Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in 
CUNT CASTLE

Chapter One

	I sat obediently with my lover at dinner.  I sipped my Chardonnay but said nothing.  WeÕd met just last month.  IÕd taken several male lovers since my Òsinful sojourn,Ó as my mother called it when holding tea in the parlor for her friends.  She had taken to relieving her mortifaction at my not turning out Òher way,Ó as she liked to call it, by publicly humiliating me in front of her friends.  But IÕd culled a few secrets from her old photos and letters that told me the 60Õs werenÕt the placid decade of civility and conformity that she now claimed they were.
	ÒWell,Ó she would say, over her teacup.  ÒWe did have to protest the social injustices of the time.  Vietnam, civil rights.  But otherwise we went to class and did our homework and trained ourselves to be modern working women,Ó my mother would patiently explain to me.  ÒStyles are styles, my dear, and the media is always full of hype.  Now go do your homework, and that doesnÕt mean Ôgo chat up men on the Internet.Õ  I can read your e-mail now, so donÕt think I wonÕt catch you.Ó  
	And sheÕd nod to her friends and theyÕd all chime in on how important it was to Òprotect the safety of a child,Ó namely, me.  
	IÕd taken back my old name, ÒFleurry,Ó short for ÒFleurette.Ó  But IÕd changed it a little in my 14th year of life.  ÒFurry,Ó I was known as now, and you can probably guess what my boyfriends thought of when they called me that.  
	I was no longer trying to grow up.  I felt dreadfully mature, in fact.  Trying to keep my various men friends and boyfriends from killing each other while still actively liking me was no easy job.  ThatÕs why I was so happy when I met Louis.  He was French, full of money, and with a sly, overpowering manner that absolutely guaranteed a girl sheÕd bear at least one of his children, whether she wished to or not.  He made it possible for me to forget my other boyfriends, gorgeous as they all were.  He expected me to focus fully on him, to think of him all the time, even if he skipped asking me out and I knew he was making love to another woman just to force me to pout and see other men.  And, of course, the whole time IÕd be with some other man IÕd be thinking of him, spoiling to get revenge.  When weÕd meet IÕd be eager to wreck his hopes, but find myself embraced in his arms instead, melting like butter.
	And so it was I sat at dinner now, in one of MontevideoÕs best restaurants, watching the moon rise over the sea and the homely fishing vessels as they trundled out for a nightÕs hard work amidst the waves.  My panties were tucked into the breast pocket of his $1400 dollar jacket.  HeÕd dared me to take them off and, infuriating me at last with his teasing, IÕd slingshotted them at him when the waiterÕs back was turned and the other diners seemed occupied.  I think a middle-aged lady saw me, but no one else.  Except, of course, our dinner guests, Polly and Andre.
	ÒYou should send her to Traflangier,Ó Andre chuckled, still amused that IÕd shot my panties at my boyfriend.
	ÒEh, you know what they call that place,Ó Louis replied.  He dabbled with the plastic sword sticking up from his Daquiri.  He leaned close to Andre, speaking low, but not so low that I couldnÕt hear.  ÒCunt Castle.Ó
	ÒHmmm?Ó Andre asked.  He looked pleasantly startled.  Polly shot me a look of disgust and rolled her eyes, as if to say, ÔMen!Õ  That one word said it all.  But I didnÕt mind.  I was enthralled with Louis.  Polly was just 13.  She reminded me of myself a year ago, except she was more like my mother, always trying to be prim and proper.  I think she loved Andre despite herself.  She still had her panties, though from the length of her dress youÕd have wondered whether she intended them as underwear or outerwear.  
	ÒIt was intended as a place of sexual liberation in the 60Õs, run by an old pharmacist who used to hand out his homemade drugs to the kids like they were candy.  Then, in the 70Õs, as his flock grew a little older, it became a Ôsex for healthÕ place, for people who werenÕt into jogging 20 miles a day but didnÕt mind spending lots of time each day humping in bed.  ÔSexual therapy and then sexual recoveryÕ came into vogue in the 80Õs, with everyone in the final days disavowing their sexual past as they feared their newly-born children might one day walk in their ways.Ó  Louis took a deep drag on his cigarette and exhaled.  ÒHe died about then, Ô87 or so.  For awhile the place lay dormant.  Then his estate was finally settled and his neice took it over.  Nowadays she runs it as a place where girls can be taken to Ôreceive instruction,Õ as she puts it.  Men take their wives there, or their lovers.Ó  Louis shot a glance at me.  ÒOr a girl might take her manly boyfriend there, it makes no difference.Ó  
	Louis lifted his hand from his drink and fiddled with my panties.  Part of them stuck out the top of his pocket, and I was wishing heÕd stick them all the way down in so no one would see.  ÒAnd so the place is alternately called ÔCunt Castle,Õ or ÔCock Castle,Õ depending on which version of the eroticized estate most suits your fancy.  As for me, I propose a suggestion.  You and I might send Polly and Furry there for two weeks, and then later, they might send us.Ó  
	A shiver ran down my spine.  Immediately I knew somehow heÕd pull it off.  And I knew something else too.  Despite his words, I knew heÕd never let me send him there.  No, it would just be me.  My mind swirled.  What must it be like to be taken someplace by your husband, or your lover, and made a love slave for a week?  How long was it?  Did he say a week, or was it two weeks?  IÕd found a book once in my dadÕs dresser, when I was snooping around.  It was under his underpants.  Probably a fitting place for it, too.  Story of OÕrevoir, or something.  O?  Au revoir?  I couldnÕt remember.  Maybe it was the book version of 9 1/2 weeks.  IÕd seen part of the movie once, late at night, after Leno.  Well, this was 2 weeks.  Yes, that was it.  Two weeks.  Polly looked not the least amused, but I found myself a little intrigued.  And I could hear a little voice somewhere inside me warning me away.  Ôno, furry, and change your name back too, you canÕt go there, your mother will report you missing and...Õ
	ThatÕs why I liked Louis.  My other men friends worried constantly that they might get in trouble seeing me.  Louis absolutely did not care.  He knew my mother had her Ôsurveillance radarÕ on me 24 hours-a-day.  He knew if I disappeared for two weeks thereÕd be no way to hide it from my mother.  And now here he was, smoking his head off, not caring the least about the Surgeon General, and proposing sending me to some weird castle or something where IÕd get to play Geisha Girl for two weeks.  Polly was right.  Men!
	ÒAlright,Ó I heard Andre agree.  And I realized I must have missed some crucial bit of their conspiratorial conversation, the words spoken just quietly enough to force Polly and I to strain forward to find out what they had planned for us.  ÒThe price is steep, but it would be worth it to make this bitch more agreeable.Ó  He pinched LisaÕs thigh.  She flinched, frowned.  She looked like a cat who, seeing a canary, wants it but remembers the last one had given it indigestion.  My cat ate a bird once, one that had eaten pills intended for pigeons.  Only a fast trip to the vet had saved her.  My mother insisted on giving her away a year later when we moved.  I wanted to run away, to go back for her, but I got lost trying, and the police delivered me home at 9 oÕclock that night to a cold supper and stern words from my father.  I know the real reason mother insisted on giving away my cat.  It was pregnant, and she didnÕt want me to know about sex.  But I knew.  I saw her getting fat and a friend had told me the reason.  Mother maintained we were feeding her too much, and actually cut back on her food.  I had to feed her surreptitiously under the table.
	ÒOkay,Ó Louis said.  He smiled at me.  Nothing more was said between them.  He ordered dessert for us.  Cherry Rhubarb pie.  A little sweet, a little sour.  Was it a way of telling us what they had in mind for us?  I didnÕt know.  I ate mine slowly, savoring the tangy mixture, yet contemplating it to, wondering if I should let Louis lead me into his fantasy of me being his absolute, total slave.  I had no illusions.  ThatÕs what it would come to.  Utter subservience to his will.  I felt a thrill deep inside myself as I wondered whether I should accept this, or run to the maitÕre de, explain I was only 14, and that Louis was not my father at all but my illegal lover.  The police would come quickly, he would be whisked away.  Or he might harm me.  ThereÕs no telling what an enraged man might do.  Then again, if I slipped away, to use the toilet, he would never know.  My daddy would protect me from him.  But my daddy screwed my mother every night.  He was mine, but...
	Louis was mine altogether.  Well, he loved other women, but I hoped he loved me most of all.  If I said ÔnoÕ to him I knew IÕd lose him.  Oh, what to do?  What to do?  I looked at Lisa.  She was complaining about her dessert.  Andre was quite indulgent.  She explained to him in her high-pitched voice that while the cherries were fine, the rhubarb was much too sour.  And, come to think of it, the crust was not flaking properly.  Her mother made much better crusts than this.  Andre nodded patiently.  Louis rolled his eyes, accepted that the girl must be listened to.  I liked the way Louis rolled his eyes.  So worldly.  Yet, as I gazed at Lisa, I noticed how freely her breasts shifted within her blouse.  It was tight.  She had let her jacket become unbuttoned.  Andre liked toying with her clothes while she was eating.  I saw that LisaÕs blouse was tented where her nipples were.  She was excited by all the attention she was receiving, both from Andre and Louis.  Why had she not worn a bra?  I had a bra on, a nice black one, with my vest neatly buttoned over it, to give just a hint of it out the top.  Yet she, with her jacket now opened, showed everyone how thin her blouse was and how stiff her nipples were.  I glanced around.  Did anyone else see besides us?  Oh well, we girls have a right to skip our bras if we wish, but...  This was an elegant, high-class restaurant, not a nightclub.  The waiter returned.  Andre made to order a cherry pie, without the rhubarb, but after her long soliloquy Polly seemed not to wish to change her order after all.  I knew then she just wanted to be noticed, paid attention to.  I was jealous.  Here she was, cheating, with her nipples all erect and her blouse treacherously thin, with even Louis watching her now instead of me.  Should I slip away to the ladies room and ditch my bra?  That would top her, me sticking my bra in the waste bin where it might be seen by the other ladies, and returning, sitting down, with my breasts noticably bare beneath my little vest.  
	The waiter, at a nod from Louis, presented the bill.  Louis handed him a $100.00 bill and rose.  We were leaving, just that suddenly.  Lisa, more or less finished with her pie by now, took a quick sip of her coffee and the four of us were outside the restaurant within the minute.  I felt the cool night air brush against me beneath my skirt, my panties still tucked neatly in LouisÕ pocket.  I reached for them, for the bit of them that stuck up, in his jacket, where he might have worn a carnation instead of using my underwear.  With a suave movement he brushed my hand away.  He wanted to keep them.  I gritted my teeth and realized I would have to bear up without them.  I felt so cool, so free.  There was absolutely nothing underneath my dress.  The wind caught it.  My hands leapt to my thighs, trying to keep the doorman fetching our car from catching sight of my nakedness.  I regretted wearing such a short dress now.  Mother would never have approved, and now I knew why.  It was not handkercheif-short, like LisaÕs but it was still way to short to run around in without any panties on.
	Three couples passed us, the men in tuxes and the women wearing evening gowns.  We nodded.  I gripped my dress tightly, trying not to look obvious as to why.  LouisÕ convertible rolled to a stop in front of us.  The doorman hopped out.  Discreetly he offered me his hand, and I hoped heÕd not seen anything in his lazy roll up the last few feet of the restaurantÕs driveway.  Or the couples, for that matter.  With people in front of us, behind us, I wished to get into the safety of LouisÕ car as quickly as possible.  The doorman opened the side door and seated me.  I made sure my skirt got tucked right up under my bottom.  Louis plopped into the driverÕs side seat as Polly and Andre got in back.
	ÒLouis!Ó  I hissed.  But he ignored me.  As the car pulled away he removed my panties from his pocket and handed them to the doorman.  
	ÒShe wonÕt be needing these,Ó he grinned.  The doorman smiled back, glanced beyond him to me, and I hunched as fast as I could into a humiliating crouch on the front seat.  Behind me I heard Polly giggle into her hands.  Andre failed to suppress a chuckle.
	ÒLouis!  That was awful!Ó I sulked.
	ÒYou are young, I am young, the night is young, and we are free,Ó he said, a whisp of the poetic in his voice, the lights of the restaurant passing away behind us and a starry sky opening up ahead.  I sat up a little.  I felt the long silkiness of my hair flow out behind me and into AndreÕs face.  He was forced to move a little closer to Polly to get out of my hair.  She moved a little bit away, keeping her distance.  She did not want him toying with her clothes in the back seat, for she knew sheÕd lose them if he did.  Passersby would find 13-year-old girlÕs panties on the road the next day, a sock, a shoe, and think the worst.
	Louis turned on the radio.  My favorite song wafted into the night.  Up on a down escalator.  A remake, by a new band.  Or at least thatÕs what Louis said.  IÕd never heard the original.  I began to sway to the tune.  I did feel free.  I wasnÕt at home, like I was ÔsupposedÕ to be, doing my homework.  I wasnÕt even chatting with guys on the Internet.  My mother should at least be happy for that!  You never know who youÕre talking to on the Net.  It makes it exciting, but it can be a drag to.  I was sure I was talking to Sylvester Stallone for three whole weeks and then it turned out to be the nerd down the street.  He collected Stallone movies and I found out (after the fact, of course) that he even published a zine about Stallone called ÔMillions of Cunts and Dead Bodies.Õ  He probably knew more about Stallone than Stallone himself did.  So I would up being in his stupid zine.  When our ÔrelationshipÕ fell apart he wrote, ÔBimbo Stoned on Stallone,Õ and put all kinds of things in the story, including totally untrue stuff about me that heÕd made up.
	I saw the road was becoming thick with old trees, their branches obscuring the sky.  Moss hung from some of them, almost reaching into our car as we passed.  I shivered a little.  An owl passed overhead, startled by our passing.  In back Polly was prattling about her motherÕs pie crust, and how she sometimes made home-made lollipops for her, and Polly and her little sister would peddle them round the neighborhood in a wagon.  
	ÒAnd this boy, he always tries to get them for 50 cents instead of a dollar,Ó Polly declared, quite caught up in her recital.  ÒHe says our lollipops arenÕt WORTH a dollar!  Well, if theyÕre not worth a dollar, what is he doing standing there arguing with us, when it says right on our wagon, Ôlollipops, $1.00Õ  DonÕt pull on my vest, Andre.  ItÕs special.  My grandmother bought it for me.  Anyways, I think he should just read our sign, and if he doesnÕt want any, he should just let us be.  Finally we made a sign that said Ôlollipops for girls onlyÕ and...Ó
	I let my mind detach itself from PollyÕs babble.  She was a little girl sometimes, a moody teen other times.  You could never tell which.  I think she liked best getting some man totally absorbed in her life, listening for hours perhaps, and just having him sitting there, endlessly fascinated.  It was certainly more than her dad did.  He was a big fat guy who threw his rolled newspaper at her and told her not to interrupt him when he was watching T.V.  Trouble was, he wasnÕt ever not watching T.V.  And her mother was as much of a bitch as mine was.  So we partied together.  SheÕd done it already, several times, said she liked it but it had scared her at first.  I tried to keep an eye on her a little, like a sister might.  Not that she was my sister.  She reminded me now and then that she was free to do as she pleased.  But I kept a subtle watch over her, if I could.  Like right now, I knew Andre was trying to slip her jacket off.  She probably didnÕt even notice, except she kept batting his hand away as she talked.  Her nipples stood up like thorns in the chilly night air.  I think she was actually trying to button her jacket up but she was so preoccupied in telling her stories that she never quite got it accomplished.  She liked to wave her hands around a lot to make her Important points, which were always quite numerous in her stories.
	Suddenly the trees gave way and I saw, up on the heath, an old castle crumbling in the moonlight.  Its turrets stood up starkly but you could see that time had eaten away at them.  I think the Spanish had built the place as a fortress, to guard the harbor, but had not gotten much done with it before quitting.  Then, later, a millionaire at the turn of the century had taken up residence, intending to finish it, only to go bankrupt, leaving it half-built, and wearing away in its original Spanish form from the storms that blew in off the coast each year.  Gazing at it, I sensed it was otherworldly, its stones glimmering in the moonlight, half there, but also not there as much as it was there.  
	ÒIt looks so strange,Ó I said to Louis.  Our small sportster began crossing the lea.  I saw cows grazing on either side of the road.  We were out in the country now, down the coast, coming at the castle in such a way that I guessed weÕd been in the forest behind it, and would wind up at last smack in front of it, the road now curving round to affirm me, the pounding of the sea now reaching our ears as we ran along the edge of a cliff and soon found ourselves at the castle gate, with the sea at our backs, some 50 meters down where the rocks dueled endlessly with the waves.
	The gate was closed, but I saw the latch might be lifted to let us in.  Louis stopped the convertible and leapt out.  For a moment I speculated on jumping into his seat and just driving away and leaving him there.  But I was too young to drive.  I might get in trouble.  As I watched the swagger of his hips I knew I couldnÕt do it.  He was such a rogue, and I loved him for it.  He lifted the latch and the gate, with a loud creak, swung open fairly easily, its opening slowed only by its own rust, and by the sense I got that it had never been quite properly installed.  Louis returned to the car, and we breezed on into the compound behind the castleÕs broken walls.  I was reminded of Troy, after the entrance of the Trojan Horse, except here the problem was as much that the walls had never been built as that they had since been destroyed by the elements.  I could see piles of shattered stone mingled with neatly stacked stones, waiting a century now to be built with, grass growing amidst them, their weight gradually sinking into the earth, returning to that primal bedrock from which they had once been quarried.
	We glided to a stop in front of the castleÕs residence.  It was a modern home built upon and within the stones that had made up the original unfinished fortress.  Louis had me get out and guided me up to the front door.  We must have been expected for, without knocking, he opened the door and let me in, waiting for Andre and Polly to step in behind us.
	I found myself in an entryway floored with maple, potted plants sprouting flowers and vines, a living room beckoning just beyond.  A woman emerged from the room.  She was darkhaired, exquisitely dressed.  She seemed a bit of a cross between a modern buisiness woman and a lady in her home expecting to entertain guests.  Her blouse was ruffled, long-sleeved.  She wore a patterned vest over it with a long flowing dress cinched round her narrow waist that hung in folds down her legs to her shoes.  They were modest, not spiked high heels like Polly and I wore, but not flats either, sort of inbetween, elevating her just enough to give her a graceful, self-assured dignity without being showy.  I immediately felt a sense of warmth and comfort seeing her.  She smiled at us.  Louis took me by my elbow and squired me into her living room.  
	We sat down on a brocaded couch.  A primly dressed young woman dressed in a maidÕs white blouse and black skirt brought us tea.  I took the cup, saw it was excessively fragile, held it with a little trepidation.  I thanked the maid and took a sip.  It was delicious!
	ÒJasmine, with a twist of Orange,Ó our hostess smiled.  ÒThe cup is from before the war.  I do so like authentic things, you know.  I was surprised to find the set of them here, still intact, given my uncleÕs antics.Ó  She glanced at Louis and I thought I saw a knowing look pass between them.  I gulped.  Was she really a hedonist?  She looked so proper, a new traditionalist, like someone you might find at the health food store sifting beans with a pitcher, worried that CampbellÕs might give her lymph node cancer or whatnot.
