as you please, but if you hit our balls you will not be punished, girl, you will be killed!Ó
	ÒNot if I run away before you can catch me,Ó I answered.  ÒIn girlÕs baseball we learn to steal boyÕs hearts by stealing bases!Ó  
	ÒAh, yes, to get their attention, so many pretty asses and legs being out there onfield already,Ó he said.  He strode forward.  He spun me about.
	ÒPlease, sir!  Not again!  It hurts too much!Ó I begged.  
	ÒGet your hand out of the way,Ó he snarled.
	ÒOnly if you donÕt spank me,Ó I said, withdrawing my hand in the hope IÕd found mercy within him.
	WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  Three spanks for [mr. james joyce--ulysses?]  I stumbled away, clutching my rear and bawling like a baby.
	ÒGet the whip!Ó SandraÕs husband roared.  With snivelling face and my hiney facing away from him as much as I could, I obeyed.  ÒBring it to me!Ó he ordered.  Fearful in my nudity, stripped bare and knowing he could flay me with it as easily as I he, I presented SandraÕs husband with the whip.  He took it from me, held it in his palms and made me kiss it.  Submissively I received it back from him.  ÒRemember,Ó he said.  ÒWhip any manÕs balls and you will not be punished, like we play here, you will be strung up right from the rafters and left to hang until dead!  
	I gulped, praying he only wanted to scare me.  I did not even glance at my master.  He had no power here.  SandraÕs husband smiled.  He saw I was now totally in his grip, his little slave as much as his wife was.  ÒYou shall play softball topless with my wife, and soccer too.  Yes, endless soccer, with your young boobs flying all over the field as I chase you with that whip.Ó
	ÒI will score many goals,Ó I whispered compliantly, not wishing to offend him.  Oh, my God!  I must say ÔSir!Õ  I whipped up my hand and offered my cloven fig.  ÒI will score many goals, Sir!Õ I yelped, my boobies shivering.
	ÒVery good,Ó he said.  ÒAnd I will score many touchdowns, IÕm sure.Ó
	For many hours the men speared that poor woman, each flooding her at last.  I whipped away from behind, sometimes softening my strokes to feather-touches for fear I might accidentally whack their huge balls.  At last they were all empty, but then my work was not, for I was tasked with bathing their cocks in a bucket and re-energizing them.  I had to use my hands, the space between my boobs, even let them knock on my tight anus to inspire them to rise again.  They seemed pleased with my efforts, for each rose up and fucked Sandra again.  
	As the night wore on, I thought more and more of the key on the uppermost shelf.  I plotted and planned.  If I stood in a chair, placed my foot up on the chair back for leverage, I might just be able to reach it.  
	I waited.  The men grunted in Sandra, exchanged places, retreated to chairs to doze in a haze of spent pleasure.  I myself was desperate to pee, had pissed out a little when no one was looking into the trashcan.  Onto SandraÕs dress.
	ÒGet on the bed,Ó SandraÕs husband groaned to me, lifting himself from his wife.  A large pool of semen pooled beneath her buttocks, three pillows down from where they projected out over the piled-up pillows.  More dripped down from her cunt.  It looked like a nasty gash now, something a mad slasher had given her.  ÒMount my wifeÕs face,Ó SandraÕs husband ordered.
	With trepidation moving my limbs, I clambored aboard the bed and got my own near-virgin puss over SandraÕs much-kissed mouth.  ÒHi,Ó I breathed, gazing down at her eyes.  I felt a puff of breath on my hot clit as she mouthed a reply.
	Firm, unyielding hands came to me.  SandraÕs husband.  I still did not know his name.  /could not remember.  He plumped my bottom, impressing his thumbs into the white flesh.  It had been some time now since heÕd spanked me.  I feared he would give me a slap there but he somehow restrained himself.  Quizzically I watched him bind my wrists to the headboard.  It was made of rails and he bound each wrist apart from the other, letting my elbows hang down, as if I would soon have to hang on for dear life as something awful happened to me.  MistressÕ breath on my cunt, just centimeters from her face, made me burn to pee as never before, and burn to do something else with myself down there too.  
	ÒLick me,Ó I whispered surreptitiously to Sandra as soon as her husband had departed.  She did not obey.
	ÒNow for the final tribute, men!Ó SandraÕs husband said gleefully.  ÒRub yourselves as it happens for you will not get another chance to come in my house.  Sandra and the little miss here will be reserved to my exclusive pleasure from now on, as well as any girls out in the living room who havenÕt been hauled away to prison by now!Ó
	ÒNo!Ó I cried.  I turned my head frantically, met the eyes of my master.  (I remembered him now!)
	ÒIÕm sorry, but I owe him a debt,Ó my master replied.  His eyes had no fire.  He was a defeated man.  ÒI hoped, I hoped he wouldnÕt collect on you, but he did.Ó
	ÒShe was too beautiful to pass up!Ó SandraÕs husband beamed at my master.  Just like Achilles and Agamemnon, I thought, remembering a chapter IÕd read for school.  Just one chapter, not the whole book, yet it had much impressed me.  And now I was Briseis!
	A whistling sound.  My heinie jumped.  Alas!  I had my tippy toes spread out behind me, now, my kneeling legs in a wide vee.  My toes curled.  I could not stand on them.  I waggled my ass like a newly branded cow.
	Another whistle.  Another shout from me.  I mashed my cunt down into SandraÕs mouth in an attempt to relieve the pain, deflect it with pleasure.  Much needed pleasure, in fact.
	Ah!  My body writhed as the uncoiling snake of the whip struck me again, but it felt different now, mixed with the rush of pleasure my cunt felt, jammed down against mistress.  She licked, trying to push me off with her tongue, for she had nothing else to push with.  I responded by pushing down.  It was a contest.  
	whip!  whip!  whip!  the whip came then, sparkling against my bottom, making me shiver ever more deeply with pleasure.  It hurt, yet it felt good, awful yet wonderful.  I savored each insweeping stroke, felt it bite across my apple-round bottom, knew I would pay for it later with dinner taken standing up at the table, yet cared not.
	ÒAh, she has both the bottom and the personality for it,Ó SandraÕs husband marvelled.  ÒTrained in but a single night!  I shall have two wives now, and love them equally.Ó  In my passion I heard him and agreed.  I bounded atop my new wife-mate, a wife myself, married in bed to the tune of the whip.  At last, from somewhere in the distance, orgasm after orgasm washed over me, rippling out to my fingertips and down to the ends of my toes, seizing my nipples with pleasure, flooding my cunt.  And in my lust I released my bladder, peeing all over SandraÕs face.
	Bodily I was lifted from the bed.  Free at last from the headboard IÕd clung to, I ran for a bucket the men had prepared for me.  Cool water, in a big steel washbasin-sized bucket.  I plunged my bottom into it.  Ah, how I hurt, yet how good I felt!  Awful, but awfully good, as they say.  The men gathered round me.  I gazed up at them, savoring the silkiness of the refreshing water on my hot, bulbing bottom.  I would plant myself in the bottom of this bucket and never leave.  
	I noticed that the menÕs cocks were hard once more.  How had they managed that?  They strummed them confidently, as men who have cum so often they find a new hardness unthreatening, something to delight in, with little danger of spilling.  Had my youthful schoolgirlÕs body stimulated them to such heights of endurance?  Modestly I covered my breasts with my hands.  My feet did not quite touch the floor, rested easily on tiptoe, so odd was my bucket-enforced posture, my knees bent and rising up past my breasts, my bottom still wiggling within.
	SandraÕs husband took off my hat.  He tossed it to a chair.  ÒLisa, we are going to cum on you, and when you are finished smacking your lips from that, we are going to pee on you,Ó SandraÕs husband told me simply.  There was no argument, I knew that, despite the safety I felt with my bottom deep down in the bucket.  For he could pull me out of it as quickly as a fisherman yanks up a fish from the fathomless depths of a pond.  And I wanted no more whacks on my bottom this night, prayed I would not deserve any.  Gazing at the cocks I laughed suddenly, so lewd did they look, so silly, yet all five devoted to me.  Giving no other woman their attention.  Somewhere in the middle of my laugh SandraÕs husband shot off.  His sperm hit within my partly opened mouth.  My tongue unwittingly caught it.  
	And then more!  I tried to catch it all, turning my head this way and that, but it proved too much.  All of them came at once, and my poor lovely hair and face was drenched with sperm.  My boobs still I covered, some last remnant of modesty at least, as they fired and fired away at me.  
	At last I pulled my hands stickily up from my boobs, baring their protected whiteness.  All else was whiter still, my face, my hair, my hands themselves, on the outside.
	ÒOh, please donÕt pee on me!Ó I cried, remembering suddenly their second promised release, watching them take up aim with their now-sagging cocks.  Their held themselves to aim this time, instead of to pleasure themselves.
	Ah, again!  All over me their pee streaming, destroying my beauty-parlor perfect hair with absolute finality, filling my mouth and kissing my newly-available nipples.  I plunged a hand into the water of the bucket, through the suds-like sperm floating there, and rubbed myself to a new series of orgasms.  
	Later, much later it seemed, somebody pulled me up out of the bucket and lay me down atop SandraÕs whimpering, still fastened figure.  My wrists were carefully wrapped together in a soft cord and secured to the headboard.  I lay atop her, my face to hers, my own ass now protecting her clit but offering itself up instead, elevated by the cushions.  I was too tired to care.  Relishing my vulnerability, I drifted off to sleep, knowing SandraÕs husband was somewhere nearby, his balls filling quickly with newly inspired seed.                   

	My first awareness was of light.  Soft, enveloping light.  Daylight.  Early morning.  I felt warmth beneath me.  I was used to my cool, antiseptic bedsheets at home.  Instinctively, thinking myself to be still in some odd dream, I snuggled against the warmth.  My bottom felt strange.  I felt cool air washing over it, chilly early morning California air, yet it seemed to burn with some kind of inner heat that licked all across both my cheeks.  
	A kiss upon my bottom.  Cool, wet.  I jerk.  It imparts a certain sting to my flesh, though it is but a kiss.  Why is my bottom so sensitive?  I look up, find I cannot move my arms.  Before I can turn my head about feet approach, a blindfold sweeps down over my eyes, plunging me into night again.  
	ÒAh, who is it?Ó I ask, still thinking myself in my bedroom, and in dreamland also.  My lips form a pretty O.  The thought of a ball gag comes to my mind.  A ball gag?
	A finger plunges into my mouth.  I suck upon it.  A thumb, a penis?  
	Twin kisses muss my hair.  Someone has combed it in the night.  
	ÒDonÕt worry, itÕs just me,Ó a childish voice pipes up.  A breath of womanliness interlaces it, as if the girl is but a teen, like myself.  
	ÒI canÕt wake up,Ó I complain aloud.  The finger is gone from my mouth now.  It is stroking my hair.
	ÒBye,Ó the voice says suddenly.  ÒIÕll be back as soon as I can be.Ó
	ÒMee to!Ó a higher voice chimes in.  It is a voice of girlish indignity, as if interrupted in some important task.  But I was only dreaming of some innocent sister, my childhood make-believe sister, combing my long lovely hair.  My Little Pony hair.  The two of us, we had it, equally long, in Make-Believeland.  Why canÕt I move my hands?  I wiggle.  I have to go to the bathroom!
	ÒOh, darling.  Is that you?Ó a voice asks, then answers itself, as if having just opened its eyes to take in the world.  I wish I could open mine.  Why canÕt I rise from this dream?  My bladder is full.  Why does my bottom burn so?
	ÒMmm, it is you,Ó the female voice says.  I am kissed on the lips, by someone from below.
	ÒWho are you?Ó I ask.  ÒLet me wake up!  I have to go pee!Ó
	A gentle laugh.  A sweet insucking of breath, as if the person below me is suffering some gentle hurt, savoring it almost.  Since when have I ever dreamed that my bed was a woman?
	ÒDarling, donÕt you remember the party?Ó a semi-familiar, feminine voice asks murmuringly.  ÒYou are not dreaming.  Ah, you cannot pinch yourself, and neither can I.  Enjoy your imprisonment.  I see someone bathed me in the night, slipped fresh sheets under me as I drowsed.  How naughty of you to pee on me!  Are you going to do it again now?Ó
	ÒOh, my God!  You mean I didnÕt -- (recognition flashed through me) -- didnÕt DREAM all that?Ó
	ÒNo, dear.  You peed right in my mouth, you naughty little thing, and if my hands were free IÕd spank you soundly for it right now!Ó
	ÒYour wish must be my command, for my bottom hurts terribly right now!Ó I confided, still half-sleepy and unaware in my night-inducing blindfold.
	ÒYou were whipped, darling, by my husband,Ó the female voice answered.  Mistress!
	ÒOh, my!Ó I said, fully awake now.  ÒPlease, I must ---Ó  What must I do?  I thought a moment, rolled a bit back and forth on the soft body beneath me.  At last, savoring the awfulness of my predicament, I snuggled into mistressÕ arms.  Sandra.  Yes.  Her name was Sandra.  She kissed me again, right on the lips, asking no invitation, needing none.  Our mouths were petals, twin flowers poised one above the other.  I kissed her back, let her tongue explore within my mouth.  
	ÒSomeone must let me up,Ó I said at last.  ÒUntie me, I mean.  IÕm going to wet the bed...wet YOU if they donÕt.Ó
	ÒNobody will,Ó Sandra replied simply.  ÒMaster will come when he is ready, not before.  If you cannot hold it you will just have to defile me, but I warn you that youÕll be punished for it.Ó
	ÒBy you?Ó I asked.
	ÒNo, dear.  We are both slaves now, equally, though He may use you more gently than me.  He knows I am lean and strong, healthy, a full-grown, full-bodied woman.  I MUST take what he gives me, and I made a vow when we married that I would try my very best.  You he will be more tender with, I hope.Ó  She shivered.  Then, in a low, meek voice, her confidence utterly dissolved, she added:  ÒIf my wrists were loose, though, I spring you free in a minute and get us both far away from here.  My husband came in the night and told me all the things he has planned for me in the coming days.  Wretched, disgusting things.Ó  She shivered, began sobbing softly into my golden mane of hair.
	ÒDid--?Ó  I felt like a heel asking it.  ÒDid he say anything about me?Ó  But she just cried softly, then stopped after a bit.  I was beginning to wiggle with very GREAT need, my ass cheeks perpetually clenched now, my thighs pressed tightly together as if I were some little girl in kindergarten waiting in line for the potty.
	ÒDo not squirm so, dear.  I ache from all the merciless fucking.  God, it feels like they went so deep and hard, so many of them, my internal organs feel all jumbled up...youÕre making it worse!Ó
	ÒI-I cannot hold it!Ó I cried suddenly, absorbed in my own need.
	ÒYes, pee darling, if it will stop your squirming,Ó Sandra urged me.
	ÒEeek!Ó a voice somewhere behind cried.  ÒYouÕre PEEING on her!Ó  
	ÒShhh!Ó a second reprimanded.  Both female.  Both young.
	ÒOoops!  Hide!  Here he comes!Ó  One to the other.  A scuttling sound.  A closet opened, closed.
	ÒWell, I see at least they blindfolded you!Ó a manÕs voice bellowed.  He sounded big and hairy.  With surefooted steps he came into the room.
	ÒGood morning, dear.  May I get up and fix you some coffee?Ó Sandra asked him.  I pretended to be asleep.  It must, I thought, be SandraÕs husband.  His dominion over me during the night washed back into my brain, making me tremble.  I had humbled myself to the level of his complete and total slave.  IÕd even abandoned my own master.  Or heÕd been unable to protect me.  Yes.  I remembered it all now.  Could such awful things really have happened to me?  A throb in my bottom.  Yes, yes they had.  Good God!  And now IÕd just wet the bed, urinated on the woman beneath me.  I could not feel the wet spot, for my bottom was lofted high by pillows.  It jutted out beyond all else the cushions held up, arranged that way, for immediate and unconditional fucking by whoever might enter the room.
	ÒMaster?  Is that you?Ó I blurted.  Ah, I should have feigned sleep.  So easy with a blindfold.  Yet IÕd spoken anyway.
	ÒIt is me, and I am looking for two little mice,Ó he replied.  ÒRose, and her high-minded companion Linda.  The cops apparently got called away just after I brought my wife in here, leaving those two behind with the run of the entire house.  Kitty should have controlled them.  But the bitch went out dancing!  She had no male cops, and couldnÕt get in here, so she left!  She will burn in a private Hell built specially for her if I ever get hold of her,Ó my new Master vowed.
	ÒPlease let me up, dear,Ó my Mistress below begged.
	ÒNever!Ó SandraÕs husband replied.  ÒYou are going to remain tied there for many hours, perhaps days, let up only when I wish it.  And you will be repeatedly fucked until your belly swells up with a child.  There will be no pregnancy test kits used here.Ó  He laughed.  ÒThough you may, indeed, pee quite a lot in the coming days, for your mouth seems perfectly positioned to receive whatever I wish to pour into it.  I have only to pinch shut your nostrils.Ó  He turned, stamped about the room.  I half-expected to hear two little voices call out, ÒYouÕll never find us!Ó but they didnÕt.  Perhaps this game of hide-and-seek was not all just for fun.
	SandraÕs husband stomped out.  To help ensure his success in finding the girls, he locked the bedroom door behind him.  Locking us in.  We were indeed his sex slaves.  Tied, our cunnies offered up.  A thrill seized me.  And yet I did not wish to be here.  There was a scent of real danger lurking here, in the tread of SandraÕs husband upon the floor, in the way he seemed to regard us as property...to be used and disposed of.  
	There was a slow sliding sound, as of a closet door opening.  Footsteps approached.  Softly, cautiously.  There was a shifting of the bed.  Knees kneed.  Hands suddenly leapt upon me.  Small, soft hands.
	ÒQuick!  Untie them!Ó a voice commanded.  LindaÕs voice.  The hands slipped up my arms to my wrists.
	ÒHelp me do it, then!Ó It was Rose.  I felt a tug at my bonds.  I realized Rose must be the one who was trying to undo me.  Linda was playing supervisor.  It was in her nature.     
	Rose struggled with my bonds at the headboard, hoping to free them.  Mistress shifted below me.  I sensed LindaÕs knees rising, her feet planted themselves firmly upon the bed.  She was standing up now.  Standing up to break open mistressÕ handcuffs.  Perhaps she had found the key, intrepid girl.  I imagined her arms lifted, her breasts jiggling freely between them, soft yet youthfully firm, well appointed with twin nipples.  And her ass, jutting behind her, looking moonish as she stood flatfooted on the bed.  Master would truss her up just like that, and whip her passionately, if he returned, I guessed.
	ÒDonÕt break your nails, darlings,Ó Mistress sighed below us.
	ÒWeÕll try not to,Ó guileless Rose replied.
	ÒWe are NOT just playing!Ó Linda said tersely to Mistress from somewhere above my head.  ÒYour husband plans to impregnate us all!Ó
	ÒEven me?Ó I blurted suddenly.  I feel alarmed at the prospect of being a mother at 15.  Or, worse, being spermed just so some man could get off watching me have an abortion!
	ÒYes, of course!  You especially,Ó Linda replied to me.  My stomach felt like a stone had just dropped into it.  My knees felt weak.  Splayed apart and weak-kneed, my wrists still wrapped up at the headboard, I was in the perfect position for it.  All he had to do was shove himself in and ply his rod back and forth until he came.
	ÒBut you and me too!Ó Rose announced, in her high-pitched, childish voice, talking to Linda.  At the headboard she worked to free me, a girl scout learning knots.  How to UNtie them, just the opposite of what those naughty boy scouts learned.  ÒOh, please hurry,Ó I thought to myself.  ÒBefore we three get tangled up in motherhood, courtesy of SandraÕs husband!  (For poor Sandra, it was already too late!)
	ÒWe read all about it in his notes, down in that revolting basement!Ó Linda half-screamed, then remembered to speak softly, seemed to hunch lower.
	ÒYes, his Ôexercise room,Õ for girls and women,Ó Rose added.  ÒWe read that too, in his notes.Ó
	ÒHow did you two girls get down there?Ó Sandra asked, her voice a mixture of amusement and alarm.
	ÒWe snuck all over!Ó Linda said.
	ÒYes, all over.  And we found the bathroom too,Ó Rose said firmly.  ÒA REAL bathroom, with a real potty in it.Ó  Sandra sighed below me, seemed embarrassed, said nothing.
	ÒGet my blindfold off!Ó I implored.  Someone.  Anyone.
	ÒSorry about that,Ó Rose said.  ÒWe had to pretend to obey.Ó  I felt her hands leave my wrists.  Then they were in my hair at the back of my head.  There was a loosening of the blindfold and suddenly it was gone.
	ÒOh, thankyou!  At last I can see again!Ó I exclaimed.
	ÒShhh!Ó Linda admonished me, standing over me, her bush displayed to my eyes as I lifted them to observe her.  Like ripe fruit at summer, up in a tree, her breasts showed their curved, weighted undersides to me.  Big and firm.  With nipples that were stiff from our shared excitement.  Our emergency.  We must escape SandraÕs husband before he returns!