	Louis engaged her in a pleasant conversation about the weather up on the heath.  She said it could be windy sometimes.  Polly said she was glad it wasnÕt windy tonight since sheÕd already found her dress Ôliked to be up more than down,Õ as she put it, on nights when the wind blew.  It was short enough that a good gust might completely lift it and wrap it inside out around her waist.
	Our hostess, who went by the name of Rose, laughed.  She said PollyÕs sort of dress was a favorite of hers in her high school days, and with legs as excellent as PollyÕs she shouldnÕt feel the slightest remorse in picking such a revealing skirt.
	ÒStand up, girls,Ó Rose said to us quite abruptly.  ÒIÕm sure your boyfriends have seen you in your bikinis before.  Strip down to your bra and panties, each of you.  I want to see how pretty you are in them.Ó
	Anxiously I stood.  IÕd wondered when sheÕd broach the reason for our visit here.  CouldnÕt we just sit and sip tea?  It was so nice, the room was so pleasant, decorated in a style a woman might choose for our home.  Yet, rising up, I felt LouisÕ eyes running up my legs, and AndreÕs too, hoping to catch a glimpse of what should have been concealed beneath my skirt but wasnÕt.  
	Polly stood up too, like a child at a recital might stand, as if to play a song and sing a melody, and win a prize.  She liked being the center of attention.  I, however, seeing the maid return, felt less sanguine, less Pollyannaish.  Was I to bare myself in front of her?  I tried to clear my throat.
	ÒMaÕam, IÕm--Ó I began.  How could I hint to her that I didnÕt HAVE any underwear on?  
	ÒJust unzip it,Ó Rose said, still seated, waving her finger like a man might, commanding.  
	ÒOhhh, I donÕt mind, I guess,Ó Polly announced.  ÒCould we go down to the beach perhaps?  I donÕt have my swimsuit but I could swim in my panties.Ó  She unzipped herself, the fiend, leaving me with little choice to follow, as the mensÕ eyes all turned to her to watch.  I zipped down my dress in back and we both pushed our miniskirts down our legs to our ankles.
	ÒOh!Ó the maid exclaimed, seeing my naked bush.
	ÒSheÕs new,Ó Rose said, grinning with a sideways glance at the maid.  She spoke to me, as if confidentially, as if between friends.  I with my dress round my ankles and she with her lovely clothes that covered her from neck to toe, sitting as I stood before her, Andre and Louis grinning at my back.  Or, rather, a my body a little lower down...
	Polly laughed.  ÒIÕd forgotten you shot your panties at Louis!Ó she laughed.  She bent and picked up her dress and stood momentarily, not knowing what to do with it.  Then Louis, the devil, reached out and took it from her, making her beam.  I think she had a thing for my Louis.  Perhaps she hoped to have both he and Andre eating out of her hands simultaneously, with me forgotten.
	ÒAnd your blouses, dears,Ó Rose added.
	ÒOh, I donÕt have my bra on,Ó Polly piped up.  Suddenly it mattered to her that the maid was present, observing us.  Maybe she didnÕt even want Rose to see her.
	ÒYou may go topless on the beach here in Brazil,Ó Rose said to her.
	ÒYes, but my parents donÕt allow it,Ó Polly replied.
	ÒIÕm not your mother,Ó Rose said.  ÒSo take off your top.  I wonÕt tell.Ó
	Reluctantly Polly shed her jacket.  I unbuttoned my vest, dropped it to the floor.  Louis bent and picked it up.  With a grin he passed it to Andre.  What were they planning?  Polly was having trouble getting her blouse off, having chosen to just pull it over her head instead of unbuttoning it, and she danced around on her tiptoes with the blouse up round her face and her panties entrancing the men.  Her boobies, substantial in size for her age, wiggled freely.  Her nipples were naughtily stiff, and I knew she was quite aware that both our boyfriends were eyeing her keenly.
	I settled for a less acrobatic undressing.  Reaching behind myself I unsnapped my bra.  I did it without thinking, seeing PollyÕs breasts so grandly displayed, forgetting entirely that Rose had not requested it.
	ÒMy,Ó Rose said, drawing the menÕs attention to me.  ÒI like the no-nonsense approach.Ó
	ÒWhoosh!Ó Polly let out a great breath of air as she freed herself from her shirt.  Her bosoms gave a final joyous wiggle, then gradually settled down.  ÒOooo, youÕre totally naked,Ó Polly declared, seeing me.
	ÒWell, I have my shoes on,Ó I answered.
	ÒDonÕt leave your friend like that,Ó Rose told Polly.  ÒAnd pick up your blouse.  DonÕt just drop it on my floor.Ó  Contritely Polly picked up her blouse and gave it to her boyfriend.  Then, shrugging and putting her hands in her panties, with a dubious glance at the maid, she yanked them with childish efficiency down her legs and walked out of them.  ÒPick those up too,Ó Rose reminded her.  Polly turned, bent over, picked up her undies.  ÒBring them to me,Ó Rose ordered.
	ÒTo YOU?Ó Polly asked.
	ÒYes.Ó
	ÒDo as she says,Ó Andre said gently.  Polly complied, a bit puzzled.  Rose accepted her panties, gave them a quick sniff, then beckoned me.  I approached her, carrying my bra.  IÕd not had time to give it to Louis.  Rose made me bend forward as if she wished to whisper something in my ear.  Instead she bade me to open my mouth.  Did she wish to inspect my teeth?  
	The panties!  Before I could refuse, Rose had popped the entire wad of PollyÕs discarded underpants into my mouth.
	ÒOh, my!Ó Polly said.  But Rose took her hand, keeping her from drawing away, and took my bra and pulled Polly down to her face by her hair.  With Polly staring Rose right in the eyes, Rose bound my bra across PollyÕs rosebud mouth, forcing it between her lips, then tying it tightly in the mane of her hair at the back of her neck.  ÒOoooph!Ó Polly was reduced to saying, her wished-for protest cut off before she could give it.  As for myself, I had only to reach into my mouth to take out her odious underpants (tasting them revolted me!) but somehow I sensed I must not disobey.  Lightly, brushing my hand over my mouth, I touched them, but I did not remove them.  The maid watched us both with ever-growing amusement.  Behind us, our boyfriends were clearly enchanted.
	ÒGood, you learn your lessons well,Ó Rose said, seeing I had not removed her makeshift gag.  ÒKeep it there, hold it in your mouth.  It delights your boyfriend to see you so, and it delights Andre also.Ó  She turned her eyes back to Polly, who was hoping to untie the knotted bra at the back of her head.  ÒNo, Polly!Ó Rose told her.  ÒWhen I attach something to you, you are to leave it there until I wish it removed.Ó
	The maid had skirted round behind us meanwhile and I felt her take both my arms and draw them back.  I was complaisant.  I did not think quickly enough.  A moment later I felt cold steel bind my wrists and a telltale ÔclickÕ gave me the warning IÕd wished I had sooner.  
	ÒYes,Ó Rose said.  She lifted a fingernail and ran it down my belly.  ÒHow sweet you look all nude, with nothing but a gag and handcuffs to adorn you.  And your pretty shoes, of course.Ó  I wished very much now to spit out PollyÕs panties but I felt Louis and Andre rise from the couch behind me and draw near.  They both lifted weights, I felt a sudden sinking feeling that any disobedience on my part would do nothing to advance my interests and only make things worse for me.
	Polly made to bolt away but the maid, expert at least in something, caught her before she escaped and managed to get one handcuff locked round her wrist.  Andre, his hands reaching out to grab her, quickly immobilized her so that her other wrist could be attached to the first.
	ÒNow, girls, IÕm glad we have that out of the way,Ó Rose said politely.  She remained sitting still, all cultured and dignified.  The men returned to the settee.  The maid remained close, certain to intervene if we did not do as asked.  I realized she was much stronger than she looked.  I wondered if she worked out with men at the gym.  Her figure did not show it, but I her arms, though slim, had a steel in them IÕd not sensed earlier.
	ÒOmopho,Ó Polly began.
	ÒShhh,Ó Rose scolded her gently.  ÒYouÕll be here with me for two weeks, Polly.  ThatÕs all.  But IÕve entertained many girls like yourself and I really donÕt need to hear all your little complaints and protests.  I myself was trained here, long ago, under my uncleÕs tutelage.  And I was only seven, so youÕve nothing at all to complain of.Ó  She settled her hands in her lap and looked at us both.  Her eyes admired our nudity.
	ÒThere is much that I must do with you both in two weeks, girls, and I expect strict compliance with all my requests.  We havenÕt really any time for disagreements.Ó  The maid, who had, unnoticed by me, withdrawn briefly, now reappeared and passed into RoseÕs hands a most daunting object.  A paddle, hard as oak and with holes cut through its center so it could be swung faster.  ÒThis is one of my friends that helps me keep order in my house,Ó Rose said, receiving the paddle with a warm caress of her hands upon it.  ÒIÕm going to introduce both of you to it so we can understand whatÕs at stake when I ask you to do something.  Fleurry, youÕre the oldest.  You first.Ó  With that she pulled me right up to her knees and had me stand bending over them.  ÒDonÕt drop your panties, or itÕll be extras for you,Ó Rose told me.  
	I bit into the silky cotton of PollyÕs panties and felt Rose raise her hand behind my bottom.  For a moment I just stared at the rug.  It was so lovely, deep-pile with interwoven threads of different shades of blue.
	WAHACKCCK!  I nearly jumped out of my skin as the paddle descended and hit my behind.  What a smoking hand that woman had!  
	ÒEeeeyahah!Ó I cried.  I nearly regurgitated the panties in my mouth, spittle and all, the sting was so sharp.  My bottomcheeks wobbled as if a thundercloud had shattered upon them.  The pain reverberated across my hemispheres, impressing itself deeply and making me want to burst into tears.
	ÒTwo more,Ó Rose said.  Without waiting to hear from me she thundered in another blow.  I did lose the panties this time.
	ÒEeeeeek!Ó I shrieked, loud and long and lusty.  My poor heinie shuddered and felt for a moment like it had been pressed into a hot summer sidewalk.  I gasped.  
	Rose waited a moment for me to quiet down.  
	ÒIÕd prefer if youÕd not wake my other guests,Ó Rose said.  She lifted her hand and toyed with my locks of hair.  She brushed a few strands back from my eyes.  ÒThey turned in early, you know, and IÕm sure theyÕd love to have you join them.  But the male slaves are so rough.  I donÕt want you too put out your first night here.  One more, dear.  IÕll forgive the panties.Ó  
	And with that she laid on the third stroke, as hard and firm and unforgiving as the first two had been.  I screamed out my pain and collapsed over her knees, still so neatly covered by her conservative dress.  I kicked up my legs and held my bottom like it was the last precious thing on earth.  Tears welled in my eyes and I did not try to hold them back.
	As I wept, the maid picked up PollyÕs panties from the floor.  As soon as my sobs had subsided a little she stuffed them right back into my mouth.
	Polly, for her part, had run and hidden behind the grand piano, but Andre had fetched her and now brought her to Rose.  She was bent over amidst much gagged squawking and given three butt-thumping swats just as I had been.  Louis, meanwhile, took me back to the sofa and had me sit my wounded bottom down on his lap.  I could feel his thing rudely growing up between my asscheeks and I did not like it at all.  How dare he be excited at my suffering?  And yet it was undeniable that he was.  As I squirmed with painful remorse upon his groin he grew bigger and bigger.  His cockhead pushed deep into my crevice and I soon found my squirmings were actually impaling me upon him.  I tried to shift my bottom but he restrained my legs, holding me by my naked thighs so that I was forced to relieve the sting of my fanny by grinding it into the upwardly rising stem of his thing.  Finally I was able to sit still, sniffling, with Louis grinning his sardonic grin at me as Andre consoled Polly in a similar manner.
	ÒCome, girls, we havenÕt all night,Ó Rose said.  She stood and beckoned us all to follow.  We were led back into the entryway and, through a portiere, up a long flight of wooden steps.  They were brightly polished.  I had to be careful not to slip on the brightly waxed surface.  Upstairs, with the noise of rowdy parties emanating from closed doors on either side of us, we walked down a long hall.  At the back we were let into a little girlÕs bedroom.
	What a pretty room it might have been, but it had, like the castle itself, a twin nature to it.  I drew in my breath over PollyÕs panties as I saw that the lovely fourposter bed, intended to have a canopy, had instead made use of its four posts to allow straps to be fixed to them.  I eyed the straps at the baseboard posts and guessed my own feet might soon make their acquaintance.  Lifting my head, I was shocked to see straps hanging above for the feet or the arms to be placed in, should anyone wish it, while a mirror on the ceiling promised to reflect all back down upon the poor victim bound in the bed.  
	Next to the girlÕs bed was a painted nightstand, with flowers and decorative daisies embossed in small wooden embellishments upon its white surface.  But atop it, next to the bottle of the Winnie the Pooh bubble bath, lay a heap of menÕs condoms.  There was also a tube of lubricant and, next to that, a sinister looking device that I knew to be a speculum.
	Rose turned to us both and met our eyes.  We stood before her like disciples waiting to be crucified, all trembly kneed and with our bottoms still feeling like well-smacked jello.  Our teats were hard, though, and my tummy swirled at the prospect of such complete subservience to LouisÕ wicked wishes.  We had simply made love before, in our trysts.  We had not gotten kinky.
	ÒGirls, I will do my best to provide for your comfort while youÕre here with me,Ó Rose explained.  ÒBut you must each surrender yourself completely to your loverÕs desires.  And he may desire whatever he wishes!  He is not to be denied anything for the next two weeks, and I will make sure of it.  Although I am a complete feminist, I do believe men have rights too.  Men need to dominate sometimes, and to control.  Here they will be permitted to do that.  Elsewhere they might be punished for raping their wives, or talking to or even looking at girls like yourself.  Not here.  I provide this as a small service to mankind to allow him a brief retreat to the days when men were men, and unrestrainedly so.  There will be no political correctness here.  The law is their law, and you must obey.Ó  She smiled.  ÒYou must think of it as being done for you, otherwise you will never be able to bear it.  That is what I discovered.  If you remember that always they are thinking of you, watching you, whoever might actually be screwing you, then you will find yourself able to accept it all.Ó
	She turned and turned down the bedcover and top sheet on the bed.  ÒNow Polly, since Fleurette went first last time, letÕs have you be first now.  I want you to get on the bed and lie down on your tummy and open up your legs.  Nice and wide.Ó  Rose took Polly by the arm and guided her onto the bed, Polly lifting her knees, first one, then the other, so she could crawl onto it.  Rose made her lie flat on her tummy, then placed a pillow beneath her chin so she might have some comfort for her head.  Her arms remained firmly bound behind her.  ÒSpread your legs, Polly,Ó Rose told the girl.  She slapped her bottom lightly to get her to comply.  Immediately, still sore from the paddle, Polly opened her knees into a wide vee, lifting her heels up and letting them kick aimlessly in the air.  ÒNow stay like that, Polly, while I vaseline your anus for you.  DonÕt make me tie you.  YouÕre a big girl and you should be able to take this.Ó
	ÒWhomapmout?Ó Polly asked behind her gag.  Rose opened the top drawer of the dresser and drew out a jar of vaseline.  She dipped her finger in it and, at a squeak from Polly, opened the girlÕs ass and rimmed her anus.  ÒItÕs an enema, dear.  YouÕll have a nice solid enema stuck up your bottom to get out any shit that might be in there.  Then, after you go potty, your boyfriend will show you what itÕs like to be buttfucked.  Have you ever been buttfucked before, Polly?Ó  
	ÒNoooophoph!Ó Polly squealed behind her gag.  
	ÒI didnÕt think so...my, youÕre so tight!Ó Rose exclaimed.  ÒI wish I was still that squeaky-tight but IÕm afraid IÕve had men sawing away in me since I was seven, and IÕm quite a bit older than that now.  Lie still, Polly, I donÕt want to cut your insides with my fingernail.Ó  
	Rose stuck her finger into PollyÕs hole with some considerable effort and then, to squawks from the girl, lubricated the inside of her channel up to the first inch.  Polly seemed to sense that she might be injured and lay with only a few wiggles while the passage was eased.  At last Rose drew out her finger.  There was a cup on the nightstand for little girls to have water in and Rose dipped her greased finger into the cup to wet it.  Then she wiped off her finger on a linen handkerchief that had been lying fresh in the drawer.  I made sure to remember not to ask for a drink during the night.
	The men, on their own initiative, began disrobing.  I donÕt know if Rose noticed at first, perhaps it suited her purpose not to.  Off came the menÕs dark, steeply-priced jackets, both tailor made and worn to convey substance and rigidly conservative values.  They dropped them on the floor like day-old laundry.  Their ties followed, loosened first, nooses being undone on the scaffold by prisoners given a last-minute reprieve.  I saw their breath increase.  Their chests worked rythmically beneath their starched shirts, runners getting up their wind for a critical race.  
	As the men worked open their shirt buttons Rose, sitting primly with her finger in PollyÕs hineyhole, looked up.  A smile flitted across her face as she saw the sumptuous manflesh being exposed just as fast as the boys could get their bodies out of their clothes.  She let her eyes fall across their hairy chests, tracing their fingers a moment with her stare as they raced to get their shirtbuttons open.  And then her countenance took on the appearance of a woman delighted by the vigor of her charges, but finding them undisciplined.
	ÒAh, boys,Ó Rose said with a librarianÕs condescension, scolding a whisper.  ÒDid I say you could undress?Ó
	ÒNo,Ó Andre admitted, staying his fingers a moment.  My Louis kept on unbuttoning his shirt.
	ÒLouis!Ó Rose admonished him.  Reluctantly he stopped his hands over his navel button.  
	Lightly Rose brushed back her long ink-black hair from her face.  Her coiffure had become slightly undone by her exertions within PollyÕs anus.  ÒWhile both of you are free to dominate your girlfriends,Ó Rose began, with a wiggle of PollyÕs bare bottom indicating she wished to get up.  Rose slapped her tushy lightly with her hand.  ÒWhile you own your girlfriends,Ó Rose began again, ÒI own both of you gentlemen, during your stay here at my castle.  In my presence, you are to ask my permission before you do anything so gauche as stripping your clothes off.Ó  
	Andre seemed mesmerized by her words, but my Louis balked.  He fingered his final shirtbutton, eager to get it undone so he could go on to his pants zipper.  He flexed his considerable biceps, which were still encased in the starched white sleeves of his shirt.  ÒI could break your skinny little body in two,Ó Louis snarled under his breath, looking directly at Rose.  She did not flinch or show any emotion.  She simply stared back at him.
	ÒLouis,Ó she said finally.  ÒI do have protection.  A certain drug lord looks after my welfare, for a cut of my profits, of course.Ó  Louis kept his face set in a look of noncompliance.  ÒLord Shaftsbury,Ó Rose intoned.  LouisÕ face softened.  He seemed suddenly resigned to obey.  I felt a shiver run right down my spine to my tailbone.  My first love, I did not wish to meet him again.  IÕd left him behind, though weÕd been so close once.  I had Louis now.  Yet Louis seemed to sense that, despite his muscles, which Lord Shaftsbury did not possess, he would be most unwise to take on my first lover.  ÒAh, so youÕve heard of him,Ó Rose continued.
	ÒA sewer rat, but a very powerful sewer rat,Ó Louis muttered.
	ÒGood, then IÕm glad to see youÕll behave.  Really, Louis, you had me scared for a minute there.  I donÕt necessarily turn away men who canÕt obey, after all I am running a business here, but I donÕt play with them personally.  You must work on your chivalry a little, Louis.  All your needs will be satisfied beyond your wildest dreams, but you must learn the virtues of patience and self-control.Ó  She dropped her eyes to his considerable crotch.
	ÒI can hold my sperm better than any man,Ó Louis growled.  He was still upset by being bested by Rose, I could tell.  I think thatÕs why I loved Louis so much.  He was so primal.  A bull in a necktie (which now lay on the floor beside his jacket).  I guess I was hooked on musclemen at the moment.
	Rose ran her lips over her tongue.  They sparkled with her saliva.  ÒLetÕs see your equipment, then, Louis.  You have my permission.  But keep your distance.  Little Polly here is a bit anxious about having your thing up her hole.Ó
	Louis gratefully yanked off his shirt and started working open his pants.  ÒI brought my own girl,Ó he said, with a glance at me.  I stood at attention by the bed.  My hands were gripped by the handcuffs, and pinned behind my back.  I held PollyÕs panties in my mouth, though I longed to spit them out.  Imagine, being gagged with another girlÕs panties.  I remembered her peeing in the ladies room at the restaurant.  Had any pee droplets dribbled into her panties?  I hoped not.  I couldnÕt taste any pee, anyway, though there seemed to be a hint of cunt juice.  I tried not to think about it.  There was a wetness between my legs.  I knew it wasnÕt from any unmet bathroom needs.  I was too terrified to think of anything like that at the moment.  
	ÒYouÕll do only what I allow,Ó Rose said to Louis.  She jammed her finger deep into PollyÕs hole, abruptly, as if frustrated by LouisÕ continued obstinance.  Poor Polly bleated like a shorn sheep.  Her bottom bounced on the sheets as if it had just been given a shot.  Rose turned her head to Andre.  His penis popped from his pants as he managed to be the first male in the room to present himself.  ÒAndre, I didnÕt say you could undress, did I?Ó Rose asked him.  Nonetheless her eyes feasted on his erect organ as eagerly as mine.  I scolded myself, but couldnÕt help it.  Some say a dead body is that way.  You canÕt tear your eyes away, though your mind screams at you to.  Well, AndreÕs rod was much more mesmerizing.  I licked my lips, involuntarily, blushed when IÕd realized IÕd done it.  Louis frowned at me.
	ÒI see if youÕre to become regular users of my castle, youÕll need some training,Ó Rose said to Andre and Louis.  As she spoke, Louis got his pants fully open and his huge penis popped out.  It was long and thick and I and Rose gazed at both his and AndreÕs for a long minute, comparing them, gauging their strength, their potential for endurance.  I think two finer cocks were never on display.  Polly chose to play the child and hid her face in her pillow.  I noticed her thighs part an extra inch, though.  She wanted them both, but was too shy to say so.
	ÒWe are going to have a little intermission,Ó Rose said suddenly.  She stood up from the bed.  At once Polly rolled on her side and gazed at everyone, her mouth open, her legs turned but still invitingly wide.  She walked to the dresser.  She dipped her finger that had investigated PollyÕs backside into the water cup.  She dried it on the handkerchief.  Leaning over the dresser, she reached down behind it.  She withdrew a wickedly slender Malaccan cane.  The men looked at her with uncertain eyes, their cocks on full display.  ÒFinish undressing, men,Ó Rose commanded.  They eased down their trousers, revealing their athletic legs.  They kicked off their shoes, confident, but perhaps just a little worried too, as Rose flicked her cane idly against the side of the dresser.  It made an insidious swish through the air and then struck the dresser with a clean, sharp whack.
	When the men were free of everything, including their socks and shoes, Rose spoke again.  ÒIÕm going to cane you both on your bare buns,Ó she said simply.  She took off her vest, never letting go of the cane as she spoke.  Then she undid the buttons of her blouse.  Finally, reaching behind herself, she unhooked her bra.  Her bosoms spilled from the brassiere.  They were twin cones of quivering white flesh, made all the more alluring by the fact that, from the waist down, Rose still wore her yuppie-perfect dress, while from the waist up she was utterly nude.
	Rose whacked the open palm of her hand with her cane when she was stripped bare to the waist.  She eyed Louis and Andre, both of them naked as jaybirds now, their cocks quivering with manly need, their bottoms surely as worried as mine was.  ÒTurn around, both of you,Ó Rose said to my boyfriend and PollyÕs.  
	ÒNo!  Please,Ó I begged, but PollyÕs panties, in the mouth, obscured me.  I did not want to see our boyfriendÕs lovely asses flayed, laid open by the cane.  I liked my boyfriendÕs butt just as it was!  Yet, difficult as heÕd been just a minute before, Louis now turned and offered Rose his backside.
	ÒOpen your legs,Ó Rose said to both men.  They seemed uncertain.  ÒI know, I know, you do not wish your testicals injured.  You must both trust me.  You must show complete subservience to me.  If youÕre both good I shouldnÕt think IÕd have the slightest interest in cutting off your lineage.Ó  With an exchange of frustrated glances, Louis and Andre parted their well-built legs and showed Rose their testicals from behind.  They were two nutsacks of perfect proportion, heavy with sperm and promising many babies for both of us.  I wanted to rush forward and save them from whatever might transpire.  Rose walked up to both of them and felt between their legs and squeezed their sperm pouches.  I prayed she didnÕt milk them too thoughtlessly.  A stray touch might trigger their seed, and all might be lost.
	ÒBend over,Ó Rose ordered.  Both men glanced at each other, then complied.  They gripped their ankles.  Their dongs were pushed down by their bending stomachs.  ÒOh, you are both so long,Ó Rose said in a tone that was half admonitory, half admiring.  She clucked and ran her fingers slowly down the tender underside of each manÕs penis, leaving little pinch marks as she went, testing the tensile strength of each organ.  I watched, holding PollyÕs panties delicately in my mouth.  Oh, how I longed to soothe those poor pinched penises.  But with Rose armed with a difficult cane, one whose reputation was as challenging to a backside as any imaginable, I was in no mood to test her will.    
	Both men held up well as Rose felt their organs, their balls, examining them from behind as thoroughly as a gynecologist might check a woman with child.  ÒVery good,Ó she said at last.  ÒPlease remain standing just as you are.  I like my men compliant sometimes, depending on my mood.  Now IÕll give you both a few whacks to show you whoÕs boss.Ó
	ÒThatÕs a ruthless cane,Ó Louis said, looking through his parted legs with his head upside down.  I almost giggled, losing PollyÕs panties.  He looked quite silly.
	Rose patted LouisÕ rear.  ÒI donÕt believe in making things easy, dear,Ó she said quietly.  She lifted her cane and ran out its length on her palm.  It was a frightening four and a half feet long, I guessed, yet it was incredibly light, just a handle, really, with a shard of palmstem sprouting out to its tip.  A silken thread wound with lighthearted grace along the stem, then looped through a hole at the tip, where it formed a decorative little bow.  A very feminine instrument, really, but able to pack a substantial bite.  ÒReady, boys?Ó Rose asked.
	ÒNo,Ó Loius and Andre grunted, no doubt wondering how a castle that promised them utter freedom wound up having them bare their holes.
	ÒI expect you both to be as demanding with your girlfriends as I am with you,Ó Rose said, sending a chill down my spine.  I pushed my tummy out, struggled with my handcuffs.  No use.  My breasts jiggled on my chest.  My ribs showed.  
	Graceful as she was deadly, Rose turned away from the men and lifted her cane above her head.  But for the fact she was topless, I might have thought I was watching high culture, a ballet in New York or Berlin.  Rose touched a finger to the tip of the cane, bending it toward herself, watching with upraised eyes a moment as it flexed in her hands.  Then she released the tip, lowered her head, and whirled about and struck Louis right on his ass.
	ÒYeeeeow!Ó Louis shouted with all the force a man might muster.  His head shot up.  His balls bounced beneath him, though they were, fortunately, not a recipient of the blow.  His ass clenched and then released, clenched again.  Spittle flew from his mouth and hit the floor.  His cock waggled like an old ladyÕs finger.
	I drew in my bottomcheeks tightly as I watched LouisÕ buns contort from the blow.  His asscrack shrank to a narrow threadlike line, then, his cheeks releasing themselves at last, his hair within showed again.  He did not get up.  He remained bent double, though he might have stood, grabbing his ankles tight.  I admired his fortitude even as I pitied his pain.  A slim line, no more than a pencil, announced itself across his backside.  It was deep red.
	Louis received his in turn.  His antics, complete with his penis flying and his balls bounding like twin balls in Jacks, burned deep into my mind.  I found myself liking the show, even as I knew I stood a good chance of getting equal treatment myself before the night expired.  I prayed IÕd be somehow forgotten.  Let Rose whip the men, and fuck them afterward.  Polly and I would be good girls and just watch.
	Her footing sure, her aim precise, Rose gave each man a half-dozen strokes of the cane over his tense, sweating rump.  She never hit anyplace twice.  That would have been truly cruel.  It would have burst those tight little buns, right across their surface, and made them bleed, possibly marking them for life.  I thanked God Rose had a practised hand.  I could tell these werenÕt her first victims.  Her expertise was daunting.  She told myself and Polly where she would hit from the second strikes onward, describing the menÕs asses in loving detail.  And then sheÕd hit right where sheÕd promised.  Louis and Andre gritted their teeth.  They said nothing, except to howl and moan.  I felt their cocks got ever more huge, though, despite the obvious pain they were suffering.
	At last Rose permitted the men to stand.  Their hands flew to their hineys and they ground their teeth as they worked their palms over the injured surfaces.  Their knees moved back and forth a little, as they stood in place still, examining the damage and trying to assauge it.
	ÒOh, come on!Ó Rose teased.  She made Andre howl by sticking the end of the cane straight into his asscheeks.  ÒThatÕs nothing, boys.  A little starter.  Turn around and letÕs see how your things are doing.Ó  The men turned about, their eyes wincing, their penises bigger than IÕd ever seen them.  Rose poked at the tip of AndreÕs cock with her bow-pointed cane.  Andre lurched backward to avoid a second touch.
	ÒLetÕs adjourn briefly to the sitting room, where we can contemplate whatÕs to be done,Ó Rose said, turning with a meaningful look at myself and Polly.  Louis, apparently guessing at its purpose, went to the side of the bedroom and drew open a door.  Beyond lay not a bathroom, as I had expected, as youÕd find in any ordinary bedroom, but an upstairs parlor instead.  Walking toward it, I realized that the bedroom we were in was not for sleeping at all, but for training a girl, pure and simple.  The sitting room served as a place where a man might talk with Rose and plan the girlÕs denoument.  It was fed by a back stairway that meant a visiting girl, perhaps in olden days brought up from the village, could immediately be debauched.  The front entrance, the grand staircase, the long hallway leading past the other rooms, all could be avoided.  A girl of 12 might be slipped within the house with nobody seeing.  She could be used, her hymen torn, and then taken away again, all through the rear of the house, perhaps while a formal dinner transpired below, or an elegant ball.
	I heard heavy footfalls on the steps.  A maid entered into the concealed little parlor just as we ourselves walked in.  There were no windows in the room.  It had the feel of a hidden chamber, like the bedroom itself, which also allowed in no light from outside.  It was sumptuously decorated, however, with overstuffed chairs, paintings, a few books.  The wallpaper was damask, not paper at all, but silk, finely patterned with natural dyes.  Rose told us this as we stood and looked at our place of confinement.  She warned the men not to shoot themselves onto the walls.
	ÒBring a comforter for each of the young men,Ó Rose told her maid.  The men stood with squirming legs and buttocks, obvious in their condition of agony.  Their pricks stood out like thick, throbbing spires above their strainingly-tight balls.  The maid, whom IÕd glimpsed as we sat so calmly in the parlor downstairs, was an old woman, perhaps 60.  SheÕd spied on us a little downstairs.  IÕd dismissed her from my mind at the time, hardly paying her any attention.  I thought she was the cleaning woman.  She looked too old to serve us.  I wished we still had the young girl.  She was polite, attentive, helpful.  The old woman, whom IÕm sure the men never saw at all as they relaxed downstairs, was dour and mean.  I doubted not that she felt the men had just gotten what they deserved.  They were rich boys from the city.  Her husband, IÕm sure, was no more than a peasant farmer, laboring in the fields by day until his skin cracked in the sun and his hands turned to gnarled claws.  His sex would have shrivelled by now, leaving his wife bereft.  She was worn and lined from age and years of hard work.  She had no pity for us.  I shrank back as I looked at her.  It was so humiliating, where was the girl?  She IÕd felt a little embarrassed about being nude in front of, but this woman!  Her eyes grazed me like a toad eyeing a tasty bug.  It was so shameful to be stripped naked in front of such an old hussy, her hands gnarled, her breasts hanging low and flat like pancakes, her hips huge and matronly.  Worst of all, she wore her clothes as neatly as if she were going to church.  Layer after layer of clothing hid her figure from our view.  A heavy dress of white showed its hem beneath a second dress of black, each flowing down from her middle.  I knew she must wear bloomers beneath, encasing each of her legs.  I could hear them rasping together as she walked.  Above her rustling, heavy dresses was her blouse, with a firmly buttoned vest over it, and a full-length apron tied down her front.  She wore a maidÕs hat.  It looked like it was so well-secured to her head that she expected to meet a typhoon.  Only her arms and hands were bare, her sleeves rolled up, as if sheÕd just been doing the laundry.  Her arms were thick and manly.  They were spotted with age, as was her face.  She glowered at us, but with a trace of amusement in her eyes, cynical amusement, jealous and wishing the worst for us.  Her hair, neatly drawn up into a bun, gave her a business-like look.  It was a sharp contrast to my own hair, flowing and free and playful, and PollyÕs.  Even RoseÕs pretty coiffure, slightly mussed now, looked utterly uninhibited compared to our maid.
	I thought the maid would turn and have to go back downstairs, but she opened yet another door, into a closet, and drew out two comforters and set them on chairs for the men.  With gritting teeth our loves sat down, each in his own princely stuffed chair, but with his bare buns smarting fiercely as he sat on the downy white-ruffled cushion brought by the maid.
	Standing in my birthday suit, with my titties twitching, my muff moist, I tried to avoid the maidÕs eyes.  Polly too seemed to find her modesty.  She had the added discomfort of a shiny heinie-hole, obvious from the traces of fingermarks Rose had left behind.  They trailed out from the center of her backside, leaving no doubt what had been done.  All vaseline trails lead to the greased butthole, as a Roman might say.  She wore her hair with a My Little Pony ribbon tying off a few of her long locks, a kind of ponytail that bound a few ropelike strands of her hair together but left the remainder underneath free.  The effect was to make her look even more schoolgirlish than she already did, and all 60-year-old maids know where a little schoolgirl should be on a Saturday night.  Home preparing her lessons, so she could go to church on Sunday, both morning and evening, and say her rosary.  Instead Polly stood with her hiney packed with vaseline, her hole prepared for the menÕs cocks which stood up so heedlessly.
	ÒGet the potties out for the girls,Ó Rose said with a refined air, as if we were to be entertained at an embassy instead of made ready for sex.  The maid glanced at myself and Polly and, as we stood hoping to claim seats for ourselves, waiting only for RoseÕs permission, she brought out two childrenÕs potties and sat them down on the top of a dresser along the back wall.  I blanched.  I think I felt my blood rush to my face and my toes simultaneously, with all parts between equally pink.  Were we to sit up on the dresser?  The menÕs chairs, I saw, were angled to give them a perfect view of the potties.  The maid brought a stepstool out of the closet and sat it down in front of the dresser.
	Rose, swishing her cane, turned to myself and Polly.  ÒGirls, do you have to go to the bathroom?Ó she asked.  Polly and I quickly shook our heads no.  ÒWell, then youÕll just have to sit on the potty until you do,Ó she smiled.  We looked at her with woebegone eyes and nervously constricted throats.  ÒMarried women have sat on them,Ó Rose said.  ÒYou two are practically Ôof ageÕ by comparison.  DonÕt worry, IÕll hold your hand as you mount the stool.  I donÕt want you to fall.  Once youÕre settled on the potty you wonÕt have any worries.  The dresser is nice and big.  Come, girls, I want to make sure youÕre both toilet trained before I put you to bed for the night!Ó  
	She urged us both forward.  Then she had me step on the stool first, minding me to be ladylike, and she watched as, with her fingers touching my handcuffs, keeping me balanced, I stepped with a well-lifted knee up onto the dresser.  The maid stood nearby, her eyes prying into me like a lesbianÕs.  Involuntarily I showed off my sex with my movements.  Raising up each of my legs, I felt nervous under her gaze, like a showhorse about to be put to stud.  My males sat nearby, gazing wishfully at my cunt.  It felt incredibly open, swollen with yearning.  Finally standing where all could see me as intimately as they wished, my pussy above their heads, my feet firmly planted on the dresser, I blushed anew.  I felt like a model hired out to med students to teach them the female reproductive system.  ThereÕd be no cold cadavers today.  WeÕd make a clinical assessment of an actual girl, watching her, probing her, making her cum for us so we could learn all aspects of her most completely.  In our coats, with our spectacles on and our headlamps lit, shining into her privates.  I turned and faced the toilet.  There it was, just like I remembered sitting on as a child, except I was 14 now!  Gracefully as I could I turned my fanny to it and sat down on the seat.  I tried not to think of having a bowel movement.
	ÒLift your legs, draw up your knees to your chin,Ó Rose told me.  I saw that there were footrests running out like wings from the sides of my toilet.  Sticking out just far enough, they were adorned at each end by a little hole through which I might, if I was utterly foolish, stick the spikes on my pumps.  Under RoseÕs watchful gaze I drew up my heels until they were level with my bottom.  Then, carefully, I fitted each of my heeled spikes into the hole provided for it.  I felt the spikes slip down like long nipples into the clamplike holes.  I realized that, with my arms cuffed behind me, I stood little chance of extricating my legs without RoseÕs permission.  Gazing down, I saw my cunt was widely displayed, my thighs not blocking it at all.  I turned redfaced once more and could do nothing as the maid glared at me with ravenous eyes.