	I glanced up at my still-captive wrists at the headboard.  ÒBreak a leg, or a nail!Ó I scolded Rose.  I was peeved at her for blindfolding me.  Yet I realized I would have done the same to please Master.  Or to appease him.  Why did I still call him Master?  He would be Daddy if we didnÕt hurry.  
	ÒAh, at last!Ó I said a few moments later as Rose got me free at last.  For a moment I just looked at mistress, wishing in part that she remained confined to the bed until He returned.  Above me I heard a jangling.  I looked up and saw that Linda, somewhat Òput out,Ó was having to go through a whole ring of keys, trying each one, in order to unlock Mistress.
	Mistress, Sandra, my mind alternated so in my thinking of her.  She was both my companion and...something more.  A girlfriend, yet a kind of chaperone too.  Though of what quality I wasnÕt sure.  I rolled off her reluctantly.  Somewhere inside me IÕd wanted to just lie there and kiss her, wait for Master, wait for him to come back and find us all naked and naughty.
	ÒPlease hurry!Ó Sandra implored Linda.  She at least had finally decided to flee.  ÒOh, God, I wish I could remember which key it is, staring at them all like this,Ó she added.  Suddenly there was a sound from outside the bedroom.  Linda jerked up her head, frightened, dropped the ring of keys onto SandraÕs stomach.  They bounced.  Sandra winced.  To her credit, Linda bent over and applied the keys to the handcuffs once more, instead of running away.  Rose and I rolled off the bed, glanced around us uncertainly.  We were mice, trapped and with nowhere to flee.
	ÒI got it!Ó Linda announced suddenly, happily.  Sandra yanked down her arms.  She attempted to roll off the pillows, found she could hardly move.  ÒOhhhh, run girls, I canÕt make it!Ó she cried.
	ÒNo, you must!Ó I yelled.  Together with Linda I got her up.  There was a rattling at the door.
	ÒGod Dammit!  Who in GodÕs name TimeLocked this thing?Ó a voice roared.  I saw Linda look at Rose.  
	ÒThe panel downstairs!Ó Rose said shiveringly, excitedly.  We were all totally naked now, babes in a wood of bondage and sadism, with the wolf at the door.
	ÒYou girls found the panel for the Electric Locks?Ó Mistress smiled.  She looked refreshed from her sleep.  Someone had brushed her hair during the night.  Our night visitor.  Had it been her husband?  Did he have a tender side to him?  Warmth arose somewhere deep within my womb.  I imagined him whipping me, peeing on me, then bathing and brushing me later.  So tender.  Yet so demanding.    
	Suddenly the door flew open.  It sagged on its hinges.  Master, SandraÕs husband, looked enraged.  We retreated, the four of us, into a corner at the far end of the room.  We clung to ourselves, each other, shaking visibly.  MasterÕs face softened.  He laughed.  ÒYou girls are quite a treat!Ó he said.  ÒLook at you.  Four jaybirds, naked as jaybirds, no less.  Find the key to the Master Bathroom and wash yourselves up.  I have a full day of activities planned for you, but IÕll make them less onerous if you behave properly from now on.Ó
	We seemed to melt before him.  His penis was hard, fully erect.  Suddenly we flocked to it, all four of us, competing perhaps, flocked like homing pigeons.  Naked we dashed across the room and greeted his cock with our hands, our mouths.  We knelt in silent offering before his loins and began licking him and squeezing him with furious, wordless passion.
ÒI must still punish you for freeing yourselves, though,Ó he said.  He grabbed myself and Rose by the hair and shoved our faces closer.  I inhaled the musky scent of his loins.  
	Amidst our seeking, licking tongues, he did not last long.  He frightened me when he came.  I pulled my head back, got hit by his seed right in my eye.  He swung his manhood about and made sure we all got our share.  
	ÒLick yourselves clean, do not waste it,Ó Master ordered us.  Eagerly we set about kissing and licking each otherÕs faces until his seed was all swallowed.  We licked up even the stray drops in each otherÕs hair, and on each otherÕs shoulders and breasts.
	ÒThank me for making more sperm for you to enjoy,Ó Master commanded us.  Like doggies we knelt, scrunched down, hands on our knees, faces uplifted, and thanked him.
	ÒThank you, Master,Ó four times in succession.  Even Rose was getting into it, inspired perhaps by MasterÕs beautiful cock.  And Linda too, despite her hyper-moral outlook on life.
	ÒIÕm going out,Ó Master announced to us.  ÒWhen I return I expect you girls to be all prettied up and all tied down on the bed, with your legs properly spread.  Failure to do so will result in sure, swift punishment.  It is your choice.Ó  We nodded, accepted his terms.  We watched as he crossed the room and picked up LindaÕs keys.  Then he strode from the bedroom, leaving us behind.  Swallows in our nest, awaiting his return.
	ÒHow shall we bathe in the master bathroom if he took the keys?Ó Linda was asking a little later, after weÕd sat on our heels, marveling at the sight of his retreating butt even after heÕd left.
	ÒOh, silly!  He forgot to leave them, took them out of unthinking spite!Ó Sandra exclaimed.  ÒThe front door is electrically locked, though, I assure you, by a remote control in our car.  We cannot open it from inside the house, or anywhere, without that remote.  ItÕs designed that way.Ó
	ÒI donÕt mind,Ó I sighed.  I was still remembering the force with which heÕd expelled his sperm, delighting in it.  
	ÒCome, we can bathe on the porch, using the hose,Ó Mistress invited.  She led, and we followed, trooping obediently after her swaying motherly ass.  Ducklings crossing a highway of the mind.  Rose touched my still-visibly slashed heinie, I turned; we shared a smile.

	Ah, how delightful it was!  We squealed and ran in the sunshine, dashed all around the flowers in our Secret Garden.  Just beyond you could hear the traffic; people honking, cursing sometimes.  But within the four high walls of the garden we were utterly free.  We peed with abandon on our favorite flowers, Sandra even, lowering her pussy dangerously close to a small budding rosebush.  She gave it an impromptu summer shower, though a cloudless sky reigned overhead.  And we used the nasty potty, the one that made our butts spread their cleavage so boldly, pooped into it for each other, for a helicopter that whizzed by overhead.  It circled back again, we fled laughing into the shade of a berry tree.  We waited until it left.  
	We were naked and lovely and wet, yet our hair, half-dried by the sun, wet again in places by our playing, fell in tumbling locks of gold and almond.  None of us were artificial in our choices of hair color.  My private mound matched my tresses as sweetly as RoseÕs matched hers, or LindaÕs, or SandraÕs.  We compared pussies, stroked each other softly, examined each otherÕs boobies for lumps.  And then we were Indians again, streaking about and fighting over the hose and spraying each other.  At last we retreated to the house.  We made a picnic basket for ourselves and ate lunch in the nude out on the porch, sitting on towel-covered benches around a picnic table.  Then we went about preparing our bodies for the coming night.  We took another bath outside, more serious this time, taking turns underneath the hose, which we held for each other.  Then we made ourselves up in a little bathroom near the kitchen, a bathroom with just a toilet and sink.  There was spare makeup stashed there, and we did each other up like Geisha dolls might have, seriously and purposefully.  We wondered at our masterÕs absence.  Perhaps he was purposely delaying, giving us a rest from our slavery.  
	At last night settled in.  We were dolled up perfectly, four willing sex slaves awaiting our master.  We had changed the sheets before doing ourselves, hand-washed them outside, then replaced them with new ones.  Our own bodies were now sparkling clean, our hair and nails perfect, our lips rimmed with lipstick and our eyes lined as prettily as CleopatraÕs.  We were, of course, still totally nude, and as we stood in the Master Bedroom contemplating its bed we wondered if we should obey MasterÕs last order.  Would we really tie each other down, leaving only one of us with, at best, her hands free?  
	ÒIt is his fault for being so late,Ó Sandra said at last.  ÒWe shall tease him, girls.  WeÕll go dancing and make him jealous.Ó
	ÒSandra!Ó I said.  My eyes were wide, as were RoseÕs and LindaÕs.  ÒHe is a harsh master.  We will not be happy if he gets back and finds us gone!Ó  Reflexively I put my hands to my bottom and felt the flesh there.  Lightly I massaged it.  Ah, it was healed now.  I turned, looked in a mirror.  The marks were gone.  My chubby cheeks loomed at me, lightly tanned now, but still lighter than the rest of me, which had a deeper tan from previous sunnings.
	The bedroom telephone rang.  Sandra walked over to it, looking glorious in her nudity.  ÒYes?Ó she asked.  Her long auburn hair fell about her face, perfectly curled and coiffed.  A phone sex callerÕs dream.  And then her face fell.  She listened.  

	We spent the night together in bed, crying.  SandraÕs husband had been killed in a car crash, hurrying home to be with us.  Feeling awkward in our clothes, hastily pulled on (Sandra doing as best she could for the rest of us from her own wardrobe), we visited the hospital where her husband was pronounced dead.  Then, prisoners without our warden, we returned to SandraÕs.  Tearily we consoled each other during the long night, lying in the very bed heÕd planned to sperm us in.  Rose, Linda, myself, would never feel him within us.  And our bottoms remained unvoilated, untried and untested, though heÕd vowed to see we lost our virginity there.  Wobbling our tits against one another, sharing our tears, we lay in enforced chastity upon the bed, waiting for a Master who would never return.

Chapter Two

	A week passed.  We spent it in mourning, moping about SandraÕs house.  We attended MasterÕs funeral, our faces (mine especially) veiled in black.  Glancing about, I thanked God that nobody had spotted me at the hospital either, where weÕd conveniently been presented with medical masks upon our arrival.  Morgues were not known for their healthy air.
	Sandra stood before me now, almost like weÕd been before, when the call had come.  We were made up perfectly.  We were going dancing.  Foam dancing.  Sandra wore a nothing bikini, made of paper-thin velvet.  It was mostly drawstrings, though it did boast a full seat in back.  Or, rather, it had.  Sandra had insisted on taking a scissors to her bikini, and those we wore also, cutting up our seats until they were quite frayed, even showing a bit of buttcrack here and there.  ÒThere!  Better than thong bikinis, yet still legal,Ó sheÕd boasted at last, admiring her handiwork.  ÒWell, nightclub legal, at least, for foam dancing!Ó
	ÒSandra,Ó I said, rolling my eyes.  ÒYou donÕt really expect us to wear these teensy black velvet bikinis in public, do you?Ó  
	ÒNot at all,Ó she replied.  ÒWeÕll wear clothes to the club, and undress when we get there.  As soon as the dancing starts foam will be spilling out everywhere and weÕll be up to our necks in it in no time!  HavenÕt you ever gone to a foam party before?Ó
	ÒNo,Ó I said, looking down in dismay at my boobs, barely held in by the frayed, teensy bra that was meant to contain them.  
	ÒIÕve worn frayed jeans,Ó Rose offered.  ÒI cut up the knees and the bottom too.  Me and my girlfriend walked to the mall and got lots of looks from boys!Ó  Linda shot her a disapproving glance.
	ÒOne thing I know, and IÕll say it again,Ó Linda announced.  ÒMy uncle bought one of these for me this summer and it FELL APART when I tried to swim a few laps in it in his swimming pool!Ó
	ÒFell off, you mean,Ó I said, tugging at my bra cups to see how much they could take without bursting open.  Not much, I guessed.  It would make for interesting dancing.
	ÒNot Ôfell off,Õ silly!  Fell apart,Ó Linda harumphed.
	ÒWell, you shouldnÕt have gotten it wet,Ó Sandra said seductively.  ÒGood girls never get their bikinis wet.  This is just bubble dancing, anyway.  Bubbles are moist, but theyÕre not like being submerged underwater, are they?Ó
	ÒI suppose not, but youÕre the only one whoÕs ever done it,Ó Linda said.  
	Impulsively I reached out and felt SandraÕs belly.  It seemed flat enough.  SheÕd decided to keep her husbandÕs child, as a memento of his love.  Somewhere in there a baby was growing.  SheÕd swell soon enough.  
	ÒShouldnÕt you stay home, now that youÕre an expectant mother?Ó I asked.  
	ÒNot at all, dear,Ó she replied, lightly removing my hand.  She turned and posed herself before a mirror, admired her still-perfect figure, bikini-clad for perhaps the last time.  Or so I hoped.  I could hardly imagine a pregnant woman rushing around in a dance hall, naked but for a string bikini, foam or no foam.
	ÒCome, darlings, we must be on our way,Ó Sandra said at last, satisfied that she looked desirable despite her impending motherhood.  ÒDonÕt forget to pull on your mittens!Ó  Ah, the lacy black mittens she insisted we wear.  Along with our open-toed pumps.  We would wear these dancing in the club, plus our gold hoop earrings that dangled alluringly from our ears.  Foam dancing.  I marvelled at how seductive weÕd look.  And, perhaps most intriguing of all, weÕd allowed our breasts and bottoms to whiten again.  WeÕd worn our bikinis outdoors, religiously, so that you could easily see now where our velvet bikinis failed to cover what our swimsuits usually did.  Sunning ourselves on the porch had become a more modest activity than public dancing.
	Sandra had arranged everything.  The sunning, our bikinis, and even the clothes sheÕd bought us at the mall to cover us until we arrived at the club.  It had gone hand-in-hand with her husbandÕs funeral, giving her relief from the thought of his passing.  Now she was determined to forget her husbandÕs death, at least for one night.  It was what he would have wanted.  A beautiful wife should not be kept at home, heÕd said many times, except as a love slave.  
	Sandra had us pull on our clothes.  Then she ushered us out of the bedroom, pausing by the broken bedroom door that sheÕd never repair, out of respect for her husband.  Then we hurried downstairs and met a waiting cab.
	We arrived at the club and piled out.  It was well appointed, a gravel drive leading through trees to a canopied promenade.  We lined up there with the other hopeful guests, certain weÕd be picked to come inside.  I wore a t-shirt, my black bikini bra coyly visible beneath it, plus an open vest made of black leather.  I was going to be a wild child tonight, at least in appearance.  Around my neck, as a personal touch, IÕd tied a black scarf.  Rose had copied me, while Linda was bare-necked (she thought the scarf too seductive, though her choice of going bare-throated instead seemed, in my mind, perhaps bolder still, given how little weÕd be wearing when we danced).  For her own touch, Sandra had chosen a dogÕs collar.  Like us, sheÕd keep her neckwear on when we stripped for the foam fest.
	I wore shorts around my waist.  They were made of tight denim, cut up beforehand by Sandra with a scissors and a knife.  You could catch glimpses of my swim panties here and there, waiting to be presented.  Inside, when the dancing began, waiting for the foam.  
	Rose wore a seductive miniskirt, hiked up in back to offer a full view of her pantied bottom whenever the wind nipped by.  It was a soft skirt, easily blown, colored black.  Amidst the blackness of the fabric a pattern of wine-dark cherries had been imprinted.  An invitation to all save little boys who had yet to learn of such things.  
	Linda, for her part, wore a sarong low on her waist.  It was a fetchingly makeshift one, made from a bandanna that sheÕd knotted about herself.  It both half-revealed and half-concealed her ripped panties.  I was surprised at her boldness.  She squirmed as she stood, and had silently evinced discomfort sitting in the cab.  Suddenly I realized; sheÕd been alone with Sandra for awhile while Rose gave me an Òinnocents abroadÓ tour of SandraÕs basement.  Sandra had spanked Linda, I guessed.  She would have insisted on foam dancing in a chador if sheÕd had her way.  Wriggling her ass, she kept her annoyance at her display to herself.  A secret humiliation, delivered by mistress, which she hoped we wouldnÕt discover.
	My eyes turned to Sandra.  Boldly, sheÕd selected no outer garment at all.  Like me, she wore a t-shirt, with a towel draped round her neck to hide her perky nipples.  Women could not be as openly seductive as girls were.  They were presumed to know better.  She had a wide-brimmed straw hat on, with pretty flowers in its banded crown.  She wore sunglasses.  And, below, her bare legs rose to her ass, where her bottom and pussy were clad only in her frayed swim panties.  Made of felt.  Not something sheÕd want to do lifeguarding in, that was for sure.  Her tee covered half her ass, but the lower halves of her cheeks bulged out prominently.  A full young-wifeÕs bottom, deeply cleft and made for more than just spanks and kisses.  Little girls might have their bottoms admired, or slapped, but women must offer theirs up for full-fledged marital bedroom games.  I glanced about, saw men glancing at her with special pleasure.  
	It was an upscale crowd.  Some were kids, dressed like us in urban partywear, others were men in business suits, fresh from work.  A number of women wore elegant evening gowns, sheath-tight with nothing on underneath.  I noticed several ahead of me, sipping champagne.  Their rear cleavage showed nicely through their tight dresses.  In front, their low-swooping necklines offered views of bosoms white and full.  Their nipples rose in various stages of excitement, depending on the girl, and offered themselves pointedly through the dress fabric.  
	ÒChampagne?Ó a girl asked me.  She worked at the club, moved down the line offering drinks to keep the customers happy.  
	ÒItÕs free?Ó Linda asked.
	ÒOf course!  Even if you donÕt get picked you still can get wasted,Ó the girl replied.  ÒExtras cost, of course, but IÕm not too good in math, so whoÕs counting?Ó  She looked like she might have been sampling a bit herself before bringing it out, I thought.  I took a glass, but Linda refused, saying she was a strict teetotaler.  Except it came out, Òtit-tailer,Ó which gave us all a laugh.  Rose and I took drinks, as did Sandra, while Linda contented herself with wriggling her nose in disapproval and offering us various maxims from Molly Hatchet.
	ÒMy strict Mormon upbringing would never permit me to drink,Ó Linda said, quoting from her religionÕs substitute for the Bible, and giving us an 800 number so we could order one.  We sipped quietly, pleasantly listening to her in our little group, with an attentive male ear cocked here and there nearby.  It was shady and cool.  In the distance the sun was setting.
	The girl with the drinks returned again, and I noticed sheÕd lost her shirt.  She wore a wafer-thin woolen bra, ripped here and there along the cups to offer glimpses of her bosoms, beyond what already bulged up.  Below, her shorts had been seductively unbuttoned, showing her matching panties.  It was swimwear, or sold as such, so no bluenose (not even Linda!) could complain.  Her shorts, made of denim, hugged her hips so tightly they seemed unable to fall.  Yet I wondered if some errant male hand might not give gravity a bit of assistance.  We took more drinks.  The line began to sluggishly move forward.
	At the door, just beyond a bouncer, a woman picked who would enter.  She was Alexis, Sandra told us, and picked on the basis of looks and status.  ÒDonÕt worry,Ó Sandra assured us.  ÒThanks to my husband, I have the status, and you have the looks.  Alexis isnÕt fussy about I.D.Õs and such, if youÕre good looking!Ó  To my delight she picked us, and we proceeded inside.  Some people behind us got turned away, but the free drinks theyÕd gotten more than assuaged their hurt feelings.
	The doors to the club closed.  ÒGet your things off, everyone!Ó Alexis called out, smiling.  ÒUnless you want them ruined by bubbles, that is!  Of course you must keep SOMETHING on, according to the law, since this is a public club.  But your streetwear, or whatever you wish, can be piled into the lockers along the wall.  
	There was much bustling then, as each of us took a waiting key from a lock on a locker and opened it, then stripped down for dancing.  Alexis herself walked about, keeping everyone happy.  I marvelled at her dress.  It was a sheath-dress, like the women outdoors had been wearing.  In back, though, AlexisÕ dress dipped all the way down to her derriere, showing the uppermost part of her buttcrack.  I could make out where her swimsuit usually covered her, and it certainly wasnÕt there now!  Yet despite the nudity of her entire back, her dress clung to her tightly in front.  Alexis was literally wrapped in it, or so it seemed, for it moulded her breasts as well as the indipping space where her thighs joined.  All over her shoulders and halfway down her back a ravenous, flowing mane of red hair made up for her lack of clothing.  AlexisÕ hair was more useful to keeping her properly covered than her dress was, in my opinion.  Her nipples, somnolent at first, perked up as she monitored the ritual of undressing for the dance.  When at last we were all as naked as we could be, and still be seen in public together, she addressed us.
	ÒThere is a Ôno sexÕ pledge you must sign,Ó Alexis said.  They were handed out and we each attested with our signature that we would not engage in any sex while hidden with the others in the foam.
	ÒNext, for you girls, there is a condom required, just in case you feel your partner might get carried away.  Both the men and girls will each keep a condom somewhere on their person.  I recommend to you girls that you keep the condom reasonably visible, as a warning to the males.  Stick it in your bikini bra or panties.  Let it flap around so he can see it.  This will remind him of his Ôno sexÕ pledge.  And men, you should have put your condoms on your penises before you even arrived, to remind yourselves of what youÕre NOT supposed to do.  But just in case here is another one, courtesy of the club.Ó  She pointed to several girls bringing them around on trays.  ÒGo into the restroom and put on a condom, men, if you havenÕt got one on already.Ó  A few took condoms and retreated to the menÕs lavatory.  The rest seemed to have partied in foam before, or been warned what to have on hand (or on dick!) by friends.