	Polly was seated in turn upon her toilet.  We sat shivering, our honeypots lewdly displayed, our tits quivering, their roundness brazenly offered by our contorted postures.  Our nipples stuck up like pins atop our balloon-like tits, perhaps hoping to stab the maidÕs fingers should she choose to touch us.
	ÒPee when you like,Ó Rose told us, taking a chair for herself, not needing a comforter.  ÒWeÕll enjoy it when you do.Ó  She asked the maid to bring stiff drinks for us all.  ÒTo ease the menÕs sore bottoms, and serve as anesthesia for what the girls must endure,Ó Rose declared.  ÒAnd for myself too, to fortify me for the night ahead.Ó  She laid her cane across her knees.  They still hid within her dress, the only modesty remaining amongst us, the combatants for love.
	ÒOh, what is to happen to us?Ó Polly asked when the maid loosened her gag and tugged it bib-like beneath her chin.  Before Rose could lift her eyes from her own drink to answer, the maid was already forcing Polly to swallow a glassful of liquor.  ÒYuck!  It tastes terrible!Ó Polly confessed.  At the restaurant sheÕd pretended to sip the drink Andre ordered for her.  Now she made no attempt to hide her displeasure.
	ÒDrink it down!Ó the maid ordered.  Polly gasped and received another mouthful of gin.  She spluttered.  Some went down, the rest splattered itself in droplets over her tits.  The maid brought the cup to me and insisted I drink some too.  She plucked PollyÕs panties from my mouth and held them while I leaned my head forward.  I did my best to swallow down the drink.  In truth, I didnÕt like it much either.  The maid swallowed the rest herself.  She did not stuff PollyÕs panties back into my mouth.  Instead, she lay them in a little saliva-wet ball next to me, on the surface of the dresser.  I did not mind, but it seemed strange.  Was I to lecture, from my perch here atop the potty seat?  Were we to be fed dinner?  Baby food, perhaps, strained so we could feed on it with little fuss, while we pooped and pissed into our potties?
	Rose smiled, thanked the maid, told her to remain in the room, standing over by the corner closest to the door.  The men, amazed at the sight of Polly and myself, fondled their hard-ons.  Rose warned them not to cum.  All three, plus the maid, waited for Polly and I to pee.
	ÒIt is hot here now in the summertime,Ó Rose said, making small talk, though all three kept their eyes on me, on Polly.  ÒI let my guests swim naked, during the day, in the pool.  Before I felt they should wear swimsuits.  Many of the girls are from the best families.  I did not wish them to expose themselves in front of the field hands.  After all, this is a working farm.  The help has work they must do each day, planting the crops and tending them, harvesting them in the fall.  It seemed inappropriate to me to have the girls baring their all in front of peasants.  But they bugged me about leaving their panties and bras off, so I finally allowed it.  The bras, of course, were just my little rule.  Those silly decency laws!  IÕm glad they were repealed.  South American girls should be able to go topless on their beaches if they want to.  But here, at the pool, I wanted to make the girls more conscious of themselves.  Sometimes a breast halter is necessary to teach a girl that sheÕs sensitive and can sag someday if she doesnÕt take care of herself.Ó
	ÒWell, you donÕt sag,Ó Louis grinned.  He gazed at her breasts with open admiration.
	ÒI had a strict mother who always made me wear a bra,Ó Rose replied.  ÒBut the girls today, they want so much to be free.  They want to feel a part of nature.  So last summer I let them take their bras off, and this summer its the bottoms that have come off too.  Now they look like little Indians out by the pool, splashing around all day.  We built a baby pool this year and they simply love it.  You can see them paddling around in it with their waterwings on, as if they were children in preschool, or lying on a towel sucking their thumb and hoping someone will notice them.  I think they enjoy showing themselves off to the field hands, with nothing hidden, knowing the field hands can never have them.  I do not allow mixing or fraternization between the two groups.Ó  She laughed.  ÒGod knows, thereÕs enough swapping and mixing just between the paying guests, without letting the field hands in on it too!Ó
	Louis looked at me.  ÒKeep her in a bra and panties if you let her use the pool,Ó he said.  ÒI want her breasts and bottom white so I can paint on them with a whip.  I like to see the contrast, the red and the white.  Make sure she always is covered if she goes outside.Ó
	Rose smiled.  ÒLouis, you have such a wicked eye for detail.  Of course thatÕs the real reason I wished to keep my girls covered up, so you could see the swats on their bottoms when they were spanked.  Perhaps I should be more strict, then, hmmm?  Not let them play nude in the pool?Ó
	ÒBe more strict,Ó Louis answered, still gazing at me.  He sipped his drink.  His fingers ran up and down his cock, lightly, toying with himself to ease his penile tension, yet not too much, lest he spurt right onto the carpet.
	ÒIÕll make sure Fleurry is always modest outdoors, then,Ó Rose agreed.  ÒAnd how about you, Andre?  Do you wish to keep PollyÕs privates nice and white so you can see your handiwork more clearly when you flog her?Ó
	ÒYes,Ó Andre nodded.  Polly squirmed on her potty seat.  I saw she was about to blurt out words of disapproval.  I turned my head to her.  I caught her eye.  Despite my fright I tried to ease her own.  Silently, for we were being watched.  She looked at me, I at her.  We shared sympathies with our eyes.  Surely they would not mistreat us.  Louis had merely fucked me, a boyfriend and girlfriend exploring the newness of each othersÕ bodies.  And Andre had not abused her.  I hoped we were just being treated a little here, teased.  Something different, something new.  Yes, the paddling had hurt.  Being bent over by Rose, whacked on my fanny.  Yet IÕd felt a kind of delerium as it was done.  I was so mortified, with the maid watching, so shocked, and yet so free, so female.  My breasts had felt like love balloons, bouncing their fulsomeness beneath me.  My bottom had seemed to blossom under the punishment, my cheeks reddening like roses, dewy springtime in my nest.  And the men watching.  Their eyes fixed on me.  ChristÕs Second Coming would not have torn their gaze away.  For a moment, I was the absolute center of their universe.  Just me, the mother goddess-girl, in total command of them despite my suffering.  
	Rose talked about last winter.  The men listened, enjoying her voice, looking at her sometimes, or just sitting with her and admiring Polly and I, perched on our potty seats.  I studied the wallpaper.  So expensive, and all devoted to me, at the moment, and Polly.  There were rich shades of red interwoven with paler yellows, and pinks.  A chandelier above our heads sparkled crystalline light upon our bodies.  The maid stood mute.  She watched Polly, myself, like a schoolmarm after school supervising study hall delinquents.  PollyÕs soft young breasts, rising so nicely to impudent points, their tips hard with excitement, rose and fell on her slim chest.  My own cones offered the same spectacle, my teats thrust forward by my manacles, lifting with my inward breaths, dropping slightly when I exhaled, jiggling their fleshiness with girlish allure.  The soft, imperceptible swell of my belly wished for babies.  The maid studied my navel.  How many young had she birthed?  She might have been pretty once, but the exertions of bearing young had worn her down finally, stretching her, filling her, increasing her size and her girth.  I doubted sheÕd known birth control.  Each new year brought its season of spring, her belly blooming full just as the new flowers opened.  SummerÕs heat saw her in the maternity shed, out back, grunting as she gave yet one more baby to the world.  I wished to know how RoseÕs farm hands lived.  I knew a little, from my travels.  But I wanted to live amongst them, rise in the morning with the dawning sun and toil all day under the masterÕs lash, bedding down finally to the demands of my husbandÕs penis.  Such dreamy thoughts I had, sitting bound upon the childÕs potty.  I think, at that moment, for Louis, I would gladly have worked under his guidance for the rest of my life.  He would be the man of the plantation, I would be his willing slave.  He would train me to work in the fields and watch as I stooped over to pick each little flowering cotton bud, the breeze lifting my short, thin dress and exposing my bottom.  Would he let me have panties?  I doubted it.  He would watch me and use me and grow strong from my labor.  He would be the richest man in Georgia, and I, for a little while, in my budding youth, I would be his peach.  And when he left me for another girl IÕd sneak into his room at night and stab him with a dagger, just as heÕd stabbed me so many fruitful times with himself.
	The men finished their drinks and the maid refilled their glasses.  Rose watched their carefree abandon, sitting with their punishment forgotten on their frilled comforters.  They had a better seat than I, sitting on a hard plastic potty.  I envied them.  My arms were starting to ache.  I wanted to flex them, to move about.  My thighs felt okay.  Between them I trembled, though, wishing for touches the law didnÕt allow.  Here I hoped the law wouldnÕt prevail.  Rose made her own rules.  I watched her with obedience showing in my eyes.  I would do her bidding.  She would test me, would satisfy me.  Surely it would not be more than I could stand.  She herself looked fine, her hair neatly curled, her bosom impressive, her toes peeking out from beneath her long flowing dress.
	ÒMen, I really donÕt approve of you playing with yourselves,Ó Rose said finally.  The men looked up.  They were both in mid-gulp with their newly poured drinks, their hands on their penises, lightly stroking themselves.  The maid slipped into the bedroom a moment, then returned with two extra large Penis Pumpers.  Rose took them from her.  ÒIf you men insist on having stimulation, then IÕm really going to have to insist you use these,Ó Rose said brightly.  
	Louis and Andre looked at the glass cylinders.  They were long and hollow and open at one end.  Within each was a detachable rubber condom.  I realized a man could insert himself, ejaculate into the condom, and then simply dispose of it when done.  But what was the rubber tubing running down from the tip of each glass?  At its closed, snouted end, this tube ran out, leash-like, until it ended in a rubber inflation ball.  It reminded me of a blood pressure cuff, except it wouldnÕt be putting pressure on your arm.
	ÒIÕve never even used one of those,Ó Louis scoffed.  Andre had a slightly guilty look on his face.  He was shy compared to Louis, though built just as well.  Had he been left alone on a Saturday night or two?  I glanced at Polly.  She was looking down into her potty bowl.  ÔThereÕs nothing in there unless you put it there,Õ I wanted to say to her, but I kept quiet instead.  I was intrigued by the newfound plight of the men.
	ÒThis is a place for doing new things,Ó Rose said quietly.  She stood up and walked over to the men.  Her dress swished with refined grace.  If her boobs hadnÕt been joggling nakedly on her chest you might have thought you were in an office with her.  She knelt and laid AndreÕs pumper aside for a moment, on the floor.  She took the pumper intended for Louis and frankly stuck his cock into it, first capturing him at the head like a botanist might bag a butterfly with a net, then sliding all of him into the tube with effort, as if putting in a snake.  Louis watched, holding his drink up to his chin, wanting to drink it but too mesmerized to remember it.  AndreÕs cock stood up proudly.  He seemed unhappy at being put into the tube, but there was noplace he could hide his stemming organ.  Rose did him next, gripping his shaft and jamming him all the way into the pump.  Then she returned to her chair, trailing out the tubing behind her.  She sat down primly, holding an inflation ball in each of her charming hands.  Her eyelashes fluttered.  She smiled at Louis and Andre.
	ÒReady, boys?Ó she asked.  With delicate fingers she squeezed the balls.  
	ÒWhoa,Ó Louis blurted, feeling the first pangs of pleasure as the sheath in the glass gripped him more tightly.  ÒIt feels just like a cunt.Ó
	ÒItÕs supposed to,Ó Rose smiled.  She squeezed the balls in her hands rythmically.  With each new squish of them the men felt yet more pressure upon their cocks.  LouisÕ face turned red.  He was like a virgin, experiencing this particular depravity for the first time.  I was delighted I could see him in his newborn state, with no preconceptions, none of his cynical moods.  This was real, heÕd never felt it, and it had him not by the balls but by his most precious asset of all, his dong.  Andre had a little smile on his face, as if to say, ÒAh, yes.  I remember this.  It made me feel guilty, but it got rid of my blue balls.Ó  I giggled and looked at Polly.  She stared wide-eyed.  She did not notice AndreÕs guilt.  She was just a child.  She had seen so little in life she could not pick up the nuances an adult like me could.  Well, I was only a year older than her, but I was ahead of her, that was for sure.  As she sat enthroned on the Potty, wondering at her fate, I tried to feel more secure.  I was with the man I loved.  ShouldnÕt that be enough?  Polly was too, but she felt a childÕs love, a marvelling kind of love that was unreflected upon, like a girl seeing her first lollipop.  IÕd tasted lollipops and liked them.  
	Our twin popsicle boys were up to their ears in pressure.  They gritted their teeth, watching with fretful eyes as Rose gave yet more pumps to the little balls in her hands.  She proceeded slowly now, letting each man savor the interval, if he could, wondering if each pump would be her last, hoping it would be.
	Squish!  Rose gave a final squeeze, or so I hoped, to the balls.  She grinned at the men with the smile of a contented cat.  They would not dare disobey her now.  ÒI hope you donÕt drink too much,Ó Rose said, as the men ordered more liquor from the maid, to ease their sweating brows.  ÒAfter all, youÕll need my permission to pee.  I donÕt really think you want to try going inside those things, do you?  It would just add to the pressure, if your urine could come out at all!Ó  Louis nodded, grunted.  ÒJust try to get used to it, Louis.  AndreÕs been there before, havenÕt you, Andre?Ó
	ÒI never pumped mine up this much,Ó Andre confessed.
	ÒWell, youÕre in a ladiesÕ hands now,Ó Rose replied.  ÒYou men, when you masturbate you do just as you please, donÕt you?  My, my, thatÕs no way to have fun.  You must put yourself in a womanÕs hands.  Let her decide how fast, or how slow, how hard, or how easy.  As for me, I expect the most from my men.  YouÕre both so big and strong, and proud of your muscles.  Well, youÕre penises mustnÕt be spared.  Their training must be just as rigorous.  ThatÕs why I keep these Penis Pumpers on hand.  I mean, I have no use for them myself, hmmm?  No, theyÕre just for unruly customers, or, sometimes, if theyÕre lucky, for special customers like you boys, big strong men used to having their way.  Well, not in my house.  The girls are yours to do as you please with, but we must always remember that between yourselves and me, IÕm the one who sets the rules.Ó
	Louis shifted in his chair.  He flexed his arms.  They were like bullÕs flanks, wide and muscular.  ÒI ought to walk over there and break your neck!Ó Louis scowled.
	Rose flinched.  Her skin was so white, so delicate, her neck rising from her bare shoulders constricted a moment, then eased.  ÒYes, I like finding the very roughest men, who can still be trained, though not, perhaps, by others, and breaking them to my will,Ó she said.  Her face looked a little worried, but she tried to smile.  ÒItÕs that simple, Louis.  AndreÕs no problem.  I enjoy him, who wouldnÕt?  But itÕs men like you I really seek, Louis.  O.J. types, rough and tough and not afraid to take me on.  I guess I try to scare myself a little.  But anyway, there you have it, Louis.  ItÕs better to be truthful, I suppose.  You could probably leap right up and strangle me, and kill everyone here to hide your crime, but thatÕs what draws me to you, Louis.  Please donÕt spoil it for me.  Play along a little.  Rein in your lust and your anger.Ó
	Like music in the ears of a savage beast, her high-pitched, lilting voice, so cultured, so civilized, seemed to quiet LouisÕ lust, though it did nothing to ease the condition of his erection.  Perhaps heÕd been looking for her.  A woman who could find just the right way to break him.  I felt immensely jealous, but knew I was learning too.  I tried to copy RoseÕs poise, her shy self-assurance.  She was very admirable, I thought.  She could wrap men round her fingers, men other women wouldnÕt dare touch, and make them heel.  Yes, heel.  Louis was like a big dog, one that runs everyday, a thick-chested doberman perhaps, all black and brooding and deadly.  HeÕd gone easy on me so far, but I knew he harbored vicious passions.  They might spill out of control at any moment, and then who knew what might happen?  If I werenÕt so young, he might have abused me already.  Instead, heÕd loved me with restraint, but it was a caged kind of restraint, the kind an executioner shows to a prisoner before he despatches her.  Like Anne, I waited for my thousand days to be up.  Perhaps thatÕs what drew me to him, his awfulness, his pirate nature.  As a little girl IÕd snuck into a lionÕs cage once, crept close.  HeÕd yawned, watching me.  IÕd yearned to stick my little head in his mouth, just once, to impress myself with my boldness.  My girlfriend had watched, too scared to come into the cage with me.  As I contemplated my chances of dying or living the keeper came, shouted, rescued me from the cage.  IÕd only been three, but I knew loins werenÕt just storybook friends.  Girls could get eaten by them.  I watched as he shut the cage door, made very sure it was locked.  Now I was inside the cage again.  Society had locked the door, most firmly.  There were hotlines and neighbor patrols and community meetings, but IÕd slipped into the cage again, found a loose latch, exploited it.  And here I was, showing my cunt, so bad, yet loving how the men eyed me.  Despite their imprisoned dongs they were looking at myself and Polly again, watching us breathe, watching our titties jiggle.  Did they long to spurt in us?  I knew they must.
	I heard a tinkling sound.  My face twisted to the side, my eyes confronted my companion.
	ÒPolly, youÕre peeing!Ó I hissed.
	ÒOf course IÕm peeing!  I have to go to the bathroom!Ó she declared.  She was a frank creature.  She did not understand the exquisiteness of trying to hold it, with the men watching.  Maybe they relished the contrast between us, her so artless, so unaware, me knowing more, striving to be mature.  As if she were in school, she peed into the bowl, her eyes observing the stream.  It ended with a few golden drops.  She watched them fall from her privates.  She looked at Rose.  ÒMay I go now?Ó she asked.
	ÒYou just went, dear,Ó Rose replied, laughing.  Polly blushed.  I felt my face go red too.  The maid smirked.  
	ÒThat makes me want to go too,Ó Andre said.  
	ÒDoes it?Ó Rose asked cheerily.  ÒYou may do so, Andre.  Provided one thing...Ó
	ÒWhatÕs that?Ó Andre asked.  ÒJust tell me.  IÕll do it.  I need to pee pretty badly.Ó
	Rose bent forward and grasped the hem of her skirt.  Lifting it up her legs, she said, ÒYou must let me pee in your mouth.Ó
	ÒWhat?!Ó Andre asked, his cry echoed by Louis.  Rose got her skirt up above her waist and tucked it in there so it wouldnÕt fall back down again in front.  I saw her legs were as flawless as IÕd imagined them.  Long and sleek, with thigh-high stockings making them into sheened columns, statuesque.  Though IÕd yet to see it, I knew her bottom must be a tight ball of desire, wiggling freely when she walked yet high and perfectly shaped, not yet broadened and fattened by children.
	ÒCome, Andre,Ó Rose said.  ÒNot in your pump, of course, but to me, dear.Ó  She tugged on the cord which held them together.  Andre responded.  He got up and come to the woman who held his dong encased in the tube.  I smiled at his haunches.  They were striated with cane-marks, yet he seemed to have forgotten them, so deeply enmeshed was he in thoughts for his penis, held and captured by Rose and now held for ransom in return for a perverted act.
	Andre knelt.  Polly watched with amazed eyes.
	ÒDonÕt worry, ItÕs just a game,Ó I assured her, though IÕd never seen it played.
	Rose lifted her heels onto her chair.  She glanced at me, smiled.  She was sitting like Polly and I now, though in better comfort.  She scooted her bottom forward so that its forward edge might overhang the chairÕs seat.  ÒPut your mouth right up to my cunt,Ó Polly told Andre.  ÒDonÕt let any of my pee spill on the floor.Ó  Andre obeyed.  As his mouth drew close to her his breath exhaled.  Rose shivered, tossed her head back.  Like a man making a seal on something, Andre closed his mouth over RoseÕs pussy tightly, perhaps hoping to repay her for the vacuum sheÕd slipped on his dick.  Rose sighed and gave a little cry.  I knew AndreÕs tongue must be dabbling within her.  ÒAlright, Andre, IÕm going to pee now,Ó Rose said.  She looked at him as one might regard a puppy.  AndreÕs cock waggled between his legs.
	ÒUrck!Ó emanated from AndreÕs mouth, all covered up but still audible, the sound no doubt coming out his ears as he suddenly felt his mouth squirted with pee.
	ÒDonÕt drink it, Andre.  Just let it fill your mouth.  ThatÕs it, exhale and inahle through your nose.  Let your cheeks puff out.  They can hold a lot of fluid.  Yes, youÕre a good doggie, Andre.  Let your mistress pee right into you.  Enjoy the taste of her flow over your tongue.  DonÕt fight it.  Ahhh, youÕre my diaper, Andre.  I love you.Ó  
	When Rose was finished, Andre looked like one of those puffer fish you see in the ocean.  She let him stand up and he looked around for somewhere to empty himself.  Louis exploded into laughter, seeing his condition.  ÒYou should be paraded around in front of the other guests, you pantywaist!Ó Louis roared.  Andre glowered at him but could say nothing for fear of losing the pee.  The maid went into the bedroom, returned with a bowl.  It looked like it might have held candies.  
	ÒIn here,Ó the maid said gruffly.  Andre put his face over the bowl.  He seemed like a dental patient, gazing into that bowl, his cheeks swollen.  And then, with a spluttering whoosh, he dumped his mouthful of RoseÕs pee into it.  
	ÒGive him some bourbon to wash his mouth out,Ó Rose told the maid.  She nodded.  She set the bowl aside, to take downstairs, and went to the little bar where our drinks were made.  She poured a tall glass of bourbon for Andre, brought two empties along for him to spit into.  Andre returned to his seat and gratefully received the new liquor.  He cleansed his mouth most thoroughly.  Rose eyed Louis.  ÒMy bladder is filling again,Ó she warned him.  Louis frowned and decided to look down at his cock.  Rose eased the pressure a little, twisting the knob beneath the ball to let out some air.
	ÒThank you,Ó Louis breathed.  
	ÒYouÕre being very good, Louis,Ó Rose complimented him.  ÒShall I leave my dress up?  Do you like seeing my bush?Ó  Her voice sounded curious, as if she wanted a true answer, not just a lusty remark.
	ÒGod, I love your cunt,Ó Louis confessed.  He looked from his own privates to hers.  ÒTake the dress off, take everything off.  Get on the floor and let me fuck you!Ó
	ÒIÕll start with the dress,Ó Rose replied.  She stood and unzipped herself in back.  The garment fell down, pooled round her ankles.  Daintily she stepped out of it.  She turned about and presented her bottom to LouisÕ eyes.  ÒMost men like my ass best,Ó she grinned.  It was perfect, round and upended like a bottom should be, with graceful twin cheeks that begged to be poked.  She bent foward and gave her tushy a little wiggle.
	ÒGod, I could die in that ass!Ó Louis crowed.
	ÒWell, Louis, youÕre about to,Ó Rose replied.  With a devilish grin she backed up to him.  As the maid picked up her dress off the floor she stuck her butt right into LouisÕ face.  I could see he was getting a brownose, without even having to ask.  ÒDo I smell good, Louis?Ó Rose asked.  Louis, his nose apparenlty stuck inside her shithole, nodded as best he could.  ÒFuck me with your tongue,Ó Rose insisted.  ÒYou know where.  Put it right in.  It will teach you a good lesson for speaking meanly to me.Ó
	As I watched with shocked eyes and a jealously burning heart, Louis introduced his tongue to RoseÕs butthole.  She spread her cheeks with her hands and he found himself suddenly accomodated.  Had she been enlarged to take a man more easily there?  I did not know.  His tongue browned, Louis began to fuck her with it just as he might have done with his penis.  She laughed, then cried.  Tears of joy, I guessed.  How intimate, to have your love clean out your butthole for you!  Louis tongued faster now, stabbing her repeatedly in her ass, making her moan and beg for more.  She forced her perfect fanny back into him more, urging him deeper.  As Andre watched, feeling suddenly let off easy, Louis gouged out RoseÕs hole with his darting tongue.
	Rose slipped her hand down to her pussy and massaged her clit.  Her delicate, long-nailed fingers worked expertly over her own sex.  She shrieked with pleasure.  How odd it felt to see our discreet, cultured mistress pleasuring herself, while my boyfriend reamed her butt.  Somehow, feeling a little detached, I imagined I could be seeing my own mother, a few years younger perhaps, getting it from my dad.  It seemed something I should not be seeing.  Yet it was transpiring right in front of me, like two parents fucking in front of baby lying in the crib.  
	Polly gave a little cough.  I looked at her, she at me.  There was an ersatz smile on her face.  Her teeth sparkled whitely.
	ÒDid you get splashed?Ó I asked her, looking down at her bulbing bottom cheeks where they hung within the potty seat.  It brimmed full with her pee.
	ÒA little,Ó she replied, lisping.  I could tell she wanted someone to finger her.  Her pussy lips puffed with temptation.  Even fingering herself would have been quite satisfactory, IÕm sure.  I knew thatÕs how sheÕd usually found pleasure in life, lying in bed, dreaming, her finger busy down below.  
	Louis must have had something of the true gentleman in him, despite all his hardness, his surlyness.  For, as he strove to tongue Rose as deeply as possible (despite the obvious availability of his dick, which would have done the job much more completely) he reached to RoseÕs front with his hand.  Gently he pulled her own sticky fingers away from herself and replaced them with his own much more expert ones.  His calloused, hairy male digets carefully rubbed her round her spot, then a little over it, making circles, tiny circles, doing her with care and grace like a woman wants it, despite the fact she was making him clean out her bottom.  Rose howled with throat-wrenching passion.  She placed her hand over his and thanked him by pressing him more deeply into her.  She abandoned herself to love, ramming her buttcheeks into his face again and again.  I knew then why I loved Louis so much.  He could be mean, and tough, and he loved to swagger, but when the chips were really down he gave his all, even if you teased and tortured him.  He fondled you and kissed you and (yes) tongued you, a perfect gentleman in the throes of love, despite all that had gone before; the barbs, the slights, the arguments, the slaps and (if you provoked him enough) the beatings.  And, looking at his cock, I knew the night wouldnÕt end simply with him tounge-fucking her.  She, or somebody, was going to get LouisÕ glorious dick rammed right up her.  Then he would be rough again, slamming himself into you and making you groan and making your body creak like all your bones would crack, until at last you lay under him puddle-like, all teary and honeyed and spent.
	The maid ignored RoseÕs wanton cries.  She freed Andre from his cock-tube, as his reward for being a human urinal for her mistress.  Andre, his face delerious with delight at finally having his cock back, sank into his chair with its comforter and just sat a moment, staring at his erection, savoring how it swayed hugely above his crotch, as if saying, ÒFree at last!  Free at last!  Thank god IÕm free at last.Ó  Cocks couldnÕt speak, of course, but his seemed like it wished to.  His balls tremored underneath, his nuts swamped with sperm, hoping soon to ejaculate it.
	Her skirts bustling round her, the maid approached us.  She did not look at us.  We were nothing to her.  She placed a hand on the front of PollyÕs potty and to my surprise I saw the front of it open.  The maid reached in and pulled out the bowl which held PollyÕs pee.  She left with it, went downstairs.  A minute later she returned with a clean bowl and put it in where the other had been.  She snapped the front of PollyÕs toilet shut.  Then she opened the front of my potty.  She took out my bowl and looked inside.  There was nothing there.  I still held my pee inside me.  She put my bowl back, closed up my toilet, and returned to her corner where she waited to serve us.
	Rose finished her course with Louis.  I heard footsteps on the stairs.  The young girl who had served us earlier appeared.  She held a plateful of steaming hot towels.  A metal cover was over them, but the fat maid lifted it up, took out a towel, and went over to Louis.  She wiped his face as a mom might clean up her five-year-old, fresh from the backyard mud.  The young maid departed.  I watched her go.  I wished she would stay.  I liked her better than the old one.  
	Standing, nude but for her stockings and pumps, Rose walked to the plateful of towels.  Her hips swung with fulfillment.  She had a gorgeous bottom, all round and boldly jiggling, with a free, swaying grace that announced she was a woman.  She took a towel for herself, walked back to the men, and spoke quietly and cheerfully to them as she stood before them, toweling off her privates.  Then she wiped AndreÕs dick with her towel to clean him up a little too.  HeÕd been drooling precum like a baby drools spittle, watching her and Louis get it on.  
	ÒItÕs time to get you out of that horrid Pumper, Louis,Ó Rose laughed to him.  She knelt before him, gradually released the pressure in the tube, and then drew it off him.  She tilted the tube to her eye and looked inside to make sure Louis hadnÕt spent any of his sperm in it.  ÒJust precum,Ó Rose said approvingly.  The maid brought a towel and Rose wiped down Louis like she might do a horse, loving and cherishing his erection, making me jealous.  I could do nothing but watch.  My hands were still bound tightly behind me, locked in hard police steel, leaving my titties and pussy to whomever might wish to plunder them.  I felt tender and vulnerable.  I had no protection if one of them should choose to do something awful to me.  
	Rose gazed at me with catÕs eyes when she was done wiping my boyfriend.  ÒFleurry, youÕre proving quite a champion today, holding back your pee,Ó she said to me.  ÒBut IÕm afraid IÕm going to have to encourage you a little.  PollyÕs peed, and me too.  Now itÕs your turn.Ó  She approached me.  Beyond, the maid brought empty, narrow-necked liquor bottles for the men.
	ÒWhat are these for?Ó I heard Louis ask.  Rose turned, looked back over her shoulder.  ÒDonÕt you have to go?  Put your penis tip to the open neck of the bottle and see if you can fill it with dandelion wine, as we call it here.  IÕll make a girl drink it if you do.  Some girl you donÕt even know.  Piss in the bottle and fill it up for her.  When youÕre gone, off at your job or elsewhere, you can remember your homemade bottle of wine here, and know that some female will be made to cherish every drop.  Piss, Louis.  A fine penis like yours must make excellent pee.Ó  
	With that inspiration, Louis wedged the bulbous nose of his cock up against the open bottleneck and lustily let loose his urine.  Andre did the same.  Rose returned her gaze to me and put her fingers to my pussy.  Lightly she tickled me.
	ÒDoonÕt!Ó I cried.  Beyond her I saw my boyfreind peeing, and PollyÕs, and suddenly she started a stream of her own.  Rose put a hand between her own legs and, standing there before me, suddenly began peeing on the carpet.  The maid rushed forward to catch what she could.  I guessed sheÕd be the one to have to clean the rug.  
	ÒPee with us,Ó Rose urged, tickling my cunny.
	ÒNo, I, itÕs too perverted,Ó I gasped.  I did not want to be a full-grown girl of 14 peeing like a two-year old on a plastic potty.  I felt a bubbling within me.  I could not hold it!  Suddenly, peeing over her fingers, I made my offering.  Rose smiled.  No more words were exchanged.  We stared at each other, then both looked down into the bowl as my pee came out.  It was utterly decadent.  The moment seemed to last forever, the men peeing behind Rose, she herself wetting the carpet, the maid scrambling to get down between her legs with a teapot, the only thing sheÕd had to grab when Rose suddenly decided to go; and Polly, childishly peeing into her potty with not the slightest reservation.  It was a potty, after all, and she was a girl who wished to go.  
	In a few moments all our bladders were empty.  The men sat back down in their chairs.  The young maid appeared, took their bottles away, inspecting the contents and thanking them for their contribution to the estate.  The menÕs urine would brood in chilled wine cellars, next to expensive wines, until they were ripe and ready to drink.  The finest pee-wine, aged to perfection, from men with impresive dongs and girl would beg to have put up her.  
	The older maid withdrew the teapot from between RoseÕs legs.  She brought a hot towel for Rose to wipe her hand on.  Rose cleaned her fingers.  Then she let the maid withdraw my bowel and, when it was gone, she reached between my legs and toweled me with the hot towel.  After sheÕd done me, and the maid had taken PollyÕs bowl away, she towelled Polly too.  We both squirmed at the feeling of the towel, so steamy and hot, touching us in our most erotic parts.  Polly let out a little yelp of pleasure as her own spot was cleansed and aroused.  I guessed Rose might be preparing us for the next step.  Being fucked.  It could not be delayed much longer.  The men were hard beyond belief, trembling with their hugely swollen balls, desperate to cum.  Polly and I had been teased and tormented to distraction.  Only Rose seemed calm.  Perhaps thatÕs why she had gone first.  Being done with her orgasm, she could now cooly play the ringmistress to the rest of us.  Yes, that must be it.  SheÕd used Louis to bring her off so she could more accurately guide he and I as we did it, and Andre and Polly.  That was our purpose here, wasnÕt it?  To be mated.  To make love to each other as we never had before.
	Rose lifted each of my heels out of the little holes on either side of the potty which held them aloft.  She set my feet down on the dresser.  I felt sensible again, not all exposed like some underage tart, dreaming of being broken by the overseer out in the fields or in the stables.  Rose took a key from the dresser and reached around behind me and unlocked my handcuffs.
	Oh, how wonderful it felt!  I lifted my arms and rubbed my wrists and inspected them.  There were red marks where they handcuffs had bound them.  ÒStand up,Ó Rose said.  She took the tips of my fingers and helped me rise up from the toilet.  With her hands guiding me I stepped down from the dresser.  Then, she made me pause, a finger touched to one of my nipples.  She took PollyÕs panties from the dresser top and smiled at me and told me to open my mouth.
	Oh, God!  I did not want to.  But, somehow, I let her urge my teeth apart, and she replaced the panties in my mouth.  ÒGo to Andre,Ó she said.  I shook my head no.  My eyes were wide with disapproval.  ÒYes, Andre,Ó she insisted.  ÒIÕll not have any opportunities wasted.  He has a fine penis and I want you on it.  Polly will have your lover this first night.  You are still a slave, my darling.  Go to Andre and take hold of his penis.  DonÕt let him cum, or put it in you.  Just hold it possessively like you would LouisÕ, and IÕll be with you momentarily.Ó
	I obeyed.  Trembling, looking straight into LouisÕ eyes as I walked to Andre, who stood to receive me, I walked with swinging hips and naked, jiggling tits.  I clasped AndreÕs penis as, somewhere behind me, Polly let out a squeak of dismay.  
	ÒYes, Polly, she will have your wonderful boyfriend.  But you will have Louis,Ó Rose told her.
	ÒI donÕt want Louis.  HeÕs too mean,Ó Polly insisted.  But Rose replaced her bra over her mouth and tightened it so that no more could be heard from her.  She loosed her handcuffs and made her stand and guided her, wobbly-legged, her breasts bobbing like tennis balls on her chest, down from the dresser.  Rose led her over to Louis and Polly looked for all the world like a first-grader being brought into the schoolhouse to meet her new teacher.  Louis received her with a groping hug and kissed her deeply.  Polly squealed unhappily as his broad palms gripped and explored her angel bottom.  Andre patted mine.  I knew how they both wanted us.  TheyÕd conspired together, I realized, and decided they must both have our buttholes.  PollyÕs was already prepared.  Rose turned me around and helped Andre part my cheeks.  The maid brought vaseline and as I stood there, watching Polly embrace my boyfriend in a prolonged kiss, my asshole was prepared for fucking.
	ÒTime for bed, gang!Ó Rose said cheerily when IÕd been readied for love.  Andre and Louis marched myself and Polly back into the little girlÕs bedroom.  ÒUp on the bed, girls,Ó Rose ordered.  Together Polly and I scrambled up on it, not wanting to, but having to.  Rose got out her whippy cane just in case we disobeyed.  ÒHeads on the pillows, bottoms high,Ó she said.  I gulped.  I prayed a fucking was all we were getting.  Breathing hard with nervousness, Polly and I both crouched on the bed.  Our heads bumped, then our hips.  We were sisters of mercy, about to milk our men, and I hoped theyÕd be merciful.
	Rose untied PollyÕs bra from her head and drew it off.  ÒOh, I want to go home!Ó Polly declared at once.  Rose turned her attention to me and removed the panties from my mouth.
	ÒKiss for luck,Ó Rose told us.  We turned and looked back at her over the naked spheres of our heart-spit asses.  
	ÒMaynÕt I please go home?Ó Polly repeated.  Rose gave no answer.  Instead she swung her cane in and caught us both at once in a sweeping stroke that burned into the tenderest, choicest part of our bottoms, right on the underside of our cheeks, where they meet with our thighs.
	ÒOoohoooo!Ó Polly and I both cried together, gasping into each otherÕs open mouths.  Then, realizing weÕd misbehaved, and that there was no escape, we jammed our faces into each other and kissed for all we were worth.  
	ÒVery good,Ó Rose complimented.  ÒYouÕll need each other, girls.  Get acquainted and comfort each other.Ó  She turned and took vaseline from the drawer of the nightstand and began greasing up the men.  Oh, how I wished to be the one to lube those manly genitals, but the privilege fell to Rose.  I was left with kissing little Polly, both of us nervous and scared.  Someday, perhaps, IÕd get to have my own castle and entertain studs, but right now I was still just an eighth-grader, out at night when I should be home studying.  Would my mom worry about me?  Suddenly I wished to be with her instead of here, nasty as she was, doing my chores and being a good daughter.  But it was too late, too late!
	The bed creaked.  Polly and I felt ourselves bounce upon it as both Louis and Andre got in with us.  Their cocks were enormous and Polly and I, wriggling our cane-struck bottoms, tried to peek back at them as we kept on kissing each other, lest we be smacked again.  The men kneed their way forward like roosters, proud and tall and with penises stemming.  I felt a bulbous cock-nose wedge itself into my indwelling bottomcrack.  A bump against my anus.  I remembered Max, his torments with quinine and dildoes, that had come so close to splitting apart my behind.  Now danger loomed again, though it was natural cockflesh, hard and pulsing and definitely weilding by a male who would not be denied.
	Polly cried in alarm as she felt Louis test her virgin hole.  Oh, I pitied her.  She had never had this before.  Louis would be relentless, I feared.  He was hungry as a tiger and his thing was gigantic.  I heard Louis grunt as he forced his peehole into her, wedging her hole wide with his flaring penis head.