	Sandra and I and Linda and Rose took the offered condoms.  I chose pink, Sandra yellow, and Rose took Red.  Linda picked white, Òfor purity,Ó she said.  I tucked my condom into the waistband of my panties, as did Linda and Rose.  Sandra put her condom through the front of her dog collar.  You could not look at her without seeing it.
	Without any further delay, the low throbbing of music began emanating from the wall.  Sandra, with us clustered around her, moved out onto the dancefloor.  It still looked like any other, and the women in their body-tight cocktail dresses took to it with all the elegance of women attending a formal party.  And then there were the men.  Some were stripped down to their boxer shorts, cleverly disguised as swimsuits.  Others, the men from the city center, wore their business suits onto the dancefloor, as if foam, like reversals of fortune, would leave them untouched.  Pretty soon everyone was gaily dancing, in pairs and groups and threesomes.  I found myself intermixed with two girls in evening gowns, with Rose dancing nearby with two admiring men.  They wore business suits, their ties neatly pinned, their shirts starched, pinstriped jackets spreading broadly across their shoulders.  She looked quite small and vulnerable, dancing with them in her pleasingly torn panties and bra, wearing her neckscarf and heels.  Her hoop earrings bounced as easily as her breasts, I thought, which threatened to pop from her bra any moment.
	ÒOh, my!Ó Rose announced suddenly, and her boobs bounced right out of her top, just as I feared.  Her companions strode forward and gallantly helped her stuff herself back in.  Then they danced on.  A man intervened, blocking my view, choosing me for a partner in dancing.  Blushingly I danced with him, aware of how his eyes avidly studied my breasts.  I turned finally, gave him an inviting flip of my tail, reminding him of what else could fall off.  Then I slipped into the crowd to escape him.
	Balloons began spilling from the ceiling.  I glanced over my shoulder.  My male pursuer, intent on following me, became ensnared amidst a clutch of balloons that dumped down right on top of him.  And then the foam came.  Big clumps, driven by fans, coming in from the walls, across the floor, and spilling out of the ceiling behind the balloons.  There were screams of delight, laughter, as the room began literally filling with foam.  The music throbbed all around us.  We were in a womb, it seemed, being inseminated by the sperm colored foam.  
	Glasses tumbled to the floor, spilling half-finished cocktails.  Cries of glee went up as foam-fights erupted.  People slipped and slid on the floor if they werenÕt careful.  And then my breasts popped out from my bra, spontaneously, as I gave myself an extra vigorous wiggle in response to the music. 
	But who could see?  The man easing himself close to me, a new man, very gorgeous, with a wife (or mistress) to match, could not see me.  I smiled at him, conscious of how naughty I felt with my naked boobs bouncing away, out of sight under the bubbling foam.
	ÒItÕs good clean fun, youÕve got to admit!Ó the manÕs wife smiled at me, a mischievous look in her eyes.  I could see the straps of an evening gown on her shoulders, though the straps seemed precariously close to falling off.
	I smiled back at her, greeted the man.  
	ÒIÕm Gary,Ó he said, dancing easily despite the formality of a business suit he wore.  I smiled again, rubbed my bare shoulder with my hand.  
	ÒA fun place to scrub up, donÕt you think?Ó I asked him.  I scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them at him.  
	We danced closer.  He guided his hands by memory, found my thoroughly female hips in the foam and traced their gentle, youthful curvature.  He discovered my felt bra hanging around my waist like a belt.
	ÒHmm, a very interesting belt,Ó he remarked.  We exchanged glances.  I looked over at his wife, saw her straps were missing from her shoulders.  She seemed to puff up big gobs of foam from just in front of her, as if she were tossing them up with a pair of large, unrestrained breasts.  Diamonds dangled incongruously from her ears, flashing strobe lights at me, reflecting the colored lights beating all around us in time to the music.  She seemed truly delighted to be free of her expensive dress.  I moved closer to her, let her husband run his hands up my ribs.  ÒAnd your bra, it is very much like real flesh,Ó Gary remarked.  
	ÒThatÕs because it is, and my belt isnÕt,Ó I laughed.  He squeezed my twin globes.  I danced on, the woman moving up next to me.  Her playful breasts bounced against me from the side.  The man eased back, running his thumbs over my risen nipples before removing his hands.  I and the woman turned to each other, face to face.  Our breasts thudded into each other, nude boobs clashing with nude boobs.  I felt like some kind of jello wrestler, exploring the preliminaries with my partner in the foam.  
	Hands came to my waist.  GaryÕs, from behind now.  He found my bikini undies, ran his fingers along the waistband.  ÒIÕm Juliette,Ó his wife murmured, and kissed me.  Her hands touched my waist, travelled round to my pantied rear.  Her fingertips scanned it, found two holes to explore.  I heard a rip in the foam and my panties felt as if theyÕd been torn open behind me.  
	ÒSir, youÕd better have your condom on if your wife is going to do that,Ó I said naughtily.  I was wanton.  I felt GaryÕs hands graze my ass, pressed it boldly into his hands to discover what remained of my panties.  
	Flesh to flesh.  Had I nothing left in behind.  I could not feel any fabric intervening.  He palped my hinds, spread them.  I guessed I must be bare in back, after all.
	GaryÕs helpful wife inserted her fingertips into the front of my panties next.  I looked at her, feeling the presence of her fingers dangerously deep within the triangle of fabric covering my muff.  As our eyes studied each other she eased down my undies in front.  I felt bubbles flow in against my thighs, within them.  Then a hand, cupping me, slipping between my thighs, as her husband, his hands between my legs in back, parted them.  Offering to rub me as we danced she cupped and held the pouting lips of my pussy.  I waggled my ass, perching myself on her hand.
	ÒLet me get your dress off at least!Ó I laughed.  I put my hands to her waist and yanked her cocktail dress down over her hips.  I was an Indian.  I would run wild in the foam.  Juliette cried happily as she felt the dress pulled free of her vase-like hips, skitter down her legs.  We were both naked now, private dancers in the foam for her husband.
	I felt something sheathed in light rubber wedge itself between my legs.  No!  I thought to myself.  I just wanted to play naughtily in the foam, to dance.  Gary, who had so recently pressed my legs apart, now pushed them together, closing them over his inthrusting penis.  Between my thighs I held him now.  I felt him begin to push back and forth.
	ÒThis isnÕt sex, strictly speaking, is it?Ó he breathed over my shoulder.  I held his cock tight between my legs.  He eased my clamping grip a little.  His wifeÕs hand reasserted itself in front, finding my pussy again after a momentary lapse.
	ÒAh, please donÕt!Ó I cried, as from behind he began to suavely pleasure himself twixt my close-pressing thighs.  In front Juliette fingered my clit, using her finger only, lest she spread me too wide for her husbandÕs pleasure.
	ÒOh, I wish not to do this,Ó I begged, but let Juliette guide my hand to her own pussy.  In response to her, in retaliation perhaps, I rubbed her in return.
	Our moans rose up, wafting across the bubbles.  But we were hardly alone.  Others, Rose no doubt, Linda even, and Sandra most certainly, amidst many others, all strangers in the foam.  Naked strangers.
	It was so exciting for me, making love like this, so easy and uninhibited in the disguising foam, that I was pealing forth an orgasmic scream within moments.  Juliette, older, took longer, but was soon bleating happily upon my furiously rubbing hand.  At last Gary, somewhere twixt my legs, jetted into his condom.  Slowly I felt him soften.  He withdrew, kissed each of my shoulders.  Juliette and I parted as our orgasms subsided.  We gazed at each other, kissed once.  Then I turned, found Gary, kissed him also.  Within the foam he found his wifeÕs hand then, and they bid me adieu.  We parted company, safe as weÕd been when we met, yet much happier now.  
	I danced awhile longer, met another couple and shared intimacies with them, stroking the husbandÕs naked cock until his cockhead, still inside his condom, jetted forth his seed.  Then I made my way to the lockers along the wall.  Around my wrist, held there by pink telephone cord, was my locker key, safely tucked in a little pouch.  I took it out and unlocked my locker.  Still hidden in the foam, I drew my clothes out one by one and slipped them on.  
	Outside I waited for the others.  There was a little juice bar, under an awning.  It had not been there earlier.  Only non-alcoholic beverages were offered.  With bits of foam still clinging to me I walked up to it, my hair tangled and damp.  
	Òhi!Ó a girl greeted me.  A small, cheery greeting.  She was not the same girl who had served me champagne.  She looked younger, perhaps 13.  Too young possibly for the festivities inside, where I guessed the champagne girl was receiving payment from the males for all her kindness.
	ÒI came with others.  I have no money,Ó I said softly, a bit guiltily.
	ÒOh, drinks are always free for those who have partied,Ó the girl replied.  ÒWhat flavor would you like?Ó
	ÒHave you no champagne?Ó I asked.  IÕd guessed the answer already, but asked anyway.
	ÒNo, people have to drive home now,Ó the girl replied.  ÒPlus IÕm too young to sell it anyway.Ó  I giggled.  She caught the mischievous look in my eye.  
	ÒNo problem, IÕm too young to drink it,Ó I said.
	ÒMe too,Ó she smiled.  I could see that in her innocence she had nonetheless trespassed as far into the land of Adults Only as to get drunk.  A junior Drew Barrymore, perhaps.
	ÒIÕll have Cherry,Ó I said softly.  I felt naughty.  I wanted to rip her blouse open and present her to Gary.
	ÒA delicious choice!Ó the fruit-stand girl said gaily.  ÒThen, with an innocent wink, asked, ÒAre you?Ó
	ÒMostly,Ó I replied.  ÒMy bottom, you know.Ó
	ÒMmmm,Ó she said.  ÒMe too.  But I have a boyfriend and he wants me there.  Does it hurt?Ó
	ÒI donÕt know,Ó I said.  ÒIt sounds like it would!Ó
	ÒHereÕs your cherry,Ó the girl said, handing me my drink.  A glass bottle with a slim, long straw and bits of cherry sheÕd chopped up and sprinkled into it for me.
	ÒAnd hereÕs to yours,Ó I said, lifting my glass to her in thanks before sipping on my straw.  She blushed.
	ÒNot for long, IÕm afraid.Ó  I turned away, into the night, strolling along the sidewalk under the canopied promenade.  People were coming out of the club, cars were pulling up to take them away.  The night was warm.  My drink was icy, sweet.
	A hand tapped upon my shoulder.  Surprised, I turned.  My mouth in a little O of wonder.  Alexis had emerged from the shadows behind me.  She stood frankly before me now, in her same slinky dress, though it had obviously come off at some point and been trampled in the foam dance.  SheÕd slipped back into it now, looked like some delicious whore waiting to go home.  Bits of foam clung to her wrinkled dress.  Her hair was mussed like mine.  
	ÒYou give a nice party,Ó I smiled sweetly.
	ÒOh, it is nothing,Ó she said dismissively.  ÒIt pays the bills, thatÕs all.Ó  Her eyes scanned me approvingly.  Standing in my little tee with my big teenage breasts bulging against the fabric, my nipples rising again as I felt the excitement of my vulnerability before her.  She was Dracula, or DraculaÕs wife, come from the grave to get me, I thought.  A beautiful Vampire.  I might interview her, discover her secrets.  
	She saw the admiration in my gaze as I looked at her perfect face, her voluptuous body.  And then her eyes.  Soft, caring eyes.  But there was a glint of steel in them too, as if she were never denied anything.  
	ÒI give private parties,Ó she offered.  ÒA sweet young girl like yourself would be most welcome.Ó
	ÒI-IÕll think about it,Ó I lied.  I wanted to go, out of simple curiosity, if nothing else.  When would I meet such a woman again?  She gave me free cherry drinks even when she didnÕt know me, and free champagne too.  To me and everyone.  What gifts awaited a guest at her private parties?
	ÒWhat is there to think about?Ó she asked.  ÒYou are Lisa.  Lisa Beckworth.  Did you leave your mommie because you wanted to?Ó
	ÒYes,Ó I breathed.  She knew me!  I glanced instinctively over my shoulder.  Were the police coming?  Was I to be sent back to that awful religious school where mom sent me, with its strange celibate, feminist nuns?  More lectures on why women should be admitted into the priesthood?  Fuck the priesthood.  I did not like swearing, but I hated those lectures.  And we were made to write letters to the pope supporting female priests, and give lists of reasons from Papal Encyclicals and the Bible.	
	ÒI cannot come,Ó I said softly, lowered my eyes.  I had not the courage.
	ÒYou came already this evening, did you not?Ó  In the foam, she meant, I guessed.  Few probably escaped the mass grope in the foam without some kind of pleasure being induced.  Forcibly, or voluntarily.  
	ÒI cannot come,Ó I said again.  I looked up at her with sad eyes, almost begging her to make me find a way.                                
	Suddenly she was upon me.  A bat from Hell.  A cat upon prey.  Her arms enfolded me, pressed me in against herself.  My breasts mashed against hers.  Behind she grabbed my shorts and shoved them down, presenting my ass to the waiting traffic.  A car turned.  Suddenly my bare bottom was caught in its twin headlights!  Silky, firm globes, offering themselves to public view.  Cruelly, Sandra pulled open the halves of my pumpkin and showed off my hole.  
	Then, suddenly, we were running across grass, through tall trees that cast long, deep shadows.  My shorts hugged my thighs, making me want to trip.  Mistress drew me by the hand, quickly, running with her in our high heels.
	Out back there was a carriage.  Mistress led me up steps that hung from its side, thrust me into it.  A shocking sight greeted my eyes.  There were Rose, Linda, and Sandra.  Compliantly, Sandra was having her arms lifted over her head so that they could be buckled into handcuffs that dangled from the carriageÕs ceiling.  Her breasts, like twin gourds of utmost roundness and fullness, lay nakedly and unprotected upon her chest.
	SandraÕs mouth was open, her tongue offered.  As a man dressed in the gear of a footman buckled her wrists, a woman clad in an evening gown fed her a pill.  My eyes caught the label on the bottle the woman held.  RU486!
	ÒYou will be inseminated anew upon your arrival,Ó the woman said.  ÒWe do not allow pregnant women to come, but of course you may be made pregnant there,Ó the woman explained.  Sandra obediently swallowed the pill.
	ÒThank you,Ó she said softly.  She kissed the womanÕs hand, kissed the palm that had held the pill.
	My eyes darted to Rose and Linda.  They were naked, wearing only their hoop earrings and heels.  Their pretty scarfs had been replaced with dog collars.  Rose looked innocent as ever, a faithful companion, like a dog that would not leave its master.  Linda looked frustrated, glancing up at her shackles, pulling on them.  Yet she said nothing.  Her spanking had trained her to behave.
	ÒI found the fourth one,Ó Alexis reported to the woman.
	ÒGood,Ó the woman replied.  ÒMaster will be pleased.Ó
	Reeling in shock, not knowing what to do, I found yet another horror.  A plastic cup of yellow fluid was placed between each girlsÕ legs, on the carriage floor.  It had the scent of urine.
	ÒGet out of your things,Ó Alexis ordered me.  ÒI must give you a pregnancy test.Ó
	ÒBut I donÕt want --Ó
	ÒThat is why you must come,Ó Alexis said.  ÒNow undress, or IÕll have my footman do it, and give him the pleasure of spanking you over his knee!Ó
	I turned to Sandra to ask for her help, but she merely stared at me.  The woman, whose name I would later learn was Tammy, was forcing her lips apart.  Sandra resisted only a little, enough to show modesty.  Between her lips Tammy inserted a gag.  She tied it behind SandraÕs hair, where in its mussing it formed a kind of tangled nest for the knot, as if receiving a precious egg there.  I looked again at Linda, Rose.  My disoriented eyes had missed it at first:  they were gagged too!  Linda seemed to wear hers almost as a kind of talisman, as if it spoke volumes about her forced participation in this game, showed she was not here voluntarily.  No indeed, not Miss Prudence, Linda Holston.  Her maiden name.  SheÕd escaped her husband on her first night at SandraÕs, left him to find other women.  A good bargain, sheÕd thought at the time, though no doubt now she was having second thoughts.  Pretty Rose was gagged most sweetly, as if wearing a gag was the most natural thing for her, if her master wished it.  Of course, she too had played the naughty nymphet on her first night at SandraÕs, escaping her master.  Yet she accepted all with a kind of innocent aplomb.  
	Remembering AlexisÕ vow, I quickly stripped off my lowered shorts, then pulled off my tee.  It was tight.  In yanking it up I caused my boobies to bounce.  The footman, Tammy noticed.  Alexis stood behind, waiting.  
	ÒVery good,Ó Alexis said to me.  She bent over and picked up my things.  IÕd dropped them on the floor, carelessly.  Did a part of me want this?  Alexis put her hand to my back and urged me to the bench.  It was hard, made of wood, with slight depressions worn into it from other passengerÕs bottoms.  Other girls, perhaps as long as 100 years ago, had ridden in this carriage, I guessed.  The shackles too looked worn, well-used.  Made of Steel from Bethlehem when the fires still burned there.
	Hesitantly I sat down on the bench.  I spread my fingers upon it before lowering my ass.  I felt uncomfortable upon the hard, unyielding surface.
	ÒHave you no cushions?Ó I asked, looking up at Alexis.  In answer she introduced a gag to my lips, made me take it.  She knotted it at the back of my head.  It made my mane of hair sweep inward where it knotted itself tightly across the back of my head.
	ÒLift your arms,Ó Alexis told me.  Looking up, I watched as she took my raised wrists and buckled them firmly into the overhead cuffs.
	ÒMen will come, to ride with you,Ó Alexis said.  ÒWe will stop and pick them up along the way.  They have paid much to come to my party, a party you will be attending for free.  Remember that you are their equal, though their ego, of course, must be satisfied.  You and they will party together, enjoying everything and working hard at your pleasure.  They have already suffered, holding themselves in for a two full weeks in order to earn the privilege of coming.  They will be forced to give of themselves as selflessly as any girl.  Keeping their egos always in mind, of course.  Men and women are different, even in a state of equality.Ó
	She forced my knees apart.  IÕd kept them close-pressed but she spread them wide, glanced at my peeping cunt to make sure it met her requirements.  Tight, free of disease.  ÒIf you are too tight we may have to widen you there,Ó she said absently, as if merely reading from a list of rules on how to swim.  ÒNo running, no horseplaying.Ó  Except this was a list of ÒYesÓ rules.  Yes for widening, and many other things besides.  ÒYour bottom also,Ó she added.  She put her hands to my rump and drew me forward on the bench until my pussy was quite prominently in mid-air, only my rearmost bottomcheeks still perched on the wooden seat.  ÒPiss,Ó she commanded, presenting a plastic cup to my cunt.  In the distance Tammy slipped a strip of paper into LindaÕs pee, making sure she was not with child.  
	I pissed vigorously, my pee hole spouting with all the champagne and cherry drinks IÕd consumed.  So quick and healthy was the stream that some hit the cup and splashed out, falling in drops on AlexisÕ hand, on the bosoms within her gown.
	ÒAh, how naughty you are, and well-made,Ó was her only reply.  She was handed a strip of litmus paper by Tammy and dipped it in the cup.  ÒNot pregnant,Ó she told me happily.  ÒBut thanks to RU486, we can play pregnancy games now.  You are just to think of yourself as a womb from now on.Ó  Her eyes, glazed perhaps with a sudden impulse of lust, regarded the soft swell of my virgin belly, my sweet flaring hips.  ÒYou are to think of yourself as nothing but a womb now,Ó she said.  ÒThe men are just walking sperm-pumps, but you are just a womb, nothing more.  A womb and mammaries, growing large to give forth milk to hungry men and babes.Ó  She kissed my thigh.  Wanted, I think, to kiss my tummy, but would have had to bend like a dog to do it.  She stood, fluffed her hair with her hand.  ÒYou are lucky to have a mistress like Sandra,Ó she said to me, looking down at me.  I sat still on the edge of my seat, flustered, frightened, my eyes wide and my lips parted with the gag.  ÒShe finds parties and games for you to play, and you need only come along.  So lucky.  Nod and tell me that you like it.  Do not be like Linda.Ó
	I stared at her.  Whole formations of butterflies took off in my stomach.  I glanced at Linda.  Sullen, moody, enjoying the forcefulness of it all for it made her chaste even as she orgasmed.  Had she not married?  Had she not chosen the role of wife?  Did she think it came with only taxes and checkbooks to balance, without a marital bed?  She wanted it yet wanted to fight it.  Perhaps she wanted to be punished, not even knowing her wishes, perhaps, I speculated.  Wanted to be forced and raped and fucked against her will, and punished for not submitting.
	I gazed up at Alexis.  ÒTell me!Ó she urged.  With the gag on I could not explain myself.  There was only yes or no.  In the end, for every woman, there is only yes or no.  And no sometimes means yes.  