	ÒNo, no, no, no, I want to go hoooome!Ó Polly begged.
	ÒQuiet, bitch!Ó Louis snarled.  His voice sent a shiver of terrible fear down my own spine, and I was not even receiving him.  Polly began crying.  I shouted as Andre found me receptive and pushed his cock into me like a hard bolt being slammed into a lock.  I guess MaxÕs training had done a little to ease my tightness, if only at the psychological level.  Instictively IÕd let my cheeks part to receive Andre, not even conscious of it, thanks to the long hours in MaxÕs basement with a fake dong up my butt.  
	Polly had no such training.  She compressed her valentine cheeks as tight as she could, crying all the while.  Louis rammed her hard, making no headway.  In frustration he rose from her bottom.  He got off the bed, rocking it, his cock bitterly hard between his legs, swinging with febrile male impatience.  He presented his erection to Rose.  ÒSheÕs impossible,Ó he said.  ÒBend over.  I cannot wait.Ó  
	Rose smiled.  She turned around and presented her ass to Louis.  She bent double and placed her delicate hands on her ankles.  ÒNot in my bottom, please,Ó she said.  ÒI have to take someone else there, later this evening, and he always fucks me quite hard.Ó
	ÒI donÕt care,Ó Louis answered.
	ÒLouis!Ó Rose cried in dismay.  He took her in her ass even as I felt Andre ensconse himself to the full in me and begin to saw away.  Polly knelt beside me, her face in her hands, weeping.  Her bottom remained poised just as it had been before.  The men worked Rose and I, forcing themselves in very deep, then drawing back, almost popping out of us, only to slam in again.  I croaked and groaned and heard Rose moaning where she stood victimlike on the floor, still neat in her heels, her hair nicely coiffed, but twisted right over so that her lips kissed her knees.  
	ÒPlease, just cum!Ó I begged Andre.  He was drilling in and out of me like a maniac, delighted to find IÕd been trained to show the least resistence to anal penetration.  
	ÒGod, youÕre so tight!  And yet, you know how to receive me, to work with me instead of against me,Ó Andre marvelled.  He shafted himself repeatedly in my buns, admiring his glistening cock on the outstroke, relishing its penetration when he thrust his hips forward again.
	ÒYou should date more -- more older girls!Ó I gasped.  ÒWe know how to dolooo it!Ó  I was losing my ability to speak properly, he was buggering me so vigorously.  Beside me, Polly in her innocence kept her face hidden.  Her lofted bottom squeezed tight as it could to keep any men from attempting it.  But I knew what that would get her.  I said nothing.  I was being fucked all the way to the promised land and back again, all in my little hole.
	ÒLouis!  Enough!  Spurt, please!Ó Rose begged my boyfriend.  ÒI canÕt take anymore!Ó  He hammered her mercilessly.  Perhaps Polly had been right to deny him, though sheÕd surely pay for it later, with pain across her bottom instead of inside it.
	ÒI want to cum but IÕm so hard I canÕt,Ó Louis said gleefully, each word exploding separately from his mouth, like shells from a cannon.  Rose screamed, high-pitched.  Louis growled like a lion and his buttcheeks flexed tight.  Somehow, just as with PollyÕs bottom, though I couldnÕt see with my eyes yet I could sense all just by hearing.  She was tight as a kitten, too young to fuck, Rose was split wide and enduring, LouisÕ buttcheeks contracted to tight little buns as he now spewed his sperm into her backside.  I was tight and loose at the same time, naturally tight but trained to give way to the penis.  Andre shouted and I knew his beautiful white buns were squeezing themselves together, just as LouisÕ were, for suddenly I felt a wet gushing come shooting up my fanny.
	Within a few minutes all was done.  Our teasing had climaxed.  We shuddered down from the heights of bliss to a sweat-sheened aftermath.  I reached for Polly and kissed her mouth, lifting it from her hands, as her boyfriend withdrew himself from me.
	ÒIt was good, Polly, it was really good, you should try it sometime,Ó I said to her maliciously.  She whimpered and tried to resist my kisses, but was too awed by her circumstances to do so.  She kept her bottom poised, naughtily, I thought, as if to beg for what sheÕd just refused.  Did she want it or not?  I could not tell.  I donÕt think she knew.  Rose stood and brushed back her long hair, turned and kissed Louis.  Andre kissed my back, then my bottom, as I engaged Polly in a deep, feminine kiss, a kiss between sisters, though we were just friends.
	ÒLet us have some refreshments,Ó Rose said, parting at last from Louis.  ÒI can stay a little longer before I have to go meet some more guests.  SaturdayÕs a busy night, you know.  But itÕs been wonderful meeting you, Louis.  You fuck like a monster.  Somehow IÕll have to talk my next guest out of taking me up my ass.Ó
	ÒItÕs your ass, not mine,Ó Louis replied callously.  I trembled.  It was that carefree calousness that attracted me to him, yet it left me sure IÕd find myself by the roadside someday, abandoned, pregnant with his child, while he went off to sow his seed elsewhere, a Johnny Appleseed of love.
	Rose led us back into the private parlor.  I drew up Polly from her posture of submission and she walked with me, holding my hand tightly, knowing she would probably have to pay for her disobedience on the bed.  Rose sat back down in her chair, queenlike, and the men returned to their own comforter-clad seats.  Rose rang for the maid and had her bring out two more comforters, one for her newly fucked ass and one for me.  Polly was made to sit down with her bottom right on the rug.  I got to sit beside her, on the rug, but with a comforter under me since IÕd given up my anal privacy to Andre.
	Punch was brought, liquor-laced, to ease us and make us feel comfortable.  Mine tasted good.  Polly liked hers.  Rose smiled, sipped her punch.  The men expressed a need to pee again and Rose told them to finish their punch, then pee in their empty glasses.
	ÒNow Polly, you will have to relax those bottomcheeks and get over your inhibitions,Ó Rose told the girl.  Polly looked up at Rose, her eyes wide above the rim of her glass of punch, sipping it down slowly, watching as the floating orange peel in her cup drifted beneath her snub little nose.  ÒYou see, when youÕve been caned, then youÕll be thinking so much about how your bottom hurts that you wonÕt be able to resist a man up your hole.  ItÕs quite necessary, really.  Men deserve to be able to fuck your bottom and you may as well let me get you going here, at the castle.  I realize Louis might have been a little rough with you, but donÕt let that scare you.  He was desperate, thatÕs all.  I took care of him, as it turned out.Ó  Rose shifted uncomfortably on her comforter.  She touched her bottom with her fingers.  ÒReally, Louis, that was awfully hard.  IÕm lucky IÕm not bleeding.Ó
	ÒYouÕre lucky youÕre not dead!Ó Louis chortled.
	ÒYou scare me sometimes, Louis,Ó Rose answered.  The maid set down a potty next to Polly for us to share.  She got on it, perhaps hoping to escape the whipping Rose was proposing to her.
	ÒMy cup is full,Ó Andre announced, looking down at his empty punch glass.  It held his pee now, right to the brim.  
	ÒEmpty it for him, Matilda,Ó Rose told the maid.  She took his glass, brought another.  I wondered at her silence.  She was so big and fat and old, so gnarly.  Again I felt embarrassment at being nude in front of her, but there seemed to be nothing I could do about it.  As Polly peed into the potty I looked around for something to wrap myself in, saw nothing.
	Rose let a silence obtain.  Her voice quieted, PollyÕs pee filling the potty was the only sound.  Then Rose cleared her throat.  She dipped her finger into her drink, drew it out, watched it drip a moment back into the punch, then licked it clean.  ÒMen, I have another engagement,Ó she said with a certain meekness.  Yet there was a definiteness to her tone which seemed unbreachable.  The men said nothing.  Their cocks had been serviced, their faces seemed satisfied.  It had been such an agony for them, waiting to spend, that I think they might have shot more than theyÕd hoped in coming, perhaps exhausting themselves.  Still, their penises both seemed to flinch and rise a little at her words, especially LouisÕs.  What was he up to?
	ÒGirls, say goodbye to your men.  YouÕll be staying with me awhile,Ó Rose told me and Polly.  Poor Polly, holding her drink delicately aloft as she peed, almost spilled it on herself.
	ÒBut- but,Ó Polly blurted.  And I knew what her objection was.  In addition to losing her boyfriend, she had yet to cum.  Her coyness had proven too coy.  I saw her pat her tummy suddenly, then slide her hand lower.  Rose gave her a warning look.  She had kept her long, swishy cane with her and she sat with it across her knees.  It kept the men in line as well as me and Polly.  Despite her sumptuous breasts, Rose was delicate as a flower petal.  She needed the cane, I knew.  It was her only protection.  Night after night she must play this dangerous game, teasing powerful men, yet always, somehow, maintaining control, often with just her well-weilded cane coming between herself and them.  How had she fared when she was still inexpert with it?  I guessed sheÕd had to learn fast, to keep herself from being raped and killed by men in the throes of passion.
	Louis stood.  His frame rippled with his powerful muscles, seemingly chiseled from stone, now all in subtle movement as he walked first to Polly and, bending low, lifted her hand.  He kissed it.  She watched him with big eyes, preschooler eyes, as she sat on the Potty, the last wisps of her pee sprinkling into the toilet.
	ÒGoodnight, little cunt,Ó Louis said sardonically to Polly.  Then he came to me.  He thrust his rising cock at my lips, arching his hips into my face.  At the same time he reached down and patted my head, fondled my hair.  ÒBe good,Ó he told me.  Reluctantly, not liking the blatantness of it, I kissed his penis for him.  He made me kiss him right on his pee hole.  There was no way to avoid it.  Polly giggled.
	Andre presented his loins to Polly and, at a cross word from Rose, she was forced to kiss her boyfriendÕs pee hole just as I had been.  Then both men left us.  They exited through the little girlÕs bedroom.  The maid followed them, to gather their clothes for them and help them dress.
	ÒOh, please donÕt go,Ó Polly commanded in a whining voice from the throne of her potty.  Rose remained seated in her chair, waiting for the men to pass out.  The maid closed the door to the little girlÕs room a moment later, and I heard her lock the door.
	The young maid entered the room.  Curiously, she was naked, her hair tousled, her cunny wet and showing signs of having been fucked.  The night was growing late.  All who might were partaking now, I guessed, maids and guests alike.  The maid trembled with repressed lust.  Had she been interrupted in mid-fuck?  Rose looked up at her, surprised.  I guessed she did not know the maid, perhaps with the connivance of the old one, had been getting bonked downstairs.
	The girl bent close to her mistress and whispered in her ear.  ÒOh my,Ó Rose replied.  Suddenly she seemed to forget entirely that our maid was nude and wet.  Something more pressing had been brought to her attention.  ÒOh, well,Ó Rose looked at us.  ÒItÕs hardly what IÕd hoped for, but these two are the only two available,Ó she mused aloud to herself.  Polly stood up from the potty.  Her luck seemed to be turning worse every moment she sat there.  ÒGirls,Ó Rose said abruptly.  ÒCome downstairs with me.Ó  Rose stood up, a mood crossing her countencance that dictated complete obedience.
	ÒOh, but what for?Ó Polly asked.  She made to sit down on her potty again.  I could smell her pee in the bowl.  I wished she would not add more to it.
	ÒDo not ask why,Ó Rose replied.  ÒBut to keep from splitting my cane across your backside, IÕll tell you that youÕve won a little reprieve.  WeÕre going out, girls.  And here I was just getting you all ready, Polly, for a nice whipping.  Well, you hardly drank any of your punch, anyway.  Good.  YouÕll need to be alert.  Flurry, no more punch for you.  Give me your glass.Ó  
	Reluctantly I got up from my comforter, straining to rise and unbend myself.  IÕd been happy, sitting on the floor, sipping my liquored punch, letting my well-reamed ass close in on itself again.  Andre had been big, and my bottom wished simply to sit and recover.  But I was forced to turn over my half-empty glass to Rose, who handed it to the maid.  The young female looked at it a moment, then gulped it down.
	ÒNever mind,Ó Rose said to her, and stepped past the girl.  Then she turned, gazed at her again, and handed her the cane she carried.  ÒTake this and whip yourself with it,Ó she said.  ÒYou deserve it, for dereliction of duties, but I havenÕt the time to whip you for getting laid on the job.  Make sure you have some nice stripes on your ass when I come back or IÕll do it myself.Ó  Rose then beckoned Polly and I.  Seeing a chance to depart from the presence of the cane, Polly and I quickly followed.  As we went down the steps I turned once, saw the maid trying to whack her own hiney with the cane.  She looked silly, trying to stick her ass out, only to draw it in when she banged the cane down upon herself.  I turned and went downstairs.  A little howl trailed down the stairs after me.  I guessed sheÕd finally managed to mark herself, regretted it.  Would she continue?  I did not know.
	I found myself in a large storeroom at the base of the stairs.  A flour sack had split open and lay with its contents upon the floor.  Nearby a naked man stood.  He looked like a gardener.  He held a cap with a feather in it over his genitals.  There was a little flour on him.  Rose laughed, seeing this male specimen standing buck naked amidst the soup cans and preserved fruit and dried meat, the rows of boxed foodstuffs and the sacks of potatoes.  
	ÒIs the maid preparing you for dinner?Ó Rose asked.  The man replied in Spanish.  I could not understand him.  I guessed he was the paramour of the girl upstairs who was now inexpertly trying to flog herself.  Rose passed on, we followed.  Polly turned to peek at the manÕs butt as we passed.
	ÒHe has cute buns,Ó she confided to me.  She sounded like sheÕd not said such a compliment before, as if she were trying it out for the first time.
	ÒDonÕt try to be naughty, Polly,Ó I said to her.  ÒYouÕre naughty enough as it is, just being yourself.Ó
	ÒNo IÕm not,Ó she pouted.  ÒI just wanted to see, thatÕs all.Ó
	ÒYou just want someone to stick his big thing up you,Ó I teased.
	ÒNo I donÕt!Ó she insisted.  We might have continued this banter, but Rose guided us outside into the darkness and chilliness.  The midnight sky opened up overhead.  Except for a light on what I guessed was gardenerÕs shed, we stood in moonlight and starlight only.  I looked up, Polly did too.  Our earthly thoughts were forgotten.
	ÒOoooh, I see the big dipper!Ó Polly said, pointing.
	ÒThatÕs the Southern Cross,Ó I replied.  Or was it Orion?  There were so many stars.
	ÒBend over, you two, IÕve got to wash your bottoms,Ó Rose announced from behind us.  How did she get back there?  I heard a splashing sound.  I turned and saw sheÕd got hold of a hose.  There was a gurgling as the hose filled itself to full force.  Rose lifted the hose.  Polly and I stood wonderingly a moment.  Then, grabbing her hand, I bent low and took her with me.  I fixed my gaze on the shed with the light on it down in the mellowing fields.  Summer was upon them, the cool night sky of summer consoling them after a long dayÕs heat.
	ÒEEEEEeeeek!Ó came wailing into my ears, and I thought it was Polly for a moment, then realized it was the girl upstairs.  I heard a gruff voice.  Was it the man weÕd seen in the storeroom?  There was a sound like the wind, though far off, as if blowing from the upstairs window, and the girl screamed again.  I heard a distinctive crack of palmstem, singing as it met with fulsome bottomflesh.  How could there be a window upstairs, I wondered?  IÕd seen none.  Perhaps it had been covered over, to allow us privacy.  Obviously the young maidÕs suitor now wished to let in the night air.  If her cries at being punished entertained his fellows out in the shed or the huts of the field hands, so be it.  They would no doubt congratulate him for his exertions, I guessed.
	ÒYeeeek!Ó Polly shouted next to me, right in my ear.  My cry joined hers as I felt the ice-cold hose water whoosh upon my bottom.
	ÒHold still, girls, we havenÕt time for a bath,Ó Rose admonished us both as we leapt up.  I looked back at her a moment, then decided I wished to have AndreÕs seed washed out of me however I might.  It felt like the Antarctic was going up my bottom, but no matter.  I took Polly round her waist and made sure she suffered with me.  After all, it was her boyfriendÕs spunk that had been pumped into me.  We both bent over again, and Rose applied the hose to our backsides.  Polly hooted in dismay, even as the girl upstairs yelled anew at the ass-searing cane.  She was too hot on her derriere, we were too cold.  There seemed to be no happy medium here.  Our cries mingled, each of us wishing we could trade places.
	Rose gave me the hose a moment later and bent over.  She directed me to clean off her bottom, just as sheÕd done to me.  I took the hose and, with a gleam of revenge in my eyes, happily made her scream as I doused her with the water.  It was the temperature of an ice berg.  Polly stood shivering nearby, watching, holding herself.  The screams of the girl upstairs subsided into sobs.  Soon I heard her moaning, and a cry of Òdeeper!Ó wafted down, mingled with the urgent grunts of her boyfriend.  She would need the hose next, I surmised.
	ÒCome, we must dress.  There is really no time!Ó Rose said.  She stood erect again and took my hand, casting aside the hose.  She did not bother to turn it off.  We hurried back inside.  I felt grateful for the warmth of the storeroom as we passed back into it.  We did not go back upstairs.  Instead Rose led us into a laundry room.  There I saw clothes neatly folded in piles, as well as more waiting to be washed.  I imagined the old maid worked down here, laundering clothes, seeing and smelling everyoneÕs residue after theyÕd fucked.  The discarded panties, the torn bras, the sheets with their distinctive, tell-tale wet spot.
	ÒAh, the satin sheets.  These were on the bed where Lord Astor entertained his new lady friend last night.  What was her name?  Miss Elginvale, yes.  Runs the local childrenÕs charity in town.  Always on T.V.  I like her jewels,Ó the washerwoman would murmur to herself.  She would know all the gossip, intimately, just by sniffing the sheets.
	Rose rummaged through the pile of clean laundry.  She found two pair of cutoff shorts and handed them to us.  We took them, still dripping wet.  ÒOh yes, a towel!Ó she declared.  She got towels for each of us, finding them in the stack of clean laundry, then pulled t-shirts out for us too, and scarfs to tie around our necks, that we might not be too plain.
	ÒOh, I have to get these stockings off!Ó Rose said of herself.  She yanked down her hose.  ÒTake off your heels if you like, and IÕll give you tennies,Ó she added.
	A few minutes later we emerged from the laundry room.  We were ready to go out on the town.  At short notice, I thought we looked pretty good.  ThereÕd been no time for bras or panties.  I wore a simple pair of cutoff shorts, cut too high in the back, I thought, where my bottomcheeks hung out a little.  They were frayed and there was no belt for them, but they did the job of covering my most important parts, except for the little hole over my bottomcheek, the right one, giving a sneak preview to people that I wished they might not have.
	For my top, I wore a tee-shirt with short, rolled sleeves turned up to my slim shoulders, with the midriff knotted off to show my tummy.  A scarf was knotted round my neck, making me look like a cowgirl.  I wore old but clean tennis shoes.  Rose gave me a cowboy hat to make me feel special.
	Polly wore cutoffs like mine.  Her bottomcheeks peeked out the bottom of her shorts, jiggling as she walked ahead of me.  Her shorts were already wedged in her ass.  She wore no panties.  She seemed not to mind.  I think she liked the feeling of her shorts pressing tightly to her.  SheÕd not been fucked.  Perhaps she hoped the shorts would allay her desire a little.  SheÕd not been as fortunate as I in the matter of a shirt.  Hers was simply cut off at the midriff-point.  There was too little of it to tie.  And her shirt was sleeveless.  You could look within the big armholes cut in the side of it and see her breasts looming within, the pert undercurves of her breasts.  Distinctly her nipples stood out from her shirt, lifting it.  The material was thin and if it had not been dyed yellow I think I might have seen right through it.  There was a faded beer can imprinted on the front of her shirt.  The bottom of the can was missing, as was the portion of the shirt on which it had once been imprinted.
	Polly tugged worryingly at the hem of her shirt.  ÒI need something better than this if IÕm to go dancing,Ó she proclaimed.  Rose swatted her jean-clad bottom.
	ÒYou have a cute bellybutton, and nice tits,Ó Rose answered.  ÒDonÕt be so shy, dear.  ItÕs after midnight.  There will only be other girls like there, like you, a little older perhaps, and guys.Ó
	ÒThatÕs what I mean!Ó Polly protested.  ÒCanÕt I have your shirt?Ó
	ÒNo, dear, youÕre the youngest.  YouÕre the only one who can fit into that shirt.  My boobs are much bigger than yours, and FlurryÕs are bigger, too,Ó Rose answered her.  ÒNow be good and donÕt complain.  I did the best I could for you.Ó
	ÒOh, when will I have boobies as big as FlurriesÕ?Ó Polly whined.  Her face pouted.
	ÒYours arenÕt that much smaller,Ó I assured her.
	ÒThen let me have YOUR shirt!Ó Polly begged.
	ÒJust donÕt bend too far over,Ó I laughed.  Sulkily she ceased her complaining, knowing she was stuck with what she had.  Rose took us through the house and out the front.  A limo waited.  We slipped within and Rose told the driver to take us into town.
	I looked over at Rose as we settled into the carÕs back seat.  Despite her hastily-chosen attire, she looked like a million dollars, as usual.  Her hair had been quickly repinned atop her head.  SheÕd touched up her makeup, using a kit in the laundry room and staring with brief but effective intensity into a cracked mirror next to the dryer.  A peasant blouse bared her tanned shoulders and absorbed the fullness of her breasts.  She wore no bra beneath it.  Her nipples tweaked the light material and lifted it in tiny twin peaks.  The blouse hugged her ribs, leaving her belly bare, showing how smooth and soft it was, how invitingly it offered itself to men who dreamed of being fathers.
	Riding low on her hips Rose wore a leather miniskirt.  She had no undies underneath.  It was all that separated her from the hands of would-be lovers.  She had it tucked beneath her now, it barely cleared her bottom.  Her long thighs shone whitely in the moonlight that bathed the limoÕs cabin.  Rose had her window down to let in the night air.  Inside, a heater hummed to keep us warm.  Pee wee boots with rowelled spurs fitted themselves to RoseÕs feet.  Like us, she wore a scarf, though only Polly and I had cowboy hats.  In compensation, perhaps, Rose wore leather gloves with beaded Indian designs upon her hands.
	Rose lowered a mirror, flicked on a light, and checked her makeup again.  She had a purse with her, unlike Polly and I, and she opened it and drew out a tube of lipstick.  She did her own, then passed it to Polly.  Sitting between us, Polly had discovered a small hairdrier tucked into the limo and had put it to use on her hair.  I kept my hat on.  I hoped sheÕd finish soon.  I did not want to ride around with wet hair, though I was farthest from RoseÕs open window.  Rose herself had dried her hair with a blowdrier in the laundry room, but ushered us out to the car before Polly and I could make use of it.
	Rose passed a hairbrush to Polly.  ÒComb out your hair, we must look our very best,Ó she told the girl.  ÒThen let Flurry do her hair too.Ó
	ÒOkay,Ó Polly replied.  She was happy now.  Absorbed in herself, she brushed her long locks.  Rose passed me her makeup kit and told me there was a mirror pinned to the ceiling above my head.  I drew it down.  It hung by a hinge from the interior roof.  I flicked on its light.  
	ÒNot too much,Ó Rose warned me.  ÒI donÕt want you to look older than you are.  That would spoil the fun.Ó  I looked at her, saw her smiling, but decided to heed her advice.  Young girls with too much makeup on didnÕt look mature, they just looked silly.  I pushed back my cowboy hat.  Carefully I traced my lips with the lipstick.  Rose passed me eyeshadow and I brushed out my lashes.  I applied some rogue to my cheeks.  Then Rose managed to part Polly from her blowdrier and I took off my hat and did my hair.

	I heard Country music wafting across the night air.  We pulled up in front of a ramshackle place with the name of RawliesÕ Rodeo.  Looking out, I saw was a saloon, built outside of town to evade the finer points of the law.  Bright neon flashed into my eyes.  The limo ground to a stop in a parkinglot made of gravel.  Rose had her driver open the car doors for us and Polly and I, followed by her, tumbled out.  I could hear dancing inside.
	Rose shouldered her purse and we crossed the parking lot together, holding hands.  We passed up a small flight of steps.  They creaked under my feet, as if the whole set of them might collapse because three lightweight women had chosen to trod upon them.  We were met by a huge bouncer.  He glowered down at us.  Our well-curved bodies, our skimpy clothes, impressed him not in the least.  ÔGay,Õ I thought to myself, and realized a boy in swim trunks would have been his preferred date for the night.
	Rose, her confidence undiminished, smiled at him.  ÒHi Bubba, weÕre here for the show,Ó she said quietly.
	ÒOh!Ó  The bouncerÕs eyes bulged from his fat face.  His stomach trembled.  ÒYou must be--Ó
	ÒYes,Ó Rose answered, keeping her voice low.
	ÒCome right in,Ó the bouncer said quickly.  He turned as a dog might, eager to please a master, his huge butt rolling with hasty gracelessness.  I saw his jeans were too low on his hips to cover him properly.  The top of his buttcrack showed.  Polly turned up her nose in disgust, seeing it.  I did too.
	We were ushered inside.  A cacaphony of celebrating people, dancing and drinking and swearing, greeted my ears.  The place was packed.  We could barely fit in amongst them.  Smoke from cigarettes and cigars laced the air.  Loud music, accompanied by flashing colored lights, competed with the steady white light flowing out from behind the counters where drinks were served.  I saw a sign announcing beer for $5.00 a glass.  The band seemed terrible, I could not see them but I could hear a rasping hillbilly voice somewhere in the distance, obviously live.  No one would record crap like that.  It sounded even worse than Ministry.  Yoko Ono would have taken this place by storm.  
	ÒBooss,Ó the fat man bellowed.  ÒThe strippers are here!Ó  At first his words did not register.  Then I felt people turning, pulling back from me, seeing me with new eyes.  A round of applause erupted.  Rose strove to maintain her composure.  She pushed myself and Polly forward, following quickly behind us.  
	ÒYou are a big fat dolt,Ó Rose told the bouncer as she passed him.  He stared after her, then shruged.
	ÒThatÕs why IÕm gay,Ó he said aloud, to himself.  He turned and went back to his post outside, away from the women with their overheated perfume, the men with their full-grown desires.  He had no interest in such things.  His loves were home asleep, tucked in at eight oÕclock.  
	With a sinking feeling I realized I must be the entertainment for the evening.  For the moment, though, I just wanted to get out of the crowd.  There were too many of them.  I felt oppressed.  As the applause continued, Rose herself ushered us back, back, deeper into the crowd and then finally through it, passing us through a door, which quickly opened for us and then closed behind us.
	Holding PollyÕs hand, I looked around at our new surroundings.  Rose passed out from behind us and confronted a large, handsome man in a suit.  We stood in a room backstage.  Somewhere to my left I could hear the band playing.  I realized we were in the room performers used to prepare for their acts out on the barÕs stage.
	The man smiled at myself, Polly.  He wore a vanilla white suit, as if he were about to deliver a Sunday sermon.  He was young, with a wry grin that made me feel like I might be disrobed by it alone.  
	ÒYour doorman is an idiot,Ó Rose said to the new male in our life.  He smiled at her.  He had teeth that sparkled like I knew the devilÕs would if I ever met him.
	ÒHe keeps the trash out,Ó the vanilla-suited man replied to Rose.  ÒAnd lets the good stuff in.Ó  His eyes openly admired RoseÕs bust.
	ÒDavid, to change your plans like this, at the last minute.  ItÕs just not fair,Ó Rose answered.  ÒDonÕt expect me to do this again for you.  Just this once, okay?Ó
	ÒOkay,Ó David replied, but with a voice so casual I knew none of us could put any faith in it.
	Rose turned and faced Polly and I.  ÒGirls, weÕre going to continue your training here,Ó she said.  ÒBoth of you, please get undressed.  WeÕre going to give a little show for DavidÕs customers.Ó
	ÒWaht?Ó Polly asked, her high-pitched voice cracking, urgent.  She lifted a hand to her shirt.  It was so brief, its hem ragged, her titties sticking up within it.  Was she now to lose it?  I liked this no more than she.  My jeans hardly did their job, but at least they did something.  I didnÕt want to take them off in this strange place, even if the vanilla-suited man looked like a pastor who could keep whole flocks of choir girls happy.
	ÒI have to undress too, so donÕt complain,Ó Rose replied.  At once she pulled up her peasant blouse.  It fitted her tightly.  As it crossed over her breasts it set them to lewdly wiggling.  I put a hand to my mouth.  We were just to strip naked, without even anything to wear?  David approached Polly.  She squealed.  He put his hand to the zipper of her cutoffs and zipped it right down, exposing her bush.  He yanked them down her thighs and a moment later she was bare from the midriff down, wearing just her tennies and shirt, with her scarf decorating her neck.  Polly put a hand up to her cowboy hat, to assure herself that it remained.  There was a method to her madness for, with that on, the man might not remove her shirt.  
	David slapped PollyÕs bottom.  Her hands flew behind her to protect herself.  Then he lifted off her hat, having neatly tricked her right out of it.  I stood watching, fumbling with the buttons on my very short LeviÕs 501Õs.  I guessed there was no way to avoid our fate.  Polly shrieked as David lifted off her shirt.  Her titties jiggled from her struggles, alluringly.  She bobbed and weaved her naked hips.  Her asscheeks quivered.
	I dropped my shorts.  Rose took off her skirt.  Then she came to me and pulled up my shirt for me, baring my breasts.  Polly cried anew as David undid her scarf.  Then he sat her down on a chair, pushing her into it, and lifted each of her legs in turn and took off her tennis shoes.  She looked like a little girl, each of her legs awkwardly lifted in turn, her slit showing, her eyes big with fright and apprehension.  Rose finished stripping me, sitting me down finally in a chair of my own and pulling off my tennies and socks.
	We were given platform pumps, with long lace ties that had to be bound to our calves to keep our new heels on.  Rose did mine.  David did PollyÕs.  Then we were made to stand and we were each given a baby doll nightie.
	ÒIt doesnÕt cover my bottom!Ó Polly declared, when hers had been slipped on.  Mine didnÕt either.  It wafted down over most of my bush, leaving a little showing, then arched round my legs and up high in back, letting nearly all of my ass be seen.
	ÒImagine youÕre on your honeymoon,Ó David told Polly.  I glanced toward the stage, where the band had ceased playing.  I doubted she and I were going to find ourselves in a bedroom.  More likely, we were going to find ourselves out there, on stage.  I felt the strap of my nightie slip down off my shoulder.  I lifted it back up, realized it would be a chore keeping both my straps up at once.  They were too flimsy, too close to the ends of my narrow shoulders.  Whatever deficiency my nightie had down below, it made up for it by being too widely spaced where my straps hung from my shoulders.  Was this nightie made for a bigger woman?  How could it be?  I guessed whoever designed it had in fact a girl of 14 in mind, and wicked plans for her.  
	Polly was no better off.  We each sported a decorative bow in the front of our nighties, where the decollette front dipped too low, showing off almost all of our bosom.  Our nipples, barely covered, pointed like bell pushes into the fabric.  It was filmy, silky soft, a girlÕs perfect companion for bed but hardly a garment to be worn under a spotlight out on a stage in a bar!
	ÒNo panties,Ó Rose was saying to Polly as I regathered my thoughts.  A woman stood behind me, gathering up my hair so it would not block the view of my body.  Lady Godiva was better dressed than I, riding her horse, with her hair long and free.  David, mesmerized by PollyÕs youth, tied her hair into pigtails, pinned in a few barretts to make her look younger still.
	I turned and looked at Rose.  She was buckling a dogÕs collar round her own throat, as if she were to be DavidÕs own special pet.  The woman finished with my hair and helped Rose with her collar.  She had trouble buckling it, wearing her cowboy gloves.  David gave Polly lace mittens.
	ÒHere, put these on, youÕll need them,Ó he grinned.  Polly, resigned to the inevitable now, slipped on little mittens that covered her palms but were otherwise fingerless.  They had little bows that needed to be tied around her wrists.  David tied them for her.  Then he gave me a similar pair and, with his help, I put them on.
	ÒOh, couldnÕt we please have panties?Ó Polly begged.  
	ÒNo,Ó Rose answered.  She was in no mood to waste time arguing.  The woman touched up my makeup, PollyÕs.  Rose donned a cowboy hat.  It had a chin strap and she neatly tucked the slim strap under her face, turned and looked in a mirror and adjusted her hat.  Then she stepped into a very small skirt and pulled it up her legs.  She wore no panties underneath.  She zipped it up as David watched her.  The zipper was in back.  She zipped it carefully up her bottom so as not to pinch her flesh.  The skirt had steep slits up each side.  When she walked I saw the skirt was little more than a pair of flaps, one in front, one behind, joined at the waist.  It was made of shiny brown suede, matching her boots and gloves.  She did not attempt to cover her breasts.  They bounced freely on her chest.  Her nipples were stiff.
	Rose, still wearing her neckerchief, looked in the mirror once more and tugged it so it would hang just right, teasingly, way to short too cover her boobies and yet tricking one into thinking, somehow, it might have been a blouse, if only it hadnÕt, well, been a neckerchief instead.  Tightly her dog collar bound her neck.  It showed only that someone possessed her.  There was no hope it might provide her with modesty.  Rose turned to us.  ÒLetÕs go, girls,Ó Rose commanded.  She urged us up a small flight of steps, like someone in the park urging reluctant doves ahead of her.  Doves domesticated by the parkÕs visitors, fed until they were plump.  Polly and I walked with wiggly bottoms, our cheeks round, apprehensive.  She shooed us ahead of her, we could not refuse.  Leaflike, blown by the gust of her determination, we emerged from the dressing room, and suddenly found ourselves on stage.  
	Polly and I blushed fiercely as the crowd beyond the spotlights erupted into howls and cheers of applause.  She and I were festooned in our nothing nighties, with nothing else to hide us from their stares.  I gazed out across the stage.  There was a pole, made of plastic.  It was fairly wide, about a foot wide perhaps, or nearly so.  It lay lengthwise along the stage.  It was elevated to the height of our thighs.  Its top half was slathered with whipped cream.  
	Dazed by the lights, Polly and I proceeded out onto the stage.  We held hands tightly, scared stiff.  Our nipples were no less frightened, poking into our nighties, showing themselves for all the world to see beneath the harsh stage lights.  Our hips waggled with our fear, making our bottoms sway back and forth like womenÕs bottoms, fresh from love.  WeÕd each been given a teddy bear and we clutched it for dear life, praying we might somehow be delivered by the bears, or saved by them.  
	Polly and I approached the cream-lathered pole.  Rose managed to get our hands apart and drew Polly from me.  I stood stock still, watching, as Rose led her to the other side of the stage.  The two of them had to cross over a mud pit in the center of the stage.  The pit was lower than the rest of the stage, and two boards had been laid over it to allow Rose and Polly to cross.  As soon as theyÕd done so, a man appeared and took away the boards.  He wore workmenÕs clothes.  He was fat, though not as big as the doorman.  I wondered if he too were gay.  Probably not.  As he passed, I saw a bulge in his trousers.  He escaped from the stage via the steps weÕd come up.  I knew I must not follow.
	ÒBut IÕll get cream all over my pussy!Ó I heard Polly declare from across the stage.  Rose had made her straddle the pole and she stared down at it apprehensively.
	ÒSit!Ó Rose urged and, so that she might not disobey, Rose placed a firm hand on the girlÕs shoulder and shoved her down.  Polly cried out and felt her bush and her cunny come straight down on the pole.  
	SPLAT!  I heard her as she sat.  I realized I must do the same.  Rose looked over at me, her eyes firm, uncompromising.  I approached the pole.  I stepped across it with one leg, then gazed down at it.
	ÒPut your teddy bear in your mouth, then,Ó I heard Rose say.  I looked up.  Polly had just stuck the leg of her upturned teddy bear between her teeth, so that she could grab hold of the slippery pole with both her mittened hands.  Poor teddy.  He wore a little shirt, leaving his belly and bottom bare.  As Polly held him aloft, his leg in her mouth, his bare wolly bottom knocked against her chin.
	I put the ear of my bear in my mouth.  I didnÕt want to lose him.  He was my security blanket.  He would save me, somehow, from this creamy pole and the ominous mudpit.  My bear dangled by his ear, still grinning stupidly at the audience.  His legs were stuck open as wide as mine were.  I had no choice.  I must sit on the pole, or worse things than this would happen to me.
	Daintily I reached down with my hands, my mittens protecting my palms, at least.  My breasts swung within my nightie as I bent forward.  I placed my hands on the pole.  The cream was cold.  Then, delicately as I could, I seated myself on it.
	Squish.  I felt the cream enter my cunny as my cuntlips splurged open upon the pole.  Even in my virginal tightness I could not keep the cream out of my genitals.  I felt the gookiness enter my buttcrack and smear the lowest portions of my bottom with its essence.
	Polly protested over the leg of her bear but, with its foot in her mouth, I couldnÕt understand her.  The front of her nightie had a smigden of cream where it touched the pole.  In back, I knew her bottom was spoilt like mine, the cream adhering to her darling cheeks where they made contact with the pole.  Her nightie, useless, rose up to reveal her heinie, leaving her squirming cheeks with nothing to protect them from the audienceÕs admiring eyes.
	ÒPull yourself to the center,Ó Rose told Polly.  Simulataneously she pushed the girl forward, making her drag herself along the pole.  
	ÒOh, IÕm getting more cream in my pussy!Ó Polly shrieked.  But with Rose watching, she had to obey.  She did not want to feel the cane again.  She knew, as I did, that there must be a cane someplace nearby, or, failing that, the male customers would gladly take off their belts.  