	Lightly I nodded my head.  My curling, half-tangled locks fell about my face.  My hair was dry now, soft.  The wetness of the bubbles was gone.  Alexis smiled, swept my hair back, kissed my forehead.  ÒAh, you have the form for it,Ó she said.  ÒSo slim, with such fine big bosoms, and a bottom to match.  I may want to keep you all to myself, forever, just to watch your belly swell with some manÕs seed.  Ah, to see you in the delivery room!  We have one there, for girls who choose to stay.  Or abortions can be performed in it.  You may have whichever you wish, or the pill.  But enough of that!  We donÕt even have the men yet, do we?  Perhaps they misbehaved and will be found to be empty.  Then what should we girls do, hmmm?  Start a nunnery?Ó  
	She swept away then, stepped down from the carriage and closed the door upon us, locking it.  Tammy had already gone, perhaps to sit with the footman up front.  Perhaps on his lap, milking him.  He might not be allowed to keep seed in his loins, lest he fuck the female guests.  Yes they would milk him regularly, to keep him dry, I thought.  He had access to very pretty girls in very compromised positions.  Yet men had paid for us and expected us to be theirs.  Wealthy men.  Executives, corporate heads.  Men who had trained years in professional schools to earn the salary that could buy them...what?  Innocent young virgins, or young wives, escaped from their husbands.  And Alexis, perhaps, telling them when they could wear their pants and when they must remove them.
	Alexis returned.  She carried four light but sturdy poles in her hand, each round like a wooden dowel and about three feet in length.  At either end each dowel had a leather cuff attached.  Gently she spread our legs, having to fight only with Linda, who she gave a slap across the face.  Our small feet were buckled into the dowels.  They were spreader bars.  Designed to keep us open for whatever might befall us.  I glanced about, saw the offered pussies of my three companions.  Blushingly we exchanged glances as Alexis departed again.  Only Linda feigned disconsolance.  Yet I myself felt a wave of fright wash over me as, almost immediately, the carriage lurched forward.  This was no make-belive game, like our partying on the porch with the hose.  Men were coming.  They would be aboard soon.
	Down back streets we clattered, I myself feeling like one of the carriage horses as I listened to their hoofbeats.  I was a womb, going to an insemination party, nothing more.  My stellar grade point average, my talents on the girlsÕ softball field, my appreciation for my mother (even when I knew I must disobey her), none of that mattered now.  Yet the men, intriguingly, were coming aboard as nothing but cocks.  Of the walk, perhaps, but they had to meet certain requirements also.  Alexis had dictated terms to them.  More difficult terms, perhaps, depending on their age.  The young ones would have had great difficulty holding themselves in for two whole weeks.  Their balls must be on the verge of exploding!  I didnÕt know much about men, but from the boys IÕd overheard at the high school they had to masturbate frequently.  Or get laid a lot, if they were lucky.  And the young men would spurt quickly, perhaps, unable to constrain their eager lust.  Their torment, though, was almost over now, for they could cum and cum again, quickly refilling after every ejaculation.
	The older men, I speculated, had enjoyed a relatively easy two weeks.  Their torture, though, was about to begin.  Once they came, they would have trouble getting their cocks up again.  They would have to be certain to hold themselves back until they were sure they could have no more fun with their toys.  Once they came, the party would be over for them.  They would be more likely to whip us, I realized queasily, whether to prolong the party before they came or to further their pleasure after they did.  The young men would be all lust and labor, the old would be langorous satisfaction from slower, more sophisticated pleasures.  The young would want to party in bed.  The old would want to play rude games with us, whipping us slowly, or just watching us play amongst ourselves, entering only at the end to spend themselves in our honeyed nests.
	The carriage stopped.  Such a short ride!  I did not want to see the men, wanted to die right there on my worn carriage seat.  How horrible that I, a mere slip of a schoolgirl, should be made to play such awful games!  And then she came aboard.  Of all the decadence, this was the worst!  I could see at once that she was a beautician.  We must look our best for the men, Alexis explained, entering behind the woman.  The beautician set about doing our makeup and nails.  The carriage sat still as she did her work.  We were in a safer place now than behind the club, with all its commotion, Alexis explained.  How strange it was, getting my nails done!  My wrists remained buckled into the restraints above my head.  Carefully, studiously, the beautician performed her art on my nails in this awkward position.  Yet when she was done they looked more beautiful than IÕd ever seen them before.  And the other girlsÕ nails flashed with a similar opulence.  Clear, white varnish, yet with a touch of pink, making them look like seashells washed up onto an early-morning beach.
	ÒTheir hair, maÕam?Ó the beautician asked.  Alexis fluffed mine, looked at the others.  
	ÒLeave them,Ó Alexis replied, to my immediate embarrassment!  ÒI like the messy, tangled look.  They have already been partying this evening, perhaps orgasming on the dancefloor.Ó  She cast us knowing looks.  ÒLet the men see how lusty these nervous young fillies are.  Wash their breasts, though, and their pussies.  Here, let me do it,Ó she said, as Tammy brought aboard a bucket and sponge.  Alexis took the sponge and plunged it into the bucket.  She lifted it, water streaming from it, and wrung out much of the water.  Then she bathed my stiff-nippled breasts with it.  She smiled, enjoying the pillowy feel of my soft young breasts.  She made my nipples quiver, snapping them back and forth as if they were bell pushes and she some juvenile delinquent.  Lastly she wet the sponge again and passed it back and forth over my pussy.  Then she dried me, quickly and abrasively, with a rough towel.  She did each girl in turn, then stopped, gazed at the four of us closely.  Behind her the beautician and Tammy stepped from the carriage and shut the door.
	I glanced at Alexis, still wearing her rumpled party dress, evidence of her own nightÕs partying.  Her hair had been combed, though, brushed and glossed.  I half-imagined sheÕd slipped off and taken a quick shower somewhere, then replaced the dress to look as if she had not.  She looked stunningly beautiful, a goddess of pleasure.  From her I looked at the carriage.  Oh, to ride in a carriage such as this!  It was a century old, yet spiffy and new inside, save for the savored wear of girlsÕ bottoms upon its benches.  Little glass lamps illuminated its interior, complemented (at the moment, at least) by bolder electric lights secreted within the decorated walls.  The floor was hardwood, unpolished, showing the wear of many girlsÕ heels upon it over the years.  And the benches upon which we sat were, again, clean but pleasantly hard and unvarnished.  A real wood seat upon which a girlsÕ soft one was forced to come to terms.  Forced to sit upon as her young breasts jiggled freely, unprotected, the nipples stiff with excitement that even her strict upbringing could not contain.  Amidst all my jitters, scared and yet longing, some small primal part of me somewhere, deep within my womb, perhaps, admired the harsh beauty of it all.  The impossibly ornate interior, with its satin, paisley-flowered walls, perhaps put in last century or last week.  The lamps, faithfully flickering.  And the certainty of the hardwood beneath my fatted rump, promising uncompromising games at the party.  Games of sport where bottoms were made to jump and girls to howl, to beg and to receive.
	Alexis surveyed us.  We seemed to be at a crossing point, standing thigh deep in a river whose swollen flow threatened to soon engulf our pussies.  ÒGirls, you agreed to the party at SandraÕs but it got cut short,Ó Alexis intoned with quiet, uncompromising words.  ÒNow we will rectify that.  From here on you must expect to be admired for your bodies only.  And they will inspire the men to do naughty things to you.  Just as they did, perhaps, when they were little boys, catching you in the bath and peeing on you, or pulling your hair at recess, or surprising you with a frog when you agreed to kiss them.  As they say, the only difference between men and boys is their toys.  
	ÒYou survived those experiences, despite the fact that they were thrust on you by unlearned boys groping in ignorance.  Here, there will be no such worries.  You will love and be loved, and play, and toil, and certainly the men will want to be nasty to you sometimes.  But all will be watched by me, to see that you are not truly harmed.  Oh, you might wish some days that you were enjoying the comforts of home, in your bathrobe and with your cup of morning coffee, but such are the sacrifices that must be made for love.  The men will determine what special privileges you receive, based on your performance as a love object.  If you do as they wish, they may reward you with an idle morning and some coffee.  If not, your morning may begin where it left off the night before, with a sound spanking.  A hickory switch upon your bottom in the softness of your bed.  It will be for them to decide, with my guiding hand staying only the worst abuses.  I have a liberal temperament.  I feel a young womanÕs body needs a good workout now and then, sexually, with everything a man can throw at her.  Let the man explore his wildest fantasies.  Let him forget sexual harassment, child molestation, and all the other Ôno noÕs.Õ  Let him be told, by me, a woman, Òyes you may take out your penis.  Enjoy its length, its girth, donÕt feel you need to hide it in your pants in front of these girls.  They are being trained to exclude ÔnoÕ from their vocabularies.  Hit them, if you wish, spank them and spit in their pretty faces for all the times they turned you down in the real world, made you wait, or blew you off like some kind of refuse, playing wicked mind games with you.  Give them what they need, make them take their medicine dutifully like the cunts they really are.Ó
	ÒYes, girls, I know how awful you can be to men, because I am awful to them too.  Look how I have made them wait, and see how much I have made them pay me.Ó  She tossed her hair.  Diamond earrings sparkled at me, at us, shivering with fright in our bonds.  The woman was crazy!  A hedonist gone mad.  Yet, deep down, in my uterus, did I know her words made sense?  How many times had I teased the boys, teased them because they played sports badly, or played sports well but didnÕt have a car?  And how many times had I teased them with my body?  Answering the door in just my t-shirt, then denying them a date, sending them off to guilt-ridden masturbating?  Or dropping things, then picking them up, perhaps while writing on the blackboard?  Wearing my shortest skirt just so I could drop the eraser in third period?  Yet when they wanted to fuck, needed to fuck, my answer had always been Ôno.Õ  Mercilessly I would bait them, reeling them in, only to turn away and leave them gaping at the last moment, furious, frustrated, like fish on a dock left by the fisherman.  TheyÕd stew, unwanted, broiling away until they had to turn to the porno shop to relieve themselves.  Shamefacedly buying, furtively spiriting the stuff out the door, then cursing themselves for being empty an hour later, when IÕd call and offer them something they could no longer give.  Or maybe, if I timed it just right, IÕd catch them in the moment, when it was too late to stop, when even a beckoning girl on the phone could not budge them out of their bedroom.  All these memories flooded back to me now, half-forgotten, washing in like detritus from fallen Atlantis.  Watching me, Alexis saw my face and remembered her own memories.  She felt a kinship with me, perhaps more than with the other girls.  Impulsively she bent and kissed my upturned nose.  ÒIt is a new adventure, darling!  Harsh but true.  How can you know what you will like as an adult if you do not try it?  Be glad that you have mistresses that care for you, that look out for you, that know a young girlÕs body intimately and how it must be handled, what it can take and what it cannot take.  Certainly you must go forward, sexually.  You cannot remain chaste forever.  You must be a girlfriend, lover, mom, all those things await you, and your body is ready to experience each of them in turn.  All that blocks you is your mind, and the uncertainty you feel over the newness, the tightness, the bulging voluptuousness of your figure.  All these can be taught the ways of love.  Be glad you are learning from men under my guidance, instead of someone foolish, unlearned, or truly brutal.  Kiss me, dear, and tell me you love me for all the things I am going to do for you!Ó  Her words were liquor, intoxicating.  Knowing not what to do, I bent forward as best I could and planted a kiss on the swell of her bosoms where they emerged from the top of her dress.  
	ÒAh, how nicely you kiss, even with the gag,Ó Alexis complimented me.  She kissed me again, atop my tousled head.  Then she moved to Rose in turn, who compliantly kissed her bosoms, then to Linda, who refused to kiss her until she received (in my opinion) a much-wanted slap across her face.  And finally Sandra, the two of them looking at each other with battling eyes before Sandra finally accepted her special fate and kissed each of AlexisÕ nipples, brought forth for Sandra only.  Alexis lifted them from her dress and offered them.  Sandra planted a gagged kiss on each one, then tossed her head indifferently and resumed her pose as a proud-but-shackled love slave.  She seemed less a frightened mare now, more a willing wife ready to endure the labors of love.  After all, she had arranged for us to be brought, all unknowing save herself, yet herself unsure of exactly what would befall the four of us.  
	Now we knew much better.  Games, sex games, where the genitals would be on center-stage.  All else would be secondary.  Food, drink, it would be given only as the ongoing pleasure of the genitals allowed it.  And the clothing would not be optional, I guessed, it would be non-existent.  Perhaps a glove there, or a condom, a garter or a necklace.  Little more, I suspected, would be allowed to block the menÕs view of our figures.  We would be captive goddesses, and the men would prove our mortality by breeding their young in us.
	Alexis stood by the door once more, looked us over.  Nude we looked back, our titties hanging uplifted from our chests, our ribs sticking out, our legs splayed and our pussies offered.  ÒIÕm glad I received your consent, girls,Ó she said, nodding at each of us.  ÒEven you, Linda, for it took only one slap to gain your compliance.  You would make a very pretty prisoner of war, but not a very effective one.  TheyÕd know all your secrets with a single slap.Ó  She grew more serious.  ÒWe have played amongst ourselves, girls.  But this time is passing away, like childhood.  Where we are going you will not refuse, or question, or bicker with the men.  Or the women, for that matter, assigned to care for you.  Unless, that is, you wish to pay the price.  The game will begin now, girls,Ó Alexis said, with a note of finality in her voice.  ÒAny further protestations will be regarded as disobedience and punished accordingly.Ó  She shot a glance at Linda, already punished a little, as if to advise her that more significant methods of inducing compliance awaited any further outbursts from her.  Then she turned, and with a swish of her dress she stepped down from the carriage and was gone.  With a slip of a bolt she locked us inside.  The next to unlock the carriage, I knew, would be a man.
	The horses were lashed into motion and I think all four of us jerked in response.  We exchanged fretful glances.  Our titties bobbed as the carriage jogged, pulled by animals.  Someone up front turned out the electric lights and we went for a time down streets in only the gas-light, so romantic yet so terrifying, having no idea of our fate.  Streetlights glanced within now and then, through the half-hiding curtains, then disappeared.  With an abruptness as sudden as a rape we stopped suddenly.  The electric lights flicked on.
	The carriage door clicked, then swung back.  A man entered.  He was ruddy, 40ish, smoking a bad-smelling cigar.  He sat down amidst us, made no effort to disguise that he was admiring the view we gave him.  He was free of the office, with its strictures, at last.  Here he could gaze openly at the women and they opened themselves for him.  The carriage door closed, the coach lurched forward.  Our chins, titties bounced with the suddenness of it.  The man smiled, liked our vulnerability.  The lights stayed on.  From his pocket he drew forth a swiss army knife, opened it.  I think all four of us went absolutely pale when we saw that!  He glanced longingly at our breasts.  Then, finally, as if to quiet our fears he drew forth a wooden object.  But the sight of it only frightened us more.  It was a huge dildo, half-carved, the head done but the shaft still too big and round to accommodate its smaller proportion.  
	ÒWhat do you think, girls?Ó he asked wryly.  ÒShould I cut down the size of the shaft, to match the head, or should I leave it this way?Ó  We glanced at each other, panicky, uncertain.  Finally Sandra nodded at him that he should carve it down more, make it smaller.  ÒThank you for your input,Ó he told her.  ÒIÕll give you first crack at it since youÕve been so kind to help me design it.Ó  Sandra only stared, unblinking.  She watched with us as the man cut away at the shaft, whittling like some boy scout on a campout.  Silently we prayed that he would cut it way down, for it was still too big for a girl even if the shaft were sized right, the head was so huge.  God forbid I should have to take that!  Did Alexis know of it?  I could not tell her!  Perhaps he had sneaked it aboard illegally.  Our pussies waited, our cunts offered.  There was no denying him if he wanted to take us.  Fatty Arbuckle he might be, reincarnated, and we could not stop him!
	Soon the carriage sighed again.  I heard myself and the other girls give an audible sigh of relief.  We WANTED a man now, any man, so long as we werenÕt left alone in the carriage with this whittler from Hell.  Tammy opened the carriage door early, intentionally?  I saw a gallant man, no more than mid-20Õs, standing outside with his zipper down and Alexis feeling his balls.
	ÒMmmm, nice and full,Ó she said.  She seemed to give him a squeeze.  He jerked, enjoying the pleasure but afraid it might waste him.  I longed to see his cock but only could make out a telltale bulge, traveling up his pants to finish somewhere in his shirt, covered by his coat.  Obviously he could not let himself out in public, before getting into the privacy of the carriage.  I pitied his dick just a little bit, so hard, yet left to wait inside his clothes where it was all gorged and restricted, a snake at full-growth, trapped in reeds.  
	Mistress withdrew her hand reluctantly, zipped him up.  I called her mistress now, in my mind, for she was nothing else but that, and I could not lie to myself that she was otherwise.  I was the horse, she was the driver.  The men were the riders.  The man stepped up, within.  His name was Jeff, he told us gallantly.  Mistress introduced the four of us to him as if we were guests at some formal party, not nude, gagged girls about to be beaten and raped.  He nodded to each of us, did not let his eyes wander down our bodies though I could see he wished to.  Mistress made us nod back, bade us be polite at all times, even unclothed and with cunts displayed.
	Jeff sat down next to me.  The other man was across from him, deposited between Rose and Linda.  Jeff turned to me, pressed his palm to my thigh.  We were lovers, leaving on a date in his car.  A sweetheart date, in his Thunderbird.
	ÒJeff, take out your beautiful cock, please.  We are in the coach now,Ó Mistress said.  Behind her the door was nearly shut.  Only the most prying eyes could see within now.  Jeff rummaged in his pants but his dick was so hard and full he couldnÕt free it.  Alexis bent and helped him, drew it out at last and displayed it to all of us.  ÒA fine prick, donÕt you think, girls?Ó  She kissed the head, handling it even now though it needed no further help to be free.  ÒSeeing it will make the girls happier for the journey they are going on,Ó Mistress told Jeff.  ÒEnjoy the feel of it in the open air.  I expect you to keep it out for the rest of the time you are with me.  Do not ever hide it.  Let me see it hard, or soft.  Always I want to be able to see your beautiful cock.  Sometimes we may wrap your balls, just for the sake of pleasure, but your cock should always be displayed.  Even when I send you out to chop wood for the fire, keep it displayed, though swing the axe carefully, mind you.  And when you work in the yard, in the hot sun, keep it out.  Let the sun tan it.  Keep your bottom white if you wish, to make my handprints show better if I need to spank you, but keep your lovely cock out.  And keep it hard as you can.  ThatÕs what these females are here for.  Make them help you keep yourself hard.  When I am finished with you we will celebrate by making a plaster cast of your penis, so future girls that donÕt get to meet you can get to know your cock all the same.Ó  Indeed he had a stunningly perfect male cock, right in all its dimensions, long but well-muscled and wide, with a plum-sized head to let a girl know right off when he was going up her.  Even as I salivated over it though I worried about it.  He looked quite large, though naturally so.  I wished only to admire it, I told myself, unable to take my eyes off it.  Perhaps to give it a little suck too, maybe, but I would never allow such a big cock to fuck me.  Certainly not, I told myself.  I would insist on someone smaller, even if it meant mistress spanked me for my disobedience.  Yes, I would just sit in awe of it, and remember it, and put it in the scrapbook of my mind under ÒMale Perfection.Ó
	ÒLisa!  Sweet Darling, you look like a kitty staring at its first parakeet!Ó Alexis laughed at me.  ÒYou will most certainly take it dear, in due time, and I wonÕt permit you to deny it to yourself, even if I must spank you first.  But there are quite a few of us girls here, arenÕt there?  We may just wear it out before you ever get to it, honey, so donÕt give me that frightened look.Ó  She turned back to Steve.  ÒYes, love, you will be kept in service many hours of the day and night.  I hope you know what you are getting into, here.Ó
	ÒI-I think I do,Ó Jeff nodded, both pleased and yet not quite cocky, as most males would be, for the glint in AlexisÕ eye could not be denied.  She would work him like the young stallion he was.  Somewhere deep down inside IÕm sure he saw himself staggering away from her bed, old before his time, because of her insatiable lust and that of her ardent playmates.  Yet we were as uncertain and scared as he, more so, due to our bonds.  
	ÒAh, if I had another pair of handcuffs IÕd shackle you right now,Ó Alexis sighed at Jeff.  ÒAlas, in olden times only females were slaves.  The carriage was made to seat eight, with only four shackled.  I must have it modified for future trips.  Four cunts and four cocks, all pleasantly shackled, going to a Disneyland for lovers only.Ó  She kissed his cockhead once more, turned to our heavy-set whittler.  
	ÒScotty!  Where is your penis?  Are you too shy to show it?Ó Alexis asked brightly, her voice laced with mild disapproval.  ÒNo, that thing is not your penis, Scotty, it is but wood.  Are you trying to scare my poor girls with it?  Put it away and show us the real thing.  Yes, take it out, very good my man.Ó  She did not touch it.  ÒHave the girls kiss it for you if you need it.  They are gagged, but their lips can still graze it for you.Ó  She turned then, giving me my first look.  A sturdy dick, not excessively long but not unpleasantly short either.  It was wide, though, as if designed to split a girlÕs cheeks, going up her at the wrong end.  ÒYes, dear, he specializes in girlÕs bottoms,Ó Alexis said to me, then left.  We were locked in with our two new companions, and the coach took off again.
	ÒPardon me, but you keep staring at my cock,Ó Jeff said to me.  ÒDo you mind if I look at your cunt?  It is very pretty.Ó  He leaned forward, observed me as if studying some curious depression in sand, rimmed by leaves.  ÒYes, very tight looking, reminds me of my girlfriend.  I had to plow her many times before I could let her bear children.  DidnÕt want to have the babyÕs head break anything, you know.  SOMETHING has to give way when that head comes popping through.  Much larger than my cockhead, by the way, a babyÕs head is.  But I fucked her until I felt she could take it, widened her a little with false objects, too, making her wear them in the final months, to get her ready.  She delivered a fine, healthy baby, youÕll be glad to know, and is now trying to recover her figure.  Unfortunately, she met some guy at work, twice her age, and ran off with him and the baby.  He wanted to be a father or something, claimed he could tease her with all kinds of sex fantasies.  I knew nothing of that, save what IÕd read in one book about widening girls, figured IÕd better find out.  Do you think IÕve made the right choice, picking Mistress Alexis?Ó  
	He looked at me (in the face now), actually expecting to get an answer from a girl who was gagged.  I looked at him, then down at his dick.  Finally, swallowing my pride, I nodded Ôyes.Õ  
	ÒGood,Ó he replied.  ÒWhat do you think, Scotty?  Will we learn a lot from Mistress Alexis?Ó
	ÒYou will, sonny, whatÕs your name?Ó the ruddy man asked.
	ÒJeff,Ó the young man replied.
	ÒAh,Ó a nice name, Scotty said.  ÒI say, youÕve got a nice dick there, son.  Always remember that mine was twice as long until I visited Mistress Alexis, back in Ô94.Ó  He laughed.  Jeff laughed too, uneasily.
	Together we rolled on, silent now, a curious collection of bound maidens and unbound Prometheuses, with Venus up front driving the carriage.  The streetlights flashed by, glinting briefly twixt the shrouding curtains.  The lights went out this time, it was a longer ride.
	Next stop we received a gentleman of an entirely different calibre.  He seemed a born leader, and did not hesitate to evaluate our worthiness as soldiers of love upon entering the coach.  Even Jeff he looked over, nodded approvingly, unzipped himself to compare dicks and showed us he was almost as fine.
	ÒSir, where is your partner?Ó Mistress asked him.  They stood, as if husband and wife, though I guessed they had not met before.
	ÒHe fucked a whore last weekend and got the clap,Ó the man replied.  ÒI would not allow him to come.Ó
	ÒPoor soul,Ó Mistress said.  ÒHe had an excellent penis, judging from the photo he sent me.  We shall not have to worry about such things, thankfully.  We can fuck with abandon.  We have all been Ôvetted,Õ as they say, thanks in part to your watchfulness.Ó  Mistress introduced him as Arthur and he sat down opposite me, put a hand on her thigh but looked at me with his eyes.  Unblushingly I gazed down at his cock.  It was almost becoming a normal thing now, inspecting each manÕs equipment as he boarded.  He admired my frankness and stared with his own approval at my forcibly offered charms.
	ÒYou must be the fourth,Ó Arthur said to Mistress.  ÒBut first, do not deny me the glory of your charms.Ó  She was within reach and he reached up and ripped her dress from her.  Alexis gasped but had time to do nothing more.  The dress was gone before she could even think to stop him.  I saw that she had slipped into a garter and stockings sometime after the foam dance, then concealed the addition by the rumpled appearance of her dress.  ÒYou are beautiful,Ó Arthur said.  ÒGo fetch us some wine so we may drink on the journey.Ó
	ÒBut dear, IÕm naked,Ó Alexis protested, in a voice that expected him to back down.
	ÒOut, woman!Ó  Arthur slapped her rump.  She squealed, not entirely from pleasure.  ÒGet out there and do not mind your nudity.  Be quick about it or I will drive you around the entire block nude, you running and me following with a switch!Ó  
	Alexis complied, though hesitantly, slipping outside and returning soon with a wineskin.  ÒFreshly stomped, sir, by my bare feet, then chilled for a night and a day for our party,Ó she said, presenting him with the wineskin.
	ÒWhat shall the girls have?Ó Arthur asked her.
	ÒWhy wine, sir, so that they protesteth less.Ó
	ÒNo, I will not anesthetize them,Ó Arthur replied to her.  ÒI want them to feel the full force of my blows.  Get water for them.  They look thirsty to me and I do not wish to see them denied.Ó  We were a little dry-mouthed, I admit, owing to our circumstances, though I did not think we looked particularly thirsty.  Alexis, nonetheless, left the carriage again, and soon returned with a wooden bucket and a ladle.
	ÒRose, darling, sit on my lap,Ó Alexis said, for she wanted to sit down next to Arthur.  Compliantly Rose stood and let mistress scoot in behind her, then draw her bottom down onto her soft thighs.  Rose sat higher now, across from me, and did not seem to mind her perch for it lowered her arms some in relation to her head.  Like a baby clinging gently to a crib she looked now, her breasts bobbing as the carriage began to roll.  Mistress kissed her in her hair, then held her titties awhile, feeling them jiggle like jello in her lightly clasping hands.  ÒAh, how sweet you are, Rose,Ó Mistress cooed.  ÒToo young, I think, for such games, or too innocent, but we are started already and it is too late to go back.  I shall see that you are not hurt too much.  Just enough for educational purposes, to help train you.  Sandra I will work hardest, of course.  She is behind in her lessons and must be caught up.  And Linda is wilful.  She must be broken, that is the main thing.  And ah, Lisa,Ó she whispered in RoseÕs ear, though audibly, so we all could hear.  ÒShe is so young and strong and fine-bodied, though she knows it not, being so slim.  But her bosoms betray her.  They are big and ready.  I will work her upon Jeff, perhaps, if I can bear it, seeing him in another.  She is fit for all our games and I wish to see her in every one.Ó
	ÒAnd what of you, woman?Ó Arthur asked.  ÒDo not think you are just going to lie about and toy with Jeff as it pleases you.Ó  I have plans for your arse.
	ÒAnd I for your dick, Sir,Ó Mistress replied.  She batted her eyes at him in a disingenuous way, as if she was not at all ready to cede her leadership to him.  ÒYou will have to do double-duty due to the absence of your friend, I hope you know.  You should have watched over him better than you did.Ó
	ÒIÕll manage,Ó he replied.  There was a certainty in his voice, a sureness, as if he had been tested before and come through with flying colors.
	ÒAh, it will be a wonderful party!Ó Alexis sighed.  She bounced beside Arthur like Queen Guineivere, Maid Marion in her lap.  It was a strange assemblage, all the females nude and the men clothed in smart suits, save for their waggling cocks.  A phone rang.  Mistress pulled a small folding phone from behind RoseÕs head.  It had been secreted in the wall, unseen by me til now.  ÒYes?Ó she answered.  She listened.  At last she hung up.  
	ÒGod?Ó Arthur asked her.  ÒAttempting to dissuade us from our crimes?Ó
	ÒMy master,Ó Alexis replied.  Her face was slate, expressionless.  ÒA heartless and cruel man to whom I willingly enslaved myself a year ago.  A mistake, but it is too late to back out now.  He has given me everything; wealth, power, and a mild cocaine addiction.  I would lose everything if I left him.  Yet if I stay, I shall lose everything too, in time.  He has just returned from six months in Europe, says all the prettiest girls are having their nipples ÒdoneÓ there, meaning Òpierced.Ó  He wants mine pierced now too, he says, so I can wear gold chains for him from my nipples.Ó
	ÒAh, an obscenity,Ó Arthur said.  ÒBut a delightful one, donÕt you think?  I should like to see it,Ó he caught her nipples, one in each hand, caught them despite their wiggling and pinched them hard.  Alexis let out a scream, so unexpected was the assault.  
	ÒOw, that hurts!Ó she said.  Arthur eased his grip but did not let go, seemed to relish the pain heÕd inflicted on such a tender part of her; her teats, made for milking, his eyes seemed to say.  They were farmboy eyes, eyeing the sow at midnight, long ere the milktime was due.  ÒI branded a female once,Ó Arthur said.  ÒI should like to see it done again.  Can you arrange it?Ó
	ÒSir, that would require a very large payment,Ó Alexis replied, turning her face to his.
	ÒName your price,Ó he said.  
	ÒOh, you are awful!Ó she replied, smiling.  ÒYou are going to be as cruel as I expected.Ó  Were they playing a game?  I could not guess.  I felt panic again.  Together they extended their tongues and kissed.  It lasted long, we waited for them to finish.
	Arthur looked up finally from the kiss.  Their eyes seemed to exchange knowing glances, or they made an agreement with each other right then.  With our arms still strung up and our silken, melon-fresh boobies bouncing appealingly, we presented tempting targets for whatever they had in mind.  And they had two able-bodied helpers in Jeff and Scotty.
	ÒGirls, you must be watered,Ó Alexis said, turning to us with sprightly, mischievous eyes.  She rose, Queen-like, and strode across the small cabin to the pail sheÕd brought, its water sloshing gently.  I could see Linda trying to mouth, ÒIÕm not thirsty!Ó but her words came out all mumbly, as if she were whispering sweet nothings to a lover.
	Alexis came to me first.  Standing over me she seemed a commanding presence, but with the vase-shaped lines of her finger she couldnÕt help having a loving, motherly appearance also.  Venus, risen from the Foam Fest and offering me broth from the oceanÕs mysterious depths.  She reached behind me and undid my gag.  ÒSay nothing,Ó she warned.  I looked up at her wide-eyed, wanting to speak volumes.  ÒShhhh,Ó she said, placing a vertical finger, long-nailed, to my lipstick glossed lips.  ÒOpen wide.Ó
	I was a little girl again, visiting the school nurse.  I opened my mouth but regarded the ladle she lifted from her pail with suspicion.  It would be icky medicine, surely.  ÒIt is just water?Ó I asked tremulously.
	ÒYes, darling, and a little something extra laced in,Ó she said with easy grace.  Before I could query her again the ladle was splashing its contents into my mouth.  She poured too fast, I gagged open-mouthed upon the water.  It burbled from my parted lips, ran down my throat, sprinkled my anxiously heaving bosom.  ÒMore, darling,Ó she said, dipping her ladle and making me take it.  I spluttered but got most of it down.  The rest ran down my tummy and collected in the curls of my pubis.  I had pearls there now, sparkling, but soon they would evaporate.  Arthur seemed to love them all the same.  Intently he watched, still dressed as if for supper at the MenÕs Club, but with his wicked thing pointing straight at me, bold and bare.
	Alexis put down her pail and re-tied my gag.  She bent, showing me her bottom, and whispered something in JeffÕs ear.  Immediately he got up and fetched the wine skin.
	ÒI am going to give them some wine, dear,Ó Alexis called over her shoulder to her new love, Arthur.  ÒDonÕt worry, its alcohol content isnÕt very high.  I shall be ladling all night otherwise.Ó
	ÒHmmm, yes, I suppose it must be so,Ó Arthur grumped.  He did not like being crossed, but she was a shade too beautiful for him to argue with her, I saw.  What she promised far exceeded any mild slights to his ego.  She had given him her body, and he knew he could have her most of all in the coming nights.  That left the rest of us with Jeff and Scotty.  I knew I was not disposed to the latter.  Perhaps Linda would get in trouble with him, and draw his attention, while I outmaneuvered Rose and slipped by Sandra.  She indeed seemed to draw ArthurÕs gaze almost as frequently as Alexis.  I imagined him in bed with them both, and myself somehow getting both Linda and Rose into trouble with Scotty.  Ah!  How sweet that would be, to have JeffÕs cock all to my greedy little self.  But I hardly knew him.  I knew his first name, his cock, nothing else.  It was like in Florida when I stood onstage, showing my wet tits to a roomful of men who were absolute strangers.  IÕd met my first master there, and heÕd failed me.  My second master had died.  Did I even want a master?  Surely I must escape this coach somehow, despite all its perverse splendor, and go running home to mommie!  Oh, God, my mind was in such a torment!  I wanted yet I did not want.  I wanted to be forced, I realized, and beat that thought down quick as I could, wondering where itÕd sprung from.  Perhaps it was the nuns, forever chaste yet forever longing.  Wishing the pope would lay them out side by side and force them to present themselves to GodÕs representative on earth.  HeÕd fuck them on GodÕs chosen penis.  Yes, and they would bleat and squeal and love every fine poking minute of it.  Afterwards theyÕd slip away to confession and beg forgiveness, hoping the pop was behind the confessional door, waiting to take them again.
	Jeff took the wineskin and approached me with it.  I was his favorite, I could tell.  Or at least I hoped it was true.  God forbid that he should fall for Rose and I should be the one left with Scotty.  I turned my chin up to him, reluctantly taking my eyes from his cock, so frankly presented.  He was a boy in the shower room, doing his chores.  I wiggled my boobies a little to let him know I was not just another boy.  Perhaps I could have him now, before anyone, claim his seed in the carriage before ever-naughty Linda stole his gaze away with her endlessly alluring disobedience.
	He did not untie me.  He hardly acknowledged me, I saw, merely thrust the tip of the wineskin twixt my gag and upper lip.  With a kind of cleft lip, made by the intruding neck of the container, I was forced to drink.  Jeff squirted the wine into my throat, long squirts.  I gulped as fast as I could.  The wine tasted expensive.  I did not want to be hurt for spilling any.  Always in these games, IÕd heard, listening to girls whoÕd read their fatherÕs dirty books, always the girl was prized less than the dropped dishes, the unswept floor.  She paid the price for the smallest infraction.  I did not want to add up any costs I didnÕt need to.  Obediently I swallowed, gagging just a little on the long, deep spurts.  Jeff made me drink and drink, as if I were a parched traveler in the desert.  
	Sandra, meanwhile, had her gag undone by Alexis.  She did not protest.  Alexis poured the strange libation into her mouth, a little too fast again, but Sandra was more learned and could handle the load better than I.  She licked her lips when the last ladleful had been given.  
	ÒYou are a good wife, Sandra,Ó Alexis complimented her.  ÒI will keep you with me always and force you to breed babies for me.  Ah, yes, and make you clean and scrub and change diapers, bustling about the house in your nudity.  Such a splendid figure!Ó  Alexis kissed her long and full on the lips.  Sandra accepted the kiss, closed her eyes as if to cherish it.  She yet needed more breaking in, knew Alexis would provide it, accompanied by the greatest pleasures.  She had learned to live with cock, sprouting every morning in her bed, demanding her young bodyÕs submission.  Now she could not live without cock.  Alexis tied her mouth shut again, gave her gagged lips a final kiss.  ÒYou will look good in nipple clamps,Ó she said, pinched each of SandraÕs offered teats well and hard, making the woman sit right up on the edge of her seat.  Ah, I wanted to be pinched too but feared it greatly.  We all were so stiff-nippled, the men stiff-cocked, excitement pulsing and tingling in even our tenderest extremities.  At least the men could whack themselves off if they had too.  We girls, spread against our will, our hands lofted high, were utterly helpless to save ourselves.  They might keep us here forever, trembling and meek, praying for wicked things that mommie would scold me for wanting.
	Sandra was squirted next, orally, while Rose blushingly accepted the laced water from Alexis.  She was still wrapped in innocence, enigmatically, almost begging to be violated.  Then Linda came next.
	ÒNoooo!  I want to go HOME!Ó Linda squawked even as the loosened gag still half-blocked her mouth.
	ÒTo your husband?Ó Alexis asked calmly.
	ÒNo!Ó Linda answered, suddenly wide-eyed.  
	ÒHe would be extremely angry, wouldnÕt he?Ó Alexis asked.  Linda sat still considering, silent, bug-eyed.  ÒMore angry than me even, hmmm?  You ran away from him without even saying goodbye.  You shouldnÕt have married the O.J. Simpson of your highschool football team, dear.Ó
	ÒBut he scored four touchdowns in one game back in --Ó  The year was lost in a sploosh of water as Alexis dumped her ladleful of water into LindaÕs wide explaining mouth.  Poor girl!  She had probably been in kindergarten when her husband scored his touchdowns, still struggling to count to four, yet sheÕd married him as soon as her breasts popped up in her blouse and her hips curved out.  She knew she could not go back to him.  He would not prize her naughtiness.  HeÕd married badly, wanting in fact a grown woman, and she had chosen the wrong man.  He had little patience for her girlish ways.  
	Blubbering, Linda nonetheless drank down SandraÕs water.  She lost a good deal of it in her hesitancy.  Her breasts were splashed liberally with the water, necessitating extra ladlefuls from Sandra.  But, despite her ambivalence, Linda got down as much as the rest of us.  Whatever was in that water, she was going to be affected by it just as much as we.
	Alexis re-gagged Linda.  Then, as if to show us she feared nothing for herself that she did to us, she lifted the bucket with both her hands and liberally poured its contents down her throat.  She took it to Arthur next.  
	ÒWhat is it?Ó Arthur asked.
	ÒLove potion, made from eggs, IÕm told, though which I do not know.Ó  The water had tasted slightly sweet to me.  Arthur waved it off.
	ÒIÕm half-dying already,Ó he said.  ÒItÕs you girls who need it, not me.  Be wet and ready for me, donÕt give me ÔnoÕ for an answer when I tell you to submit.Ó
	ÒAh, sir, but the gameÕs all about not quite having it the way youÕd like it,Ó Alexis laughed.  A soft, musical, inviting laugh.  ÒAny hooker could be wet and ready for you.  Here we play more sophisticated games.Ó
	ÒNonetheless, my dick is killing me and my balls feel like theyÕre going to crater themselves into my pelvis.  I donÕt need to be any harder or tighter than I already am.Ó
	ÒToo many years with a wife who didnÕt appeal to you, anymore, IÕd say,Ó Alexis commented, turning away from him.  She gave him a roll of her hips.  I guessed Arthur had gone many years since heÕd been this hard, this desperate.  He looked forthrightly to me, asking relief with his eyes, but I broke from his stare.  Alexis would never allow it, anyway, untying me while the others remained bound.  Not just to soothe Arthur, not just to let him spend his churning sperm.  Then he would make himself Master of our coach.  Now, unspent, he was like a little boy, furtive and desperate.  Alexis held him by the balls so long as they remained full.
	ÒKeep your hands off yourself,Ó Alexis warned Arthur, glancing back over her shoulder.  
	ÒTo myself?Ó Arthur asked hopefully.
	ÒOff and to yourself,Ó Alexis answered.  ÒIÕll free Sandra to cuff you if you donÕt obey.  She knows how to be obedient.Ó
	Arthur cleared his throat, said nothing.  HeÕd paid for her torment, after all, in advance.  Flexing his thighs, his hands placed squarely upon them, he gazed at me again.  I did not look at him but I could not stop his staring.  
	Jeff by now had squirted the remaining girls, even offering Alexis some squirts, though she took not as much as we, in either water or wine.  Within my womb I began to feel a glow, and it traveled quickly to my cunt.  I found I could press my thighs just a little farther apart and, despite ArthurÕs stare, I opened them more, as if to pray for barbarians at my private gate.  I felt an urge to rub myself, greater than ever before.  My lips felt wet below, dry above.  My nipples tingled at the greatest extremity IÕd ever seen, ever felt them reach.  It was as if they were tiny rockets trying to blast off from the launching pads of my ringed areolas.  My breasts trembled under their forceful steaming.
	ÒMmmm!Ó Sandra cried from betwixt her gag.  I turned, saw she had misted, desperate eyes.  She was feeling it now too, had been given an extra ladleful by Alexis.  Her breasts shook with her newfound need, heavy fruit trying to drop from the treed limbs of her ribs.
	And next Rose!  Suddenly she broke from her innocence and gagged within her mouth-binding gag, snorting like a horse as the first wave of passion hit her.  Youthfully her bosoms rose and fell in quick love-induced bursts.  I saw she wished to hump something, anything.  She rocked back and forth on the bench, legs forced hopelessly wide, hands shackled so high she could not have even silenced an itch on her forehead.
	Linda screamed within her gag.  She felt it now too, we were all feeling it, desperate females suddenly, bitches in extraordinary heat.  All thoughts of fright and bashfulness fled from me.  I wanted it, didnÕt care what they did to me, so long as I got it.  Across from me Linda stared out with hopeless eyes, knowing now that there was no turning back.  Even she would sacrifice herself, if need be, bare her soul to the very God of the heart-stabbing Aztecs, if it would carry her to orgasmic bliss.
	ÒOoooh!Ó I feel it now also,Ó Alexis said, shivering and letting her hand slip between her legs.  With half-lidded eyes she frigged her puss, just a little, bringing her a bit of tender relief.  ÒScotty?Ó she asked, when again she returned to the real world.  He stared at her with shocked eyes, refused.
	ÒNot me, maÕam.  My ole pole and me Ôave been on good terms for years.  ItÕs a bit slow at times, but once its up it needs no encouragement, unless you want me to resurface your floor here with the color white.Ó
	ÒJeff,Ó Alexis said, turning to the young man with sparkling eyes.  
	ÒIÕm no sissy,Ó he replied.  ÒMy wife was so beautiful she made me hard at work all day, just thinking about her.  I was forever getting in trouble for not standing up when my female boss came in the room.  Military, you know.  Rise when she enters, thatÕs the rule.  But with my crotch bulging IÕd have gotten into even hotter water!Ó
	ÒTch!  Tch!  The perils of being a young man,Ó Alexis said.  She fingered his organ, ran her fingers along the length of it.  I saw she wished to stab her puss with it.  So easy, so near yet so far, if she played by the rules she herself had laid down for us.  
	Oblivious to the handling of his cock, though with it pleasantly twitching, Jeff took the bucket and raised it to his lips.  
	ÒYes, finish it!Ó Alexis dared him.  Jeff accepted the challenge.  Like a stallion he drank, in deep draughts, taking it all down his throat as if it were a bucket of honeyed cunt juice from his favorite sweetheart.  ÒGod!  I canÕt believe you!Ó Alexis howled.  Her eyes danced with delight.  Jeff handed the bucket back to her, grinned.
	ÒI canÕt believe myself, except that when IÕm surrounded by five fucking awesome females, four of them with their legs wider than any whore in a porn film, I can bet IÕll do anything youÕll dare me to.  Keep me away from bridges, or IÕll kill myself just to impress you.Ó
	Alexis bent, gave JeffÕs cock an appreciative lick.  ÒYouÕre one helluva dude,Ó she said.  ÒI just hope your performance here can match your performance in the bedroom.Ó  Arthur glowered opposite me, said nothing.  AlexisÕ bottom mooned him as she paid her respects to Jeff.  Yearningly I watched it all, struggling with my bonds to find some way to assuage my fire.
	ÒGirls, we must begin to address the problem of your anal virginity,Ó Alexis announced next, standing and licking JeffÕs pre-cum from her lips.  She surveyed us, her eyes dancing with untold mischiefs.  I glanced at Linda.  For once I shared a moment with her, our eyes expressing anxiety and concern.  I had not really thought of my anal virginity as a Òproblem.Ó  I had expected that a boyfriend would want to take me that way someday, and at SandraÕs party IÕd been introduced, via the dance card round my wrist, as having a virgin bottom.  But now, faced with the blunt fact of AlexisÕ announcement, I felt misgivings.  After all, it WAS my bottom, wasnÕt it?  Perhaps that was the true problem.  It had been my bottom, but now it belonged to a strange, unknown master; and his devious assistant, Alexis.  She turned, her long red hair swaying behind her, the cheeks of her bottom rolling suavely, and walked across the room on her fine, bare legs, her pussy just peeping out between them.  Leaning forward slightly, she opened a secret compartment in the wall.  I had not seen it; the wallpaper covered its door as thoroughly as the wall it was set in, there was no handle, just a little finger-tab, a depression in the wood behind which one might slip the tip of a finger.  
	Alexis removed several items, closed the door.  She turned, looked at me first.  In her hands she held, like some waitress holding glasses, four butt plugs.  And neatly pressed between her two hands, quite full, was a clear bottle of baby oil.  Squirt cap, pint top.  To match the color of my bottomhole, perhaps, or my pussy or my nipples.  With confident steps Alexis approached me, swaying slightly on her feet as the carriage bumped over a patch of rough ground that sent our titties bouncing.  She bent, put her things down on the bench beside me, between my naked body and JeffÕs.  His face had taken on a grimace.  His cock, stunningly hard, waggled up and down and side to side in response to the carriageÕs movements.  
	ÒRelax, Jeffrey,Ó Alexis said, not looking at him, as his hands groped her big, swinging breasts.  ÒPlease keep your hands to yourself, but not ON yourself.Ó
	ÒGod, PLEASE!Ó Jeff replied.  His countenance looked gruesome.  A desperate man in the throes of untold arousal.  He had drank more than the rest of us, boldly, boastingly.  And heÕd been rewarded for it (albeit modestly, given our circumstances) by AlexisÕ tongue).  
	ÒControl, young man,Ó Alexis admonished him.  ÒYou are quite young and gorgeous, but that counts for little here.  For too long youÕve been able to sweep girls off their feet just by looking at them, and fuck them at once.  I am going to teach you to discipline your passion.  When you leave my care you will be a REAL man, who knows his body, his cock and his balls, how to hold back and when to release.  You will be able to properly serve a woman, instead of just porking young girls.  Look at the lovely pussies of these young girls.  Out in the real world theyÕd let you fuck them in a minute, wouldnÕt they?  Look at them now, all spread for you, and desperate.  Yet I will not allow you to have any right now.  No sex for Jeffrey.  Later you will be asked to perform, though, and then I expect you to do very well, coming neither too soon nor too late, but timed perfectly for mine or some other femalesÕ pleasure.Ó  She had pity on him then, touched his cock lightly, between her fingers, and patted it on its head with her other hand, like a puppy that was being good.  ÒHold in your sperm.  With five pussies on hand youÕll need to pump and pump when the time comes.  But we are not at our destination yet.Ó
	Alexis reached down behind me, slipped a finger into the length of my bottomÕs groove.  ÒRise, Lisa,Ó she ordered.  Awkwardly, like a nervous filly, I stood as best I could in the rolling carriage.  I looked like some newborn filly, my legs recklessly wide, held by the spreader bar.  Above me my wrists still remained shackled.  My bosoms, full and round, responded eagerly to every jolt of the coach.  Squeamishly I watched as Alexis took the baby oil bottle from the bench.  She lifted it to my ass, so wobbly, so conveniently presented, and deftly poked the squirt tip into my hole.
	ÒUrch!Ó I gritted, feeling the knob enter my tightness.  Then a long tongue-like spurt shot up my insides, coating them, followed by three more.  I was being spermed, by Johnson and JohnsonÕs.  Industrial sperm it was, and I would have sleek oiled babies pop from my bottom before the night was through, all brown colored with little nuts speckling them.  
	But now, watching Alexis fretfully, my neck straining back, I watched her take the bottle from me and pick up a cock-plug.  It was wicked looking, short and stubby, with a flange at its base to keep the whole thing from being forced within me.  Alexis squirted it all over with baby oil, trying to keep the oil from running onto her fingertips, where she held it at its base.  She succeeded, largely, but my butt would not be so lucky.  Alexis reached behind me, pried apart my asscheeks with amazingly strong fingers.  Opened by her, I gasped.
	ÒYou are strong-fingered, maÕam,Ó I breathed.  My voice was muffled by my gag but she nodded understandingly.  She had done this before, to other girls, ungagged.  She knew what I would say, how I would react, long before I did.  She was practised, experienced.  Girls had been opened by her before, commenting on their own denouement, helpless to disobey, afraid to complain.  The air came cool to my opened anus.  My virgin anus, held open by Alexis.
	ÒI have milked many men with my fingers,Ó Alexis smiled.  Her voice was soft.  Suddenly she thrust the broad plug up me with merciless vigor.  I squawked, screeched, a violated songbird.  An egg was not being taken from my nest but put within, forcefully.  A foreign egg, going where it did not belong.  Up it went, I shook all over, my golden hair sweeping about my face.  ÒIt is but a training plug, dear, you need not put on such a show,Ó Alexis admonished.  ÒYou will wear it to broaden you there, to make you more readily accessible to the male penis.  This is just a beginnerÕs plug.  Later you will be given larger ones, in succession, until your ring is able to effortlessly receive whatever a man wishes to give you.  Do you feel stretched?Ó  She caressed my cheek.  I nodded, a scared child having just swallowed something mommie told me not to.  Up my butt instead of down my throat.  There had been no unhappy yummie face to warn me, just a plain butt plug, fetchingly shaped like a penis.  ÒIt is just a ring of muscle, inside you can accommodate most anything.  But the ring, it resists.  We must stretch it out so you will not be so difficult to fuck.  MasterÕs orders, darling.  Enjoy them.Ó
	She plopped me back down on the seat.  I felt a discomforting jolt as the plug was forced even deeper by the weight of my ass.  The carriage bounced, the plug reminded me of its presence.  
	In sitting I felt an even more worrisome fullness, if it could possibly be thought of as such.  It was a fullness of my bladder.  The wine and ladled water was coming back to haunt me now.  Oh, God!  I had to pee!  And just glancing at Alexis I knew she knew too, and wasnÕt going to let me.  How easy it would be to just piss out between my spread legs, a spring spouting from within my honeyed dell.  But it would ruin the floor of the carriage, so old, so grand.  With squirming hips I looked up at Alexis, mouthed words of desperation over my gag.  
	ÒHold yourself in, dear,Ó she replied with a smile.  ÒYou and Jeffrey both must learn control, I see.Ó  She turned, left me bereft with my ass plugged and my bladder full, my pussy aflame.  She did Sandra next, inserting the plug as Sandra tried to take it gracefully, jerking a little.  She got a bigger one than the rest of us, I noticed.  Poor girl.  She was not that much older than us but they picked on her anyway, since sheÕd been our mistress.  Rose was next, mewling and difficult, but not purposely so.  Linda was her naughty self, wriggling like a fish to avoid her inevitable denouement, finally crying aloud as Alexis rammed the thing home. 
	The carriage rolled on.  The four of us felt every awful bounce of it now, our bladders registering their fullness within us.  We wriggled shamelessly now, four women reduced to schoolchildren, thinking of nothing save our pussies, wanting to pee and rub ourselves.  There would be naptime.  We would piss in our beds and frig ourselves with crazy abandon.  Teacher would spank us afterwards, finding our wet spots.
	Alexis sat down in ArthurÕs lap.  She had to pee too, I saw, for she placed her hand tastefully between her legs and held herself.  Then, inspired, she turned her head to Arthur and they began kissing.  She did not frig herself, though, and he but caressed her figure with his fingertips.  Their mouths, though, not ruled by any dictates from Master, kissed wantonly, luridly, their tongues plunging deep and twisting together, exploring, raping.  Jeff grabbed me by my hair and turned my face to his.  He tore off my gag.  He kissed me, passionately, before a word could escape my lips.  My mouth opened to his and we let our saliva mix.  I felt his tongue probing me deeply and wished it was his cock.  My hands were shackled, though, I could not reach it.  
	Scotty liberated RoseÕs mouth.  He kissed her, she did not complain, did not even say anything in the few seconds his fumblings left her ungagged and unkissed.  Linda, watching, mewled her disapproval.  Sandra said nothing, looked down and watched her titties jiggle as the carriage continued on.
	A stop.  At first it felt strange, not moving.  Quickly the door opened and a man strode in.  He wore eighteenth-century garb.  A light mask crossed over his eyes, hiding his identity.  Within the eyeholes of the mask I saw steely eyes.
	ÒMaster!Ó Alexis cried.  She had still been kissing Arthur when he entered.  He gave her face a solid slap, though not one that could hurt a woman, but one hard enough to wake her up.  Alexis put a hand to her injured cheek, regarded him.  ÒSir, they must pee quite badly.  Let us take them in at once,Ó she said.  He slapped her again, harder.  She clutched at her pussy as if the bold sting of the slap would make her pee.
	ÒYour own cunt is all that needs to pee, IÕll bet,Ó Master growled.  He turned to me then, I gazed up at him with imploring eyes, trying to hold back my wrigglings.  His hands reached out to my breasts.  He was gloved, wearing fine leather.  Roughly he grabbed my bosoms as if they were but market fruit, on discount, held and squeezed them.  I squeaked out a protest, said nothing.  I was ungagged but too afraid to speak, gagged by the fearfulness of my surroundings.  Master opened my mouth.  He felt my gums, looked at my teeth, nodded.  I felt relieved that IÕd seen a dentist recently.  My teeth sparkled whitely for him.  Gently he closed my mouth, strode to Sandra.  He undid her gag, quickly but with a certain tenderness, as if he feared pulling out strands of her gorgeous hair if he worked to quickly.  Then he examined her teeth, and next her bosoms, his gloved hands cold and unfeeling against her soft, pliant flesh.  Again he nodded.  
	Rose was next.  He said nothing of her youth, as if raping a child were merely one more treat for his wicked bed.  Women, children, it made no difference to him, so long as they could experience pleasure.  Linda was last, jerking from him however she could, yet he treated her not harshly, seemed to relish her disobedience.  He looked at Scotty then, nodded, lifted Alexis to her feet and looked at Arthur, nodded again.  Then he turned, walked over to Jeffrey.  Without greeting the man, he reached out and grabbed his penis.  Jeff was too aroused to complain, though he did emit a surprised yelp.  
	ÒYou will be my prize stallion,Ó Master said to Jeff.  ÒI expect this organ of yours to deliver top performance.  There is much fucking ahead; each of these girls has three openings and there are only four cocks among us.  A dozen openings and only four cocks.  Are you up to it?Ó
	ÒWhat-what about the others?Ó Jeffrey croaked.
	ÒThey are older men, they come as they are able,Ó Master replied.  ÒYou are young.  You will have to stand in for them, though I myself can hold my own, I assure you.Ó
	ÒI guess I could do it,Ó Jeffrey said.  ÒCould we start immediately?Ó
	ÒImmediately?Ó Master laughed.  ÒOf course not.  IÕm famished, dinner is waiting, a sumptuous feast.  YouÕll be allowed to pee, though, come!Ó  Rudely he pulled Jeffrey up by his cock.  Fortunately the boy had a strong one, at full erection, and the yank affected him not, though it got him right up.  I glanced at his balls, but they were too tight to swing or bob about as he walked, Master leading him by his prick.  Arthur rose, Scotty next.  Alexis moved to each of us and bade us behave, then loosed our wrists.
	We stepped from the coach a minute later, all naked and cold in the late-evening air.  Our bodies had warmed the coach, outside it was decidedly chilly now.  Perhaps a cool front had moved in while we rode, nature hoping to ease the fire in our wombs.  It only made us want to piss even more.  I rubbed my wrists.  They hurt after their long confinement.  I moved my arms to restore circulation to them.  
	Their butts naked, flexing manfully in the stillness of the night, the men stood with their backs to us, a little distance away.  I heard pissing sounds and saw that all four of them were peeing into a fishpond, shooting at darting goldfish.  I approached.  MasterÕs pants were at his ankles, his underwear too.  I guessed he would not restore them to his hips when he was through.  The tails of his coat kept his buttocks somewhat concealed, I grabbed them, lifted them.  Without even debating it, I let fly a stinging slap on his behind.
	ÒWhoa!Ó Master cried.  Urgent in my need to pee but feeling some kind of fiery fury, I delivered two more slaps to his hams.  Linda made to do the same, but Alexis restrained her.  Rose stood, shivering, reached out and touched a finger to a dimple in JeffÕs bottom.
	ÒAh, God, itÕs wonderful,Ó Jeff exulted, pissing hard into the pond.  It was shallow, the fish could flee but they could not escape.  Linda struggled with Alexis.  She delivered a warning slap to her bottom.  Sandra observed all, said nothing.  Her hands pressed tightly to her cunt to hold in her pee.
	The men finished, turned to us.  Like frightened lambs we stood, wanting to squat down but knowing we would look ungainly and unladylike, would piss in grass and splatter ourselves.  How I wished to be a man!  Carefree, peeing in the air, directing his pee wherever he wished.  
	ÒCome, girls,Ó Master said, understanding in his voice.  Physically they took us and pushed us ahead of them.  In our heels we walked, picking our way across the lawn.  A large house loomed before us.  I prayed that I would not step into any holes with my spiked heels.  Soon we reached the broad stone steps of the house, safe at last, though only relatively so. We mounted them.  We could feel the menÕs eyes on our bottoms, evaluating us, admiring our desperateness.  Despite our urgent need we endeavored to walk daintily, all of us, even Linda.  None of us wanted to be found less ladylike than the next.  There was a sensuousness to our plight, I admitted, glancing back once to see the four erect cocks mounting the steps behind us.
	We reached the landing.  It was smooth, marbled, though I think the stone was carved from a lesser rock.  
	ÒRing the bell,Ó Master intoned behind us.  His words upon our shivering backs.
	ÒDo it quickly!Ó Linda urged.  Rose was closest, struck the buzzer with her finger.  A moment later and the heavy wooden door that barred our entry swung back.  A woman greeted us, old and beyond the years of pleasure.  She was clothed, a maidÕs uniform, an old maid.  Unblushingly she ushered us in, four girls still very much in their prime, and quite naked.  The men followed, nodded to her as their cocks bobbed a greeting.  She seemed unmoved.  We had interrupted her knitting.  Baby shoes, perhaps, for a favored relative.  Fertility at a distance.
	Their hands pushing at our bottoms, the men urged us forward.  I wanted to step back, let them fondle me more, but my belly pushed me on.  I could not hold myself for much more than I minute, I guessed, before my pee would come gushing out.  I looked down, saw expensive carpeting, wished I were still outside on the stone steps.
	We were pushed into a room.  The carpeting remained, though in the center of it I saw a stone clearing, dipping slightly at the center, with a drain there.  A kind of ladder rose up there, as if built for children to climb on.  There seemed to be stations built up its height, with handholds and footholds where one might crouch in mid-air.  Five stations, I counted, one right on top of the next.
	ÒMount the ladder,Ó Master called from behind us.  I could not hold myself in much longer, I obeyed unhesitatingly.  Like some monkey I climbed, Rose following, Linda next with Sandra pushing her up by her bottom.  Alexis came last, climbing just a little.
	Beyond the width of the ladder I saw two footholds.  ÒAssume the position, dear,Ó I heard Sandra say below me.  I looked down.  I saw Sandra put RoseÕs feet into the footholds that lay beyond the side rails of the ladder.  In obeying, Rose presented her bottom most lewdly, assuming a kind of broad-bottomed squat in mid-air.  
	I felt far too desperate to disobey.  I opened my legs, perched way up there on the ladder, let my bottom hang down obscenely.  I felt thankful that the butt plug blocked the menÕs view of my bottomhole.
	ÒPiss!Ó I heard then, from somewhere below.  Without hesitation I released my golden rain.  Rose squeaked as I showered my pee on her lovely head.  Below I heard screams, but each girl was as relieved to empty herself as she was mortified to be peed upon.  I gazed at the walls.  We had been assured of total privacy for whatever perversions we might undergo, yet I thought I saw eyes beyond the walls, as if a host of people were watching.  They were mirrored walls, stretching to the ceiling, yet did I make out people beyond, shadowy figures, drinking cocktails and laughing?
	I nearly lost my grip, wondering at the sight.  Below the men seemed to watch us intently, as if praying that none of us fell.  Dashing our lovely bodies to the ground was apparently not in their playbook.  Not yet, anyway.  
	When we were finished, the men beckoned us down.  I did not want to go.  Yet I went down with the others, and awkwardly we stood before them, all but me dripping with pee.
	ÒYou mustÕve had to go really bad!Ó I heard Linda comment to Rose.
	ÒWasnÕt me,Ó Rose said, and pointed to me!  
	Still wearing our butt plugs, our heels reminding us of our ladyhood, we were ushered by the men into an adjoining room.  It was small, made of stone.  There were buckets, filled with water.  The men had us stand in the center of the room.  They picked up the buckets and surrounded us.  We huddled amongst ourselves, smelling each othersÕ urine upon our nude bodies.  
	SPLOOSH!  Suddenly we were hit with water.  Master had tossed his bucketful of water on us.  Three more followed at once, thrown by the other men.  We were hit from all sides.  We lurched under the blasting bucketloads.  There were more buckets, still filled, waiting to be emptied.  Each man grabbed yet another bucket and threw its contents at us.  We reached for each other, held on for dear life.  None of us wanted to be knocked to the floor.  It would be so unladylike, sprawling across the floor, and it was made of stone. 
	Soon the pre-filled buckets were empty.  The men turned on a faucet, set low in the wall, and began re-filling the buckets.  They were boys playing water balloon, and for once the target girls were their helpless captives.  We screamed, the men ignored us.  Bucketful after bucketful dashed us in our faces, hit our breasts,  cascaded across our bottoms.  The water was icy cold, uncompromising.  Our makeup was utterly stripped from us, our hair was soaked.  
	As if to grant us some small favor for our sufferings, Master told us that our butt plugs could be removed.  But we would have to do it ourselves.  I felt a wave of relief and panic wash over me.  
	ÒIÕm not going to pull anything out of my bottom!Ó Linda cried out.  
	ÒLisa,Ó Alexis said, bending forward as Sandra helpfully unplugged her.  I found Alexis was pointing me to Linda.  I walked over to the girl, touched her shoulder.
	ÒBend forward a little,Ó I said.  I ran my hand down her spine.  She shivered, complied.  I pulled apart the cheeks of her bottom and got hold of the flanged end of her plug.  Linda drew in her breath, held it.  I pulled.  I tugged harder.  I did not want to break a nail, yanking on this stupid thing!  I pulled again and finally it came out, all brown and greasy looking.  Quickly I tossed it to the ground.  It rolled, stopped.  
	ÒNow you do me,Ó I told Linda.
	ÒNo way!Ó Linda cried.  I slapped her across her face.  I wanted my plug out, before the men changed their minds!  I turned, offered her my plugged-up derriere.  ÒDo it!Ó I hissed.  I felt like a girl begging to be fucked.  Linda spread my ass with hesitant hands.  I felt an outward nudging of the plug.  ÒYank on it!  DonÕt twist it around inside me,Ó I called.  Reluctantly, inexpertly, she pulled on it.  Out it came, shitty as hers had been, and she tossed it thankfully away, flinging it at the men.  They darted out of its path, laughed.  She was racking up more misdemeanors with them than a skateboarder inside a shopping mall!  I heard SandraÕs pop out, saw Alexis do Rose.  Thankfully we rubbed our hineys and hoped we might be able to wash them.  The men read our minds.  They doused us again, making us spread our hinds for them and practically giving us enemas with the thoroughness of their splashings.  At last we were drawn from the stone water closet.  We trooped, dripping wet, back across the expensively carpeted room with the ladder at its center.  At least we were not spoiling the carpet with pee, though someone would have to dry our footsteps from it.
	A woman.  Standing in the shadows, with a man.  She looked like one of DraculaÕs daughters, standing there, her eyes softly glimmering.  I passed her.  We filed into a hallway.  I was the last in line.  ÒShe is too young,Ó I heard the woman say from somewhere behind me.  Fingers swished through my hair.  They encircled my throat.  Gently, firmly, I was held back.  My girlfriends stumbled before me, their bottomcheeks receding.  A hand held me round my throat and restrained me.  My bosoms peaked in front of me, bare, dripping, the teats uplifted, offered.  They were young breasts, girlÕs breasts.  Fingertips snaked out to my teats and gently clipped the pointed tits.  I was drawn around.  A mouth came to my lips, soft, scented.  I was kissed deeply.  My wet bosoms impressed themselves into a womanÕs blouse.
	ÒTake her away,Ó I heard.  Another woman.  Other men.  I had perhaps stumbled into a party.  There were many rooms in this house.  It was a fun house, with rooms for every taste, every occasion.
	Quietly I was led by the hand down a special hallway, a hallway of my very own.  I heard cooing behind me, soft moans, as if I had inspired the party that kept me from my friends.  Did I hear clothes husking off?  The men were undressing.  Did I hear womenÕs stockingÕs slithering down their legs, daintily removed, with panties shimmied down hips and bras unhooked?  I was too far now, out of earshot.  A woman led me.  I went with her.  I did not protest.  I was meek, soft.  I wanted to be feminine.  	My new fearless leader unlocked a door.  She let me in.  It was a doctorÕs office.  In a house?  I could not understand, did not want to.  These people had too much money.  They played strange games.  My partner in passion stepped ahead of me, flicked on more lights.  It wa she who had kissed me.  Lost in my wetness, in my coursing limbs, in my shaking and wobbling tits, I had not identified her clearly.  Now my thoughts settled on her more definitely.  She was young.  Early 20Õs.  I stood naked in the reception room.  She turned, glanced at me, at the stoutly upholstered chairs, at the magazines sitting patiently in the magazine rack on the wall.  ÒWomenÕs Monthly:  No Child is Safe!Ó blared the headline on the magazine on the wall.  Above it, nestled in the rack:  ÒCosmopolitan:  How to Undress for a Man.Ó  Above that, Seventeen:  Ò10 Sexy Things Boys Look for in a Girl.Ó  
	ÒHave a seat,Ó my woman-friend indicated to me, her eyes pointing to the nearest chair.  ÒThe doctor will be in shortly.Ó
	Bare-bottomed I go to the magazine rack.  The magazines are crisp, new.  This is a pleasant doctorÕs office.  I remember going with my mommy, a little girl, wondering if I should pop the question, ask for birth control.  I was in the third grade and just starting to kiss.  I decided I wanted a baby and did not ask.  
	Naked I sit on the chair.  It feels smooth, comforting under my skin.  Another woman enters, with a man.  She is naked also.  Buck naked, her hair tousled.  She turns, I see whip marks lightly dashed across her bottom.  The man is dressed, though perhaps hastily so.  ÒBe seated,Ó he tells his girlfriend, his mistress.  ÒWe must see to that bottom of yours.Ó  She sits down across from me.  My eyes flick at her, return to my magazine.  I see her watching me from across the room.  There is a low coffee table between us.
	ÒYoung lady?Ó A sweet voice.  It snaps out from the receptionistÕs desk, floats a bit at the end.  I do not notice it.  Deliberately I read how to impress boys.  ÒYoung lady?Ó  Hastily I look up.  The voice cannot be ignored.  It is always so in a doctorÕs office.  The voice calls and you do not hear, calls again, you look up, in haste you drop whatever you have, rush up to be seen to, inoculated, injected.  The receptionist is looking right at me.  I stand, move quickly to her.  It is the young adult girl, the college girl in her early 20Õs.  She is dressed differently now.  She has on a nurseÕs hat and a white dress.  Somehow I sense she wears nothing underneath.  Her dress is unzipped unusually low in front, the sweet inner curves of her bosoms show.  ÒPlease sign in,Ó the nurse explains, handing me a clipboard.  I a pencil from a cup on the counter.  ÒJust your first name is fine,Ó the nurse says.  ÒAnd the questions.  Answer all the questions in complete detail.Ó
	I stand at the counter.  My hips sway, move agitatedly as I realize what I must answer.  I bend low, my feet shift.  My bosoms, peaked, hang perilously close to the wicked form.  It does not ask my medical history.  Instead it reads, under the place for my name, ÒSexual History.Ó  All kinds of questions are asked.  The ones I do not know I answer with Ò42.Ó  That is the answer.  When I am 42 I will know, Ôtil then donÕt ask me.  Tell, but donÕt ask.  ÒI got pregnant from kissing boys,Ó I write in a space.  ÒBut I spit afterwards, so there was no baby.Ó  In the girlsÕ bathroom in elementary school I spit, daintily, sweetly.  My friends had taught me how to do it.
	Poking my eraser tip in my mouth, I read the last questions.  I write in my answers.  Some of them are silly answers, others truthful, others still snide jokes, comments, girlish pranks.  I hand the clipboard back.  The nurse reviews it.  I look at her nametag.  It sits high on her chest, on her bosoms.  It is pinned to her uniform.  I expect to read a last name.  Instead it says simply ÒGwen.Ó  A nice name.  I like my nurse.
	ÒYou may sit down,Ó Gwen tells me.  I return to my chair.  I go back to my girlish fantasies.  ÒMaÕam?Ó  I hear in the distance.  The receptionist calls up the woman.  She goes, rising in stately manner, but absolutely naked, her bottom already caressed by the whip.  I admire her from over the top of my magazine.  Her hips are full, womanly.  They move with a grace beyond my years.  Sitting on my pert cheeks I wish I had her motherly ones.  Her waist is narrow, her back straight, proper.  Her hair is pinned up but coming loose.  I watch the graceful smooth walking of her legs.  Somewhere up between them her cunny lies, wet, waiting.  She tosses a strand of hair from her eyes and takes the clipboard from the nurse.  I sense something.  I stand, quickly, impulsively.  Peeking over the women, drawing closer, pretending to return my magazine to the magazine rack, I glimpse the receptionist.  Her dress is unzipped to her waist now, pulled back.  Her bare breasts show in all their natural glory.  Like newborns fresh from the womb they stand up, squeezed slightly by her still-tight dress.  She smiles at the woman, the woman lets a smile slip out in return.  The receptionist sees me.  She rises.  She does not re-close her dress.  ÒI must admit our brand new patient,Ó she says to the woman.  The woman glances over her shoulder at me.  She is temporal, worldly.  There is a look of uncaring in her eyes.  She has already played the games I am about to embark on.  She glances at me.
	ÒYes,Ó the woman says.  She turns back to the form in her hands.  ÒYou have different questions from what I have seen before,Ó she says.
	ÒWe have different instruments,Ó the nurse replies.  Gwen disappears a moment, reappears at a doorway leading deeper into the suite of offices.  ÒCome in, please,Ó she says brightly.  She is holding my paperwork.  My first name is written across the top, in large, girlish letters.  The ÒiÓ in my name is a sprouting flower.
	I step within.  It is air-conditioned, chilly.  Gwen takes me into a small dressing room.  There are clothes there.  A pinafore dress, apron like, a bib in front but nothing but a big bow in back.  It is made of taffeta.  There are panties beside it.  Bows for my hair, long stockings for my coltish legs.  And new shoes, with buckles.  
	ÒPut these on,Ó Gwen tells me.  She offers no explanation.  I am grateful for the clothes.  She leaves me, closing the door behind me.  I slip on the panties, sit on the chair and roll the delicious nylon stockings up my legs.  They grip my thighs, stay put by their own elastic-topped bands, encircling me, holding me modestly within their sheathing.  I slip on the pinafore, tie it in back.  I put the ribbons in my hair.  Curiously, there is nothing else.  I turn, display my back in a mirror.  My panties are on full view, my bare back, the backs of my stockinged thighs.  I find a brush and brush my hair.  There is a tube of toothpaste.  Aqua-Fresh for Kids.  There is a childÕs toothbrush.  I squirt some flavored white gel onto my toothbrush and relish the taste of it.  I am bending over and rinsing my mouth when Gwen returns.
	ÒThe doctor will see you now,Ó she breathes.  She breathes into my hair.  I straighten.  I feel her opening my panties in back.  There is a brush of coldness.  She deposits an ice cube into the back of my panties.  I shiver.  She puts a hand to the back of my head, presses my face down toward the sink.  ÒRinse,Ó she tells me.  I rinse my mouth again.  She uses my pose to her advantage, to impress the cube within my girlish bottomcheeks.  I feel the edge of it come in contact with my anus.  My cheeks clench, the cube is too big to get completely between them.
	ÒWhy?Ó I ask.  I am bent over, looking up at her, in the mirror.  There is a smear of white toothpaste across my upper lip.  She fondles my bottom as if it is a new fruit, fresh-picked at harvest time.
	ÒThere are many tests we must do,Ó she replies.  ÒDoctorÕs orders.Ó  
	I splash the toothpaste cream from my lips and stand erect.  Gwen steps back, admires me a minute.  I turn around to her.  I am ready to go.  I feel wet in my panties.
	ÒCome,Ó she says.  I take her hand.  We go to another room.  It is small.  There is a table here, leather-covered, for examining women.  It has steel stirrups protruding from its base.  ÒSit down,Ó Gwen says.  She offers me the only chair with a wave of her hand.  I seat myself.  I reach behind me to smooth my dress as I sit but find there is nothing there but my bulging bottom.  Uncomfortably I sit on the wet ice cube.  It impresses more deeply, more thoroughly against my anus.  It is smaller now.  I fear it may go up me.  Gwen turns, leaves the room, locks the door behind her.  I reach in back of myself and lean forward.  I pluck the ice cube from the rear of my panties.  I look at it.  It is small now.  I contemplate popping it in my mouth.  Then I toss it toward the sink instead, a scrubbing sink for the doctor to wash his hands in.
	I settle onto my chair.  It has no arms.  I let my eyes drift along the counter-top that runs along the wall next to me.  I spot a soft cloth, black.  It reminds me of a blindfold we used to use at birthday parties to play Pin-the-Donkey with.  I pick it up.  I see a gleam of metal beneath it.  Twin cuffs.  I gasp.  Lightly I touch them, still holding the blindfold aloft with my other hand.  I am curious.  I fetch the handcuffs also, draw them to me.  The metal is cold.  I cup the handcuffs in my palms, the big police handcuffs.  I blow on them to warm them.
	I feel my pulse racing.  I lay the cuffs on my stockinged thigh.  Gently I drape them over my thigh.  I do not want to let them fall to the floor.  They might break.  They could not, but they might.  I am silly.
	The blindfold.  Would the naked woman wear it, put in on, if she were sitting in here?  Would it make her a slut?  I feel the aphrodisiac coursing in my veins, the wicked fluid we were all forced to drink in the carriage.  But then, is there any such thing as a true aphrodisiac?  Surely there must be.  We were all wild in the carriage, bucking, thrusting.  Such could not only exist in the mind, could it?
	My heart beating, I lift the blindfold to my mouth.  I will gag myself.  I want to see who my doctor is.  I do not want to go through the exam blinded.  I must report him afterward.  Yes, for abusing me.  Just looking at me like this would be abusing me, wouldnÕt it?  To have such desires, in a MAN!  The F.B.I. will send him a photo of me like this and arrest him.
	I wrap the blindfold around my mouth.  I wedge it between my lips, so that they will show despite the gag.  Carefully I tie my gag in back, in the nesting of my hair.  I will not tell on my doctor.  I cannot.  Not now.
	I pick up the handcuffs from my thigh.  I rotate them, let them dangle.  They will keep me from being naughty.  I cannot do anything with them on.  That is how I want it.  I am innocent, pure.  They are the wicked ones.  They are the ones whoÕs desires must be arrested.
	I gaze across the counter.  Is there no key for these cuffs?  I spot something gleaming next to a urine container, empty, new, waiting for a mare to pee into it.  There.  Yes!  A key.  A key for my cuffs.  Now where shall I put it?
	The front of my panties lie beneath the bib of my apron.  I lift up the bib.  I open the front of my panties.  I drop the key in, deposit it in my safe deposit box.  I can feel it pressing against the lips of my pussy.  It feels cold, hard.
	I put my arms behind me.  I thrust my wrists through the ribs of the open chair back.  I lift the first cuff with one hand, guide it, so that it will snap shut over my left wrist.  Click.  One down, one to go.  Then I will be patient.  I will have to wait for the doctor then.  I hope he is not long.  I might have to go to the bathroom eventually.  I would not want to wet my new panties.  
	A problem.  I cannot get myself cuffed.  My arms behind me, a rib of the chair running up the middle of my back.  I have my wrists thrust through the ribs that form the back of the chair, my one hand cuffed.  I must cuff the other wrist if I am to be secured to the chair.  I struggle.  I bend forward, my tongue at the corner of my mouth, protruding.
	Click.  It is simple, easy suddenly.  And I am captive.  Now I must wait.  
	I hear a door open, shut.  Someone has entered the exam room next door.  I hear talking.  Something falls over.  ÒNo!Ó I hear.  And then the crack of leather.  A scream.  Suddenly I realize.  It is the bare-bottomed woman, the one brazenly naked, come for her exam.  She does not sound quite so confident now, though I am sure she is still quite as naked as when I first met her.  More smacks of leather.  More shouts, cries, a sound of a woman barking commands at her.  Then the grunts of a man.  Moans, screamy-moans.  At last silence.  I listen to it all, shivering, wishing I were free of my cuffs now.  Yet I cannot help rubbing my thighs together, a little bit.  Then I wait some more, my legs spread much wider than they should be when I am waiting to meet a strange man.
	Suddenly my door opens.  The nurse steps in.  Her hair is tousled.  Her hat is gone.  Her white dress is rumpled, her bosoms still showing.  There seems to be an awkwardness to her stance.  Her face, flushed, she looks at me.  At first she is too preoccupied with herself to notice my Ôattachments.Õ  Then she smiles.
	ÒDr. Alexander, this is Lisa,Ó she says to me, to him.  The doctor enters.  He is large, looks more like a football player than a doctor.  He is perhaps 40.  He wears a stethoscope, watch, and carries a clipboard with a stick sticking partly out from behind it, on the far side of his body.  Then I realize.  It is the handle of a riding crop.
	And there is one other instrument besides.  Neat in his starchly stiffed uniform, but with his fly unzipped, his most precious and important instrument hangs out, ready for use.  His schlong.  It is a long schlong.  It swings easily with his stride.  He has used it already, I can see.  It is not hard like it is supposed to be.  It looks moist, as if someone has just washed it.
	ÒIÕm sorry to make you wait,Ó Dr. Alexander tells me.  ÒI was busy attending to another patient.Ó  He exchanges a glance with his nurse, who briefly blushes a deeper hue.
	ÒIÕm Lori,Ó the nurse tells me.  
	ÒWhat is your first name?Ó I ask the doctor.  He smiles.  The nurse smiles.  My voice is muffled by my gag.  Lori reaches down, her breasts hanging, plump, gently pulls down my gag so I can talk.
	ÒSilly girl,Ó she says.  ÒHow can you ask the doctor questions if you are playing with our equipment?Ó
	I blush more deeply.  Then I do my best to compose myself.  I fix my eyes again on the doctor.  He is the pervert, not me.  Surely not me.  My eyes wander to his cock.  It is long, bold.  ItÕs girth is wide.  ÒWhat is your first name?Ó I ask again.  In my mind somewhere a first-grade version of myself wants to ask him the name of his friend in his pants.  
	ÒAlexander, that is his first name, at least here,Ó Lori smiles.  ÒWe call him Alexander, as in ÔAlexander the Great.ÕÓ  She pauses, laughs.  ÒDo I need to tell you why?Ó  I blush.  I gaze at his cock.  
	ÒNo,Ó I reply sheepishly.  He is quite large.  He lengthens as I look at him.  I wonder how big he gets when he is fully hard.
	ÒQuite big,Ó the nurse replies, reading my mind.  With delicate fingers she bends again and restores my gag to my mouth.  She fixes it show my lips show, prettily.  I must always be pretty.  Especially for Alexander, here, with his long dong that swings along.  Still bent, the nurse unties my pinafore dress.  She removes it, folds it neatly, lays it upon the counter.  I gaze up at the doctor with my boobs freely displayed to him, my nipples at crisp attention.  His schlong gets longer, begins to rise.
	ÒHave her stand, would you?Ó the doctor orders my nurse.  Lori bends.  
	ÒWhere is the key, darling?Ó she asks me.  She pulls my gag down again.  I sense it will be as much of a bib tonight as a gag.  It will keep semen from spilling on my breasts.
	Lori looks at me inquiringly.  She wants the key.  I do not want to tell her.  I twist my hips, I feel a sense of abandon.  I love resisting.  Lori senses, slaps my face.  I feel the blow, sweet yet painful upon my cheek.  My ears ring.  ÒThe key, little girl.  Do not play games with doctor.  His time is very valuable.Ó  I thrust my cunny at her, my legs spread, shifting my hips forward on the chair.  She spies the tell-tale outline of the key bulging within the pouch of my panties.  Gently she opens the front of my undies, dips her finger within.  She fetches the key and tickles my clitty before departing.
	ÒHere, doctor.  She was being naughty,Ó Lori tells Dr. Alexander.  He nods.
	ÒA common problem with patients at this clinic,Ó he observes.  ÒDonÕt worry, I can help you with your problem,Ó he assures me.  He puts the clipboard down and retains the riding crop.  Lori bends over me, breathes down my neck as she unfastens me from the cuffs.  Behind her, the doctor lifts her dress inquiringly.  With a sudden flick, he gives her a sharp crack across her bottom with his crop.  Lori shouts from behind my head.  She finishes undoing my cuffs.  She stands.  She makes to straighten her dress.
	ÒI donÕt have time for that, get the drugs,Ó the doctor orders her.  Bashfully Lori turns.  She walks to the cabinets across the room.  In behind, her bottom naked, rearing, rolls beneath the bunched-up back of her dress.  I see a single, bright red line across her heinie.  I know she feels it.  I bring my hands in front of me.  I stretch out my arms, I turn my wrists.  It feels good to be free after the long silence, the long waiting.  
	Lori rummages in the cabinets.  I wonder if she knows what sheÕs looking for.  Finally she returns, her bosoms rolling between the tight-squeezing halves of her open-front dress.  Her nipples stand rigid, twin soldiers in the service of their queen.  I see a syringe.  I sit bolt upright.
	ÒDonÕt worry, itÕs nothing that will hurt you,Ó Lori assures me.  
	ÒThis is a sex exam,Ó the doctor says roughly, impatiently.
	ÒYou need to be as sexed as possible,Ó Lori adds, softly, brooking no disobedience, yet understanding my fear.  She unfolds a little white cloth and lays it on the counter-top beside me.  There she puts down the syringe, a length of rubber tubing.  She also places a metal container there, and a small urine cup.  
	ÒThe needle will hurt me,Ó I say, gazing at the syringe.  Lori looks at me.  She laughs.  
	ÒYou look as scared as a little rabbit,Ó Lori replies.  ÒYour ass is going to hurt like the dickens when your exam is over.  Why are you worried about a little shot in the arm?Ó
	ÒMy ass wonÕt hurt like the dickens,Ó I reply, pouting, sullen.  I reach back, smooth my hands over my protecting undies.  
	ÒWell, thatÕs up to the doctor,Ó Lori says.  I glance at him.  To my surprised delight I see that he has become hard.
	ÒPlease donÕt hurt me,Ó I say to him.  I am meek.  I am a little mouse.
	ÒWell, that might depend,Ó he replies.  ÒHow well can you suck?Ó
	ÒVery well!Ó I volunteer.  He presents himself to me and I eagerly lean forward.  I do not want his crop whacking me.  I am compliant, submissive.  I get my mouth around his huge knob and awkwardly begin sucking it between my full, pursed lips.
	ÒHavenÕt you ever done this before?Ó he asks.  He looks down at me, amused.  I shake my head Ôno,Õ looking up at him in reply, hoping he does not mind my inexperience.
	Lori presses a hand to my shoulder, my chest.  ÒSit back, darling,Ó she advises.  She pulls me from the doctorÕs big cock.  My lips seem to emit a popping sound as I am loosed from his prong.  I sit back in my chair, lick my lips.  She takes the doctorÕs stethoscope off his chest.  Turning, she puts it to her ears and applies the cold metal disk at the end of it to my left nipple.
	Òmmmm,Ó she smiles at me.  ÒGood blood flow in this one.  You could still deliver lots of milk even if you had it pierced.Ó  I tremble.  I should get up, grab the door handle, try to fight my way past my big football-player doctor.  But because of the aphrodisiac in me I say nothing.  Instead a feel a desire to remove my panties.  I hook my thumbs in the waistband on either side of my hips, lift, let go.  The waistband snaps back against my skin, stinging me.  The doctor watches.  He misses nothing in my movements.
	My other nipple is tested, listened to attentively by Lori.  When she is done she tweaks it once with her fingers, checking its resiliency, then the other one.  She slides the stethoscope down my belly.  Over the gentle curve of my belly it travels.  She stops at the waistband of my panties.  Then, with a womanÕs delicate touch, she opens me in front and slips the metal disk down to my cunny.  I wet it with my excitement.  I am moist, hungry.  Lori smiles, listens, strokes my tumbling locks where they tumble down the side of my head.  She withdraws the stethoscope and gives it back to the doctor.
	ÒLisaÕs vital signs sound good,Ó Lori reports to him.  The doctor nods.
	ÒProceed,Ó he says offhandedly, as if bored.  But from the stiffness of his cock I can see he is anything but bored.  His free hand, the one without the crop, brushes his thighs, as if wishing his pants werenÕt there.  I sleek my fingertips along the insides of my thighs.  We have the same feelings, desires, wants.  But the nurse must complete her exam first.
	ÒAre you a real nurse?Ó I blurt suddenly.  She looks down at me, always smiling, delicate in her movements, admiring me with her every touch.
	ÒOf course not, dear,Ó she replies.  ÒNor is Alexander the Great there a doctor.  But I am a first-year nursing student, and he has plenty of experience examining young girls.  So donÕt worry, youÕre in good hands.Ó
	Lori lifts my wrist.  She is wearing a watch with a white wrist band.  No bra, but a watch.  No panties either, I remind myself.  At least I have my panties on.  I am ahead of even the doctor, with his underwear open, his cock out.  I am the most modest, the most moral.  I feel a sense of pride in that.
	Lori times my pulse.  Next she rummages in a drawer near me and pulls out a blood pressure cuff.  She has me hold out my arm, attaches it, inflates the cuff and gets my pressure.  
	ÒA little on the high side,Ó she says.  ÒBut thatÕs to be expected.Ó  She writes on her clipboard.  On the doctorÕs clipboard, actually, given to her for her necessary work.  She turns to the doctor.  ÒOral or rectal?Ó she asks, her hair flowing down her back, her mouth poised, her fingers alighting softly in mid-air.
	My temperature.  ThatÕs next, I can guess.
	ÒOral will be fine for now,Ó the doctor replies, smiling.  Lori turns, bends, a little wary of the rustle she hears behind her as the doctor brushes his riding crop against his leg, slaps it once.  She pops a thermometer in my mouth and waits, watching it, until it is ready to come out.  I sit perched on my chair like a pre-schooler, ready for lessons.  Today we will learn about popsicles, class, and the big men who shove them down little girlÕs mouths.  ÒOf course it is very, very bad, but we will tell you all about it just the same, so you can think of nothing else,Ó I add in my mind, smirking.  Every day I used to walk home from school, wondering, worrying, certain a man would leap from his car and grab me.  When I got home the afternoon passed slowly, boringly, the cartoons less and less exciting with each passing year.  When I was in the middle years in elementary school I learned to walk with a wiggle.  After that my walks home from school were quite wiggly.  Still no-one came, just policemen passing, protecting me from my would-be assignations with strangers.
	ÒYes, a perfect temp,Ó Lori announced, drawing the thermometer from me, a trail of saliva following it out of my mouth.  She wiped off the thermometer on the front of her dress, placed it on the soft cloth on the counter, beside the syringe.
	Lori picked up the rubber tubing.  Thin, dangling, she knotted it around my neatly presented arm.  I was feeling randy, out-of-control.  I did not care anymore what they did to me.  ÒThis will hurt just a little bit,Ó Lori told me.
	ÒWhat is it?Ó I asked.
	ÒMore sex juice,Ó she replied.  ÒMainlined this time, to get you really sexed.  DonÕt worry, IÕll take some too, and the doctor.  We wouldnÕt give you what we wouldnÕt take ourselves.Ó  With a cotton swab and alcohol Lori anointed the crook of my arm.  Then she brought the needle down, carefully, uncertainly.  A stab.  I winced.  A squeeze on the end of the syringe, LoriÕs thumb pressing down.  I feel a sudden warmth rush up my arm, then spread almost at once within my belly.
	ÒGood girl,Ó Lori is saying to me, and it is over before I know it, the needle out, Lori wiping my arm lightly with a second alcohol pad.  ÒHere they are,Ó I hear her announce, rummaging in the helpful drawer from which sheÕd just drawn the alcohol pads, before that the thermometer, and the blood pressure cuff.  Whoever played in here last didnÕt quite straighten everything up when they were done, I guess.  Or Lori is new here, doesnÕt know where things are kept.
	Lori swaps out the needle on the syringe tube.  She turns, goes to the doctor.  For a moment she takes hold of his cock, fingers it, holding her syringe aloft, admiring the big vein running down the shaft of his penis.
	ÒThe arm, girl,Ó the doctor replies, rolling up his sleeve.  He breaks open an alcohol pad and swabs his own arm.  Lori lets go of his member and he presents his arm to her.  She has no trouble finding his vein.  No band of rubber is needed for him.  Nonetheless, he grips his bulging bicep with his free hand to constrict the blood flow and make his vein bulge out more.  Lori pricks him, a delighted look in her eyes as she stares down at his big arm.  Then she removes the needle, offers him a fresh cotton pack, and he swabs the injection spot himself.
	ÒUnh,Ó the doctor suddenly says.  A grunt, primal.  I glance at him.  His butt has reared forward, his cock sticks out with unusual hardness, waving in the air like some line officer calling his men from their trenches.  ÒInto the enemy foxholes, boys!Ó I hear the officer call in my mind.  Doctor Alexander eyes me with renewed interest, his vigorous cock pulsing and throbbing with a kind of desperation.  ÒGod, my balls feel heavy!Ó he admits to me, frankly, one lover to another, no barriers between us.
	ÒYou are full, I am empty,Ó I want to reply, but I just look at him instead, my eyes flicking between his face and his huge organ.
	Lori switches needles again, the fluid in her syringe down by two-thirds now, the rest remaining for her.  She goes to the doctor, presents him with the injection materials.  In his cupped palms he takes them.  He ties her off, injects her.  She returns to me rubbing her belly, her womb.  I imitate her.  I want to rub lower, fear to.  Not without doctorÕs permission.  
	Lori opens the metal box.  She tells me to stick out my tongue.  ÒTwo aspirin, dear,Ó she explains to my wide, enquiring eyes.  ÒTo relieve the achey feeling youÕll probably have later, when weÕre through.  Doctor will be going several rounds with you, you know.  ItÕs best to let this start working now.Ó
	I accept the pills on the tip of my tongue.  Lori fills the spanking-new urine cup with water and gives it to me to wash down the pills.  As she is bending to serve me the doctor comes up to her from behind.  Aloft, in his hand, he has a needle, fresh from the cabinet across the room.
	ÒDonÕt move,Ó the doctor tells Lori.  Startled, she turns, her hair brushing over my face as she turns to look at him.  He pushes her onto me, her hands flying to my shoulders to keep her from falling on top of me.  ÒShe is not the only one IÕm going to fuck tonight,Ó Doctor Alexander tells his nurse.  ÒIÕm going to pop that tight little anal cherry of yours, and to make sure I get up you IÕm going to give you this muscle relaxant.Ó  Before Lori can do more than gasp, the doctor has swabbed her briefly in back and jammed a needle straight into the undercurve of her heinie.  Lori shouts into my ear.  I flinch, feeling her jerk as the doctor does her.  A moment more and the act is done.  Lori stands, ruefully, her hands flying back to examine the damage.  Rubbing her heinie, gazing with sulky eyes at the doctor, I realize she is unintentionally doing just what heÕd hoped, massaging her hinds to let the relaxant spread fully within her tight cheeks.
	ÒTurn on some music,Ó the doctor tells Lori.  ÒI need you to dance around a little for me, Ôtil your bottom feels nice and relaxed.Ó
	ÒYouÕre doing me first?Ó Lori asked, her mouth suddenly agape.  I looked to see if she was smiling.
	ÒI odnÕt know who IÕm doing first,Ó the doctor replied, his ÔdonÕtÕ almost like a gasp of springing pain/pleasure as a new dose of the aphrodisiac spread deeper within him.Ó
	ÒI must have some aspirin too, then,Ó Lori announced.  She ran to the drawer and opened it, got out the little metal box sheÕd put away in there.  She filled my urine cup and swallowed three aspirin.  ÒOne extra for how I know IÕll feel afterward,Ó she told me, our doctor listening with a grin on his face.
	Lori opened the door to the room and went out, leaving me alone with my doctor.  He walked over to me.  He replaced my gag over my mouth.  I did not resist, my chin uptilted Ôtil he forced it into my mouth so my lips would show.  He made me stand, turn around.  He cuffed my hands anew behind me.  Then, removing his tie, he bound my elbows close together with it.  I felt like I was being popped open in front, my bosoms twin marshmallows of flesh gloriously presented.  
	He turned me back toward him.  My tits bobbled before him, wondrously obscene.  He gazed down upon my nippled peaks like a child browsing in a candy store.  Just then music came over an intercom.  Not muzac music anymore, playing softly all the while somewhere in background, but hard-driving rock-and-roll, with the volume turned up.  ÒDance,Ó Doctor Alexander ordered me.  I began to gyrate my hips, just like IÕd done walking home from elementary school.  My bosoms swung in all their fulsome glory before him, entertaining him.  He put his hands to my panties and yanked them down to my knees.  ÒDonÕt trip,Ó he laughed, as I struggled to find my footing with my legs suddenly constricted by my own panties.  
	The door to our room opened.  ÒDoctor!Ó I heard Lori say, gazing upon my new predicament.  She entered, a new nurseÕs hat perched on her head, slightly askew, as if sheÕd put it on in haste.  ÒShe is our last patient for the day,Ó Lori said to Doctor Alexander, watching my antics as I tried to dance to the music, my legs ringed by my own panties, stumbling in my spiked heels.  ÒMy I get a little more casual?Ó  Doctor Alexander looked at her.
	ÒYes,Ó he replied.  Promptly she closed our door and unzipped her dress all the way down.  A moment later Lori was more naked than I.  She had not worn stockings, her alluring bare legs temptingly displayed all evening.  Now her pussy was on view too, and her belly, and of course her lovely big boobs that bounced in rhythm to the music as she began to dance.
	ÒWhat about yourself, doctor?Ó Lori asked Alex.  He smiled and began to disrobe.  Still dancing, moving in front of him, she helped him out of his clothes.
	For awhile it was just the three of us, lost in our own passion, our lust for each other, dancing nakedly to delight each otherÕs eyes.  Alex presented his manhood to us, waggling it about like a schoolboy in the boyÕs bathroom, pre-cum flying hither and yon as he marked off his territory inside our room.  We were his, he was ours, and no others would enter upon us.  We could dance the night away together, or play more private games.  There was only one key to this exam room, and Lori had it tucked in a pocket of her now discarded dress.  We were captive to each other.  We would make our own rules and decide our own fate together, alone, just us three.
	I, of course, was a perhaps a bit uppity in my thinking, for with my wrists bound behind me and my mouth gagged, mine was not necessarily going to be a voice that was heard or a lofted hand that was noticed.  Teacher could not respond to my questions.  Alex, though, or ÔDoctorÕ as I liked to call him, was most noticeable with his big thing sticking out in front of him.  He would get called upon a lot.
	Alex still held his riding crop.  I danced in front of him, taunting him, knowing I shouldnÕt, guessing what might happen if I provoked him too much.  Within my gag I stuck my tongue out at him, wishing I could insult him.  He saw my disobedience in my eyes.  I would overthrow him and make myself Queen.  He would do my bidding, not his.
	Alex handed his crop to Lori.  She accepted it eagerly.  She was jealous of my writhing body, so beautiful, though in truth her equal, not her superior.  She whacked my heinie.  ÒHowÕs that feel, hmmm?Ó  She asked.  It was a light sting.  I flinched in my dancings but no more.  She whacked me again.  And yet again.  She got behind me and gave me two more cuts.  I was quite enhanced in my wrigglings now, dancing and trying to cast of the burning sting of her impromptu cuts.  
	Next Lori, perhaps to AlexÕs surprise, slipped behind him and began applying the crop to his buns.  Stolidly he danced on, not stopping her, impressing me with his huge cock by jerking it each time she laid on a hard one.  
	Suddenly in my excitement, and due to the time that had passed, I felt a need to pee.  I tried to mouth my desire to Alex but he was too busy trying to fend off LoriÕs cuts to reply.  She was giving him quite the treatment now, and he was not the true Roman heÕd been before.  She pursued him around the room, he shifting here, there, not running but dancing in new spots, shifting his feet as fast as he could as Lori banged away on his ass.  I had to laugh.  He looked silly.
	Muffled in my gag, I tried to get LoriÕs attention.  I clipped my thighs together and looked at her imploringly.
	ÒOoooh!Ó Lori laughed.  ÒYou have to go pee-pee, Lisa?Ó  She smiled.  IÕd hoped shedÕ unlock the door for me and let me out of the room, lead me to the bathroom, maybe even uncuff me.  Instead she opened a cabinet under the sink and took out a toddlerÕs potty.  It had a large seat, curiously, as if somebody had expected that mommie might need to use it too.
	ÒSit down, here,Ó Lori told me.  She put a hand to my slim shoulder and guided me down onto the potty.  I sat on it fully, looking utterly charming and ridiculous, my stockinged legs chin-high, my knees at my face, my bosoms wobbling.  I pissed into the potty as Alex and Lori looked on like loving parents might, proud of their preschooler for making her first b/m.  In my case it was just pee, though, filling up the little bowl beneath me.  Lori caught me up afterward, restoring me to my feet.  Then she bent down and lifted up the bowl IÕd filled, hefting the inner lining of the potty with a small female grunt.  Having laid down the crop, she fell victim to Alex, who gave her a playful cut on her heinie.  
	Lori poured out my pee in the sink and then turned on the water, rinsing it down the drain.  Next she took her turn upon the potty, and finally Alex stood before it and peed a long pee into it.  When we were all done Lori wet a cloth with hot water and bathed us each in turn Ôround our loins to wipe away any splashes.  Alex, having stood, needed no wipe-down, but she did him anyway, perhaps to freshen away all the pre-cum that heÕd been drooling from his slit.
	ÒHowÕs your bottom feel?Ó Alex asked Lori as she wrung out the hot cloth over the sink.
	ÒA little jelly-like,Ó she replied.
	ÒGood, youÕre ready then,Ó he answered.  They shared a kiss as I stood silently by, swaying my bare ass in time to the music.  
	There was a whisper between them when their kiss finally ended.  Lori nodded.  ÒShe is the patient,Ó Lori agreed.  She came over to me, kissed me once upon my cheek.  ÒDoctor must give you a rectal exam,Ó she told me.  She went to the examining table that stood along the far wall of the room.  Opening a cabinet beneath the table, she drew out a big fluffy towel.  Then she pulled out from the base of the table, at the back, a shelf on which one might rest oneÕs feet, or kneel.  Lori plopped the towel down on it and beckoned me over.  ÒKneel down, darling,Ó she said.  ÒAnd lie on the table, with your bottom sticking out for doctorÕs exam of you.Ó
	Shivering, I complied.  There was no paper sheet on the exam table for my protection.  Just smooth leather, lemon-scented, antiseptic.  I let my knees buckle and dropped them onto the shelf.  I bent forward and pressed myself to the table.  I felt my breasts crush themselves beneath me, swelling out on either side of my torso as a complement to my lightly-fleshed ribs.  My tummy, curving out as I curved in my back, pressed to the cool leather table-top.
	ÒGood girl,Ó Lori complimented.  She unlocked my handcuffs.  She untied my elbows.  Drawing my hands above my head, she tied them to a hook in the wall.  I trembled on the table, a fish upended on AlexÕs dock.
	Lori smoothed my locks forward toward my head.  She ran a hand down my bare back.  She traced the ridges of my spine all the way down to my tailbone.  Inquiring lower, she trailed her fingertip between the fleshy cheeks of my ass.  ÒSheÕs ready, doctor,Ó I heard her announce.
	ÒGood,Ó he replied.  I felt his approach.  His hand pressed into the small of my back.  Big, heavy, calloused.  ÒIÕm going to give you a rectal exam, Lisa,Ó he said to me.  ÒUsing just my finger, o.k.?  Of course I wonÕt use a glove because I want to really be able to feel whatÕs up inside your virgin hole,Ó he told me.  ÒJust relax.  IÕve finger-fucked millions of young girls like yourself and they all thanked me for the experience afterward, and went on to take big cocks up their rumps later in life.Ó  I questioned his figures, silently, in my mind.  His hand passed over my smoothly presented cheeks, feeling their silkiness, their rubbery fleshiness, all soft and so well-offered.
	A questing.  Somewhere within me there must be a holy grail.  A cherry, perhaps, waiting to be popped.  A finger pressing hard against my rose hole.  I hear squirting.  ÒMore oil,Ó is said, in a male voice.  A female voice laughs and squirts again.  I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trembling. 
	Optional:  I remember my past injection.  He does not know of my past injection, deep-seeking.
	Suddenly he is within.  Bolt-hard, burrowing in, his finger delves up my channel.  Vainly I squeeze my cheeks together in an effort to keep him out.  ÒGod-Damn!  YOU are the one who should have had the muscle relaxant,Ó he swears at me.  ÒItÕs just a finger.  MY finger.  DonÕt try to cut it off!Ó  I do my best to do just that but he plunges deeper, manages to get halfway up.  ÒIÕll have to whip her,Ó he replies, and his finger withdraws, sleeking down my channel, popping out.
	Lori handed Alex the riding crop.  With his penis boldly displayed, me watching fearfully in a mirror, he drew back the crop and whacked it hard against my heinie.  ÒYou must relax!Ó Alex roared.  Tears sprang to my eyes.  How could I relax if he was going to flay me with his crop?  He gave me another butt-thudding whack, making me sob out my first tearful sob.  The next strikes were lighter, skimming my cheeks instead of driving directly into them.  It was as if heÕd intended the first two to be a kind of wake-up call, to let me know he meant business.  The rest, skimming though they might be, still hurt most unpleasantly, each swift stroke leaving a distinct burning spot somewhere on my heinie, usually across both my cheeks, where the crop had made the best contact.  A long slim line, soon joined by another, then another still, each brushing across my seat but striking somewhere deepest, leaving its mark there, evidence of my misbehavior.
	Bunching one of my knees inside other, my panties still ringed around them, I bit my lips and tried to endure.  Whack after butt-stinging whack assailed my bottom.  Alex had me crying openly by the end, a mound of young female flesh, blubbering away.  In his finger went again.  I did not resist this time.  The will to resist had been literally beaten out of me.  When he was satisfied that my butthole met his requirements, he pledged to me that he would fuck it one day and then proceeded to ream my pussy.  I gasped upon the table.  He took me hard, discharging three times within me.  I was astonished by his strength.  It was as if an oil well gusher had got up me.  Then he draped Lori over me, her butt above mine, and went a fourth and final round in her ass.
	When all was done I was released.  Lori gave me back my clothes, and I put them on as best I could, trying to look at neat in them as I might, as if nothing had happened.  She put her nurseÕs uniform back on, zipping it all the way up.  Doctor Alexander put his own clothes back on, even zipping his fly this time.  Lori patted my pantied bottom.
	ÒDonÕt leave without finding a skirt or something to cover you in behind,Ó she told me.
	ÒDonÕt worry, I wonÕt,Ó I replied.  We kissed.  I still had the passion in me, as did she.  But I was sleepy, too.  I wanted to find a bed of my own and go to sleep in it all by myself, with no visitors.
	Lori let us out of the exam room.  We walked to the front of the office, past the nurseÕs check-in window, at last to the front door of the waiting room.
	ÒBye, have a fun life,Ó Lori said, pecking me on my cheek.
	ÒYouÕre leaving?Ó I asked.  I considered them friends, now.  I regretted seeing them going.
	ÒBye,Ó Lori said, turning to our mutual doctor.  He kissed her back, and I saw they would perhaps not meet again either.  All was temporary, for fun only, with no commitments.  Dr. Alexander kissed me on my lips, told us both we were pretty, and opened the front door for us.  The mansion waited beyond.  
	ÒMy carÕs out back,Ó Dr. Alexander told us.  I did not know yet whether I wanted to leave the house or not.
	ÒMineÕs out front,Ó Lori replied, and briskly they separated from me, one of them going down one hall, the other down another.  Soon I was standing alone, clad in my pinafore and panties, my ass still stinging and traces of semen laddered on my long stockings.                    	     
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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