	I felt wet cream pass beneath myself as I drew myself with my hands along the poleÕs length.  I turned and looked over my shoulder.  Behind me the pole was now clean, wiped off by my own ass and thighs!  Polly wished to cry, but couldnÕt find it in herself to be quite that upset.  The cream was soothing, it surely teased her and wettened her just as it was doing to me.  She had not gotten hers yet, perhaps this sperm-colored cream would be an acceptable substitute.  I saw her suppress a smile as she drew herself toward me.  Yes, she felt it too.  She flushed, realizing the audience could see her pleasure just as well as I could.  Rose pretended to ignore the effect of the cream and the sliding pole upon us.  She liked maintaining a facade of decorum, no matter what might be happening.  Inside she might be plotting like a slut, but her outward demeanor remained that of a lady entertaining guests at Buckingham Palace.  
	In a few moments Polly and I faced each other across the mud pit.  Her face glowed softly.  Shyly she looked away from me.  I wanted to take my teddy from my mouth but my hands were all covered with cream.  My mittens had been little help.  Their sheer fabric covered my palms, but I had cream all over my bare fingers.
	Carefully, her boots protecting her, Rose stepped down from the stage into the mud pit.  It was not very deep, just a few inches.  She had to balance herself within it carefully, though, for the mud had been poured over pillows.  She made Polly and I scoot ourselves out over the pit.  With our platform heels, we each had to step into the pit, while still sitting on the pole.  The pit was just a little lower than the rest of the stage.  The mud did not quite touch my toes.  I hoped it never would.
	Rose was very attentive of our safety.  ÒKeep your toes pointed inward,Ó she told us.  ÒIf you fall, I donÕt want you to break either of your ankles.Ó  I turned in my toes, like she ordered.  It was harder to keep perched atop the pole this way, but I knew if I was unfortunate, God forbid, to fall into the mud in front of everybody, I at least would plop down as my heels rose up beneath me.  I did not want them to get caught in the well-cushioned pillows.  Fortunately, the pillows in the pit were covered with slick pillowcases.  Our feet should slip right out from under us if we truly lost our grip on the pole.  Rose, though, had to be extra careful, standing on such a slippery, cushiony surface, lest she be the first to embarrass herself in front of the crowd.  Fortunately, her heavy cowboy boots helped her keep her balance.  I knew now why her spurs were blunt.  They would have pierced the pillows.  Looking down at them, I realized they were filled with air.  I hoped my spiked heels didnÕt poke through them.    
	The man in the work clothes returned.  Before I realized it, heÕd taken my teddy bear from my mouth.  He took PollyÕs also.  She did not want to lose hers, gave a little squeal of displeasure as the man pulled it away.  In return, he presented her with a big pillow.  He handed me one also.  We received the pillows with cream-laden hands.  I did my best not to get any of the white goo on the rest of me.  
	ÒIck!Ó Polly said, trying to fling the cream off her hands before the man made her take a pillow.
	ÒDonÕt, Polly,Ó Rose cautioned.  She didnÕt want any cream flung on her, or on me.
	ÒMmm, itÕs nice and soft,Ó Polly said happily, squeezing her pillow.  Taking mine, hefting it, I realized it was a pillowcase stuffed full of light, downy feathers.  Polly plumped her pillow and a sleepy look crossed her face.  What were we supposed to do, go to sleep right here on the pole, over the mud pit?
	The workman handed Rose a whistle.  She snapped its chain around her neck.  It hung sweetly between her breasts.  She smiled at us, standing over us, our referee, I suddenly realized.
	ÒGirls, you are going to have a pillow fight,Ó Rose announced to us, letting the audience hear too.  ÒI hope, Polly, that for your sake youÕre not a pacifist, or youÕll be taking a little mudbath.Ó  Rose smiled.  
	ÒOh, I want to go home!Ó Polly cried, but I saw her eyes told a different story.  She realized sheÕd like nothing better than to knock me straight into the mud at our feet.
	ÒFight hard, girls, but no biting or scratching or pulling,Ó Rose cautioned us.  ÒJust use your pillows, please.  If either of you cheats, IÕll make sure you pay for it, right here, in front of the audience.Ó  She grinned and I knew, I think everyone knew, what she meant.  Our bottoms would wish for cool cream to soothe them when she was done correcting any fouls.
	Rose lifted her whistle from its resting place between her boobs.  She put it to her lips.  She drew in air, her breasts lofting upwards as her lungs filled.  ÒReady, girls?Ó she asked.  And then she blew her whistle as loud as she could.
	WHACK!  Before IÕd even taken my eyes off Rose, Polly was already giving me her best shot.  It was, in fact, a feeble first effort, her hands weilding the pillow with much less skill than sheÕd soon have after a few more swings.  The pillows were awkward.  Big and bulky, with a weight that shifted around because the feathers were loose inside and lightly packed.  I found my first try almost sent my pillow flying from my hands.  IÕd held it too easily.  I gripped it tighter.  I caught my breath.  IÕd almost disarmed myself on my first attempt!  I tried again.  The pillow swung past Polly, who ducked.  This time I almost lurched from my pole, with the weight of the pillow swinging round at arms length, taking in nothing but air, pulling with me as a shot put thrower is sometimes pulled by his metal ball.
	Just as I recovered my balance, Polly retaliated with a blow much more certain than her first.  It caught me right in the head, making me dizzy.  I slung my pillow at her again, aiming for her boobs.  
	OOF!  Polly bounced backward as I slammed my pillow right into her bosom.  Her young teats protected her, yet she arched backward, nearly falling.  She steadied herself, then swung at me just as I tried to deliver a death blow.  Our pillows crashed together in mid-air.  Rose laughed, watching us.  SheÕd escaped the mud pit, stood to once side, so that if either of us fell we would not splash her with muck.
	My hair tumbled in single locks from atop my head as I strove to dismount Polly.  My coiffure, so neatly pinned up and curled, was coming undone.  PollyÕs pigtails flew about her as if she were trying to catch the cow as it leapt for the moon.  Our breasts bounced around within our nighties.  Our bottoms worked hard to keep us aloft, our cheeks churning atop the poles, oblivous now to the cream which squished ever deeper into our buttcracks and cunts.
	ÒFor a pair of well-brought-up schoolgirls, they certainly fight like stray cats,Ó I heard David said.  He had come up upon the stage, stood close to Rose now, caressing her in front of the audience.  She tried not to notice as he placed a hand beneath her skirt, standing behind her, and felt up her bottom.
	THWAP!  THUMP!  My pillow whammed into Polly, hers hit me.  I swung again.  I was a year older.  My aim was more correct, my blows harder.  She fought like a child, all wiggly and full of emotion.  I was a teen, cool despite my imbalances, my precarious hold upon the pole, gripping it with my thighs.  The cream was slippery on my inner thighs, making my hold all the more difficult.  I had to clamp my legs to the pole as if I were a prostitute milking a client.  The squishiness between my legs made my sex hungry.  Polly, striving to unseat me, nonetheless smiled a little to herself, amidst her exertions, loving the wicked pleasure of a pole thrust between her legs and slick with cream.
	ÒEEEEeeeekKK!Ó Polly announced suddenly, and I knew she was going down.  Mightily she fought to stay up, wiggling like a fish in its death throes, caught on the fishline but still hoping to evade its fate.  The mud loomed like a browning skillet to receive her.  ÒNooooooo,Ó she cried, and then there was a loud SPLOOSH! beneath me as she tumbled straight into the mud soaked pillows.  I cringed.  I hoped no mud would splatter me.  
	Polly, full of dismay, swam about in the mud, trying to stand up.  I looked down at my legs.  A little mud had hit them.  I flicked it off my with my fingers.  I was triumphant.  Except for the cream between my legs I was as neat and clean as when IÕd mounted the stage.  I gazed out at the audience and smiled at them.  I lofted my pillow over my head, like a boxer lifting up his trophy belt.  I was the world lightweight champion of the mudpit and creampole.
	Rose crossed over to me, avoiding the hapless Polly.  Lightly she took my hand and helped me up off the pole.  I put my hand to my pussy and tried to wipe off some cream.  It was hopeless.  The stuff was all over my crotch, the underside of my bottom.  I hoped my nightie would keep me modest, but it hardly could.  It was too short and the audience, sitting close, had a beaverÕs eye view from down below, looking up to the stage and straight between my legs.  Mirrors hung above us gave them a view of PollyÕs misfortune.  She sobbed as she realized how silly she looked.  She was the loser, and she didnÕt like it at all.  Little kids always hate losing at games.  But they usually do, anyway.
	I felt a mudball land right between my legs.  In shock, I looked down at myself.  It looked like I had a turd clinging to me between my thighs.  I realized the mud had been thrown by Polly.
	ÒHey!  You canÕt throw mud at me!  IÕm the winner!Ó I shouted.
	She giggled.  ÒI can too,Ó she insisted.  ÒWatch!Ó  She threw another mudball, and it hit me right on my tummy.
	ÒRose!Ó I cried.  Polly was ruining my appearance.  IÕd be as messy as she if she didnÕt quit.  But instead of helping me, Rose slapped my bare bottom.
	ÒYouÕre entitled to the winnerÕs spanking!Ó she grinned.  David had followed her across and he was fondling her from behind again.  I think it had addled her mind.  Suddenly he pinched her, right between her legs.
	ÒOooh!Ó Rose cried.  She turned serious, not wanting to be humiliated like that in front of everybody.  ÒPlease, David, donÕt!Ó  But he pinched her again, harder, just as another mudball grazed my pretty coiffured hair.
	ÒOh, thatÕs IT!Ó I screamed in frustration.  ÒNow we really will have a fight, Polly!Ó  I stomped toward her, sending, I think, a little shiver of fear down her spine.  She was smaller than me, after all, and a whole inch shorter.  I figured I could step into the mud pit, bend down, and neatly grind her head right into the pillows before she could retaliate.  Then IÕd escape from the stage, and be done with this nonsense.
	Behind me, David made Rose sit down on the pole.  He forbade her tucking her skirt under her, which she tried to do, but which proved too short in any event.  But I had no time to worry about the loss of our referee.  I knew I could take on Polly and quickly avenge myself, then perhaps quit this whole place entirely, leaving her and Rose to figure out how to escape the ever-randier crowd.  
	With a cautious step I entered the mud pit.  Polly cowered before me, sinking into the mud, mouthing words of repentance, softly, as if afraid to even raise her voice before me.  Just as I tried to get my balance on the pillows, so as to bend forward and seize her, she leapt at me like a cat catching a parrot.
	ÒPolly!Ó I cried, but realized too late her fear had been faked, to fool me.  She yanked on my nightie, hard, catching the hem where it tried to keep my pussy from showing and dirtying it with her hands.  My nightie pulled taught.  Only one of my straps was on my shoulder.  The other was constantly falling off.  Polly yanked again.  Somehow my remaining strap held.  Desisting, she grabbed up a handfull of mud.
	ÒHere, you have to go to the bathroom!Ó Polly announced.  She took the big clump of mud in her hands and and jammed it right up between my thighs, reaching back to stick it within my ass.
	ÒPolleee!Ó I shrieked.  As she worked the mud into my hienie I felt myself lose my balance.  I crashed down into the mud.  She squealed with happiness and, taking more mud in her hands, opened the front of my nightie and dumped mud into it, smooshing it all over my breasts.
	We were both messy now.  But her hair was still golden, and I saw a chance to wreck it for her.
	ÒNo!  Not my hair!Ó Polly cried.  I grabbed her closest pigtail and, scooping up some mud for her, I smashed it right into her lovely blonde locks.  I rubbed the mud all over her hair so she would, truly, be a dirty blonde.
	ÒOh, Boo! Hoo!Ó Polly wept.  IÕd gotten the better of her now.  But not for long.  She overcame her grief very quickly, and picked up mud and smooshed it right into my face.
	ÒNo, Polly!Ó I yelled, but in opening my mouth I found myself actually eating the mud which now covered us.
	WHACK!  WHACK!  WHACK!  I heard.  Polly and I both ceased our fighting and looked up.  There, on the pole, was Rose.  She had leaned forward until her belly was pressed to the pole as well as her face, her bosoms crushed and squeezed out on either side of it.  She held on tight as David, standing behind her, gave her an impromptu licking on her bottom with his belt.  Her lovely hair had cream in it.  There was cream on her face.  She burst into tears as David gave her a particularly nasty blow with his belt.  Yet, clamping the pole with her thighs, I saw that she was wiggling to and fro upon it, rubbing her clit into its sensuous slickness.  
	The audience applauded wildly.  I thought I heard people disrobing out beyond the floodlights.  David ceased beating Rose.  She sobbed a little, then quietened.  Awkwardly she stood up from the pole, her whole front messed with cream.  She straightend her shiny dress.  It was caked with cream, just like her bare bosoms.  There was less on her face.  She tried to wipe it off.  Then, still sniffling a little from her spanking, she walked over to Polly and I in the mud pit.
	Rose tugged at the neckerchief round her neck and straightened it.  Wiping a tear from her eye, pushing back a loose strand of hair from her face, she lifted her chin.  Her eyes took on their imperious gaze once more.  Her tits were bare and smeared with cream, her nipples poked through the stuff like cherries topping ice cream, but her face was serene, composed.  Goddess-like.  Helen after being raped by Paris.  
	ÒBathtime, girls,Ó Rose said to us.  We ignored her.  I spit out mud and molded it in my hands.  Playdoh, colored brown.  It was fun.  I would make dinosaurs with it. 
	ÒCome, you two, we must get offstage before the audience joins in the fun,Ó Rose told us.  We gazed up at her with childrenÕs eyes, happy now in our playpen of mud, two girls suddenly free of the adult world, reduced to toddlers in a sandbox.  ÒUp,Ó Rose insisted.  We could not stay.  WeÕd find ourselves joined by men with penises if we did.  Reluctantly we let her pull us up.  We got out, tried to brush off the mud, found we only smeared it over what little whiteness remained of our bodies.  As a last act of vengeance Polly yanked down my nightie.
	ÒPolly!Ó I blurted, but my nightie was down round my ankles before I could stop her.  She smeared her mudcaked hands over my still unsoiled tummy, protected before my my nightie.  
	ÒLook!  Tic Tac Toe,Ó Polly said gleefully.  She drew XÕs and OÕs on my belly with her muddy fingers.
	ÒCome, Polly,Ó Rose said, and gave the girl a slap on her naked behind to get her attention.
	ÒOwww!Ó Polly moped.  She rubbed her heinie, despite the fact that she would make herself messier still back there, hoping to assauge the sting.  I took her hand other hand, squeezed it.  Together we walked offstage, she rubbing her butt, me just walking casually, knowing the audience watched my clinging cheeks jiggle about as I made my exit.  Rose was more circumspect, her bottom a red pattern of stripes, making her sway her hips more than she wished.  Together we stepped from the stage.  Looking behind me, just once, I saw David unzip himself.  I heard him announce to the audience that the show was over.  He presented his penis to them and, as I looked away, he peed on them.  I heard several women scream as his stream gave them an impromptu shower.
	With careful steps we descended the staircase back into the safety of the dressing room.  I felt the floodlights of the stage as they slipped away, one moment illuminating me for all to see, the next unable to pierce the curtain that closed behind me.  A small, but effective curtain, at the top of the stairs.  Beyond it we could clean up, pee, eat, whatever we wanted, without being offered as entertainment to public view.  David tromped down the steps behind us.  He pulled up his zipper.  Even he was through, though perhaps in a more basic way than we were.
	Turning, I spotted a small glass shower stall.  A woman was just finishing up cleaning it.  She plunked her mop into a bucket.  I saw that the stall was set upon wheels, and could be moved, perhaps out onto the stage, or anywhere else one pleased.  A hose ran from the shower head to a sink.  It was a sink used for washing hair, as in a beauticianÕs parlor, except now, with the hose attached, it could provide water to the portable shower.
	ÒWell,Ó the woman harumped to herself, dropping her sponge and cleaning fluids back into a little cart in which she carried her bucket and mop.  ÒI do hope I donÕt have to scrub this shower stall down again tonight.Ó  She did not see us coming.  She was a woman who appeared to just be arriving at middle age.  Her face was careworn, and I guessed she must be a single mom, working her way through life to support children left to her by a lover long gone.  She stood, put a hand to the small of her back, grimaced a little.
	ÒOho, honey, you ainÕt even begun to start workinÕ,Ó the lady whoÕd done our hair piped up.  The cleaning lady turned her head, saw us approaching.
	ÒOh, shit!Ó the cleaning lady swore.  
	ÒThey got a little muddy, IÕm afraid,Ó Rose said politely to the cleaning lady of myself and Polly.  
	ÒHow could they BOTH lose?!Ó the cleaning lady asked.
	ÒTheyÕre just little girls.  You know how little girls are.  They find mud irresistible,Ó Rose smiled.  
	ÒWhat, you didnÕt know they was puttinÕ on the mud show tonight?Ó the beautician asked the cleaning lady?  The beautician was laughing and slapping her thighs.  ÒYou cin forgit about strippers with boas, honey.  DavidÕs into REAL entertainment now!Ó
	ÒDamn, IÕll be here all night cleaning,Ó the cleaning lady answered as we stepped past her and inspected the shower stall.
	It was old.  The glass was yellowed and it was cracked in the upper corner of one of the panels.  Significantly, there was no door or curtain to the stall.  Just three glass walls, with the front utterly open, perhaps so an audience could see inside.  I guessed it was used mostly on stage.
	ÒGet in, girls,Ó Rose said.  She placed her small palms on our bottoms and urged us to step up into the wheeled stall.  ÒIÕll go after you.Ó
	ÒWhat happened to you, honey?Ó the cleaning lady asked Rose.  She took a lesbianÕs interest in RoseÕs injured heinie.
	ÒShe gave David his moneyÕs worth, and the crowd too,Ó the beautician opined.
	ÒIs that sperm or just whipped cream?Ó the cleaning lady asked Rose, taking some amusement now in our plight.
	ÒIt isnÕt your concern,Ó Rose murmured.  She blushed a little.  The beautician laughed again, a harsh laugh.  She and the cleaning lady lacked all culture.  But they were, at least, not caked with mud or ass-whipped.  They at least had clothes on.
	Polly and I huddled into the shower stall.  Rose fitted us into it, pressing upon us with her hands.  It was a tight fit.  Rose nodded to the beautician.  The beautician turned on the sink and a moment later a spray of ice cold water blasted down onto us.
	EEEEEEK!  Polly and I both shouted in unison.
	ÒA little warmer, please,Ó Rose told the beautician.
	ÒA LOT wamrer,Ó Polly said somewhat inarticulately, her speech garbled by the shivering cold water.  We clung to each other under the spray.  Our nipples poked at each otherÕs bosoms like thorns.  I felt the water sleet down my belly and gather like snow in my pubic curls.  
	The water warmed.  David settled into a chair and opened his fly.  Rose turned and watched him as he took out his cock and began stroking it.  He was huge and hard and a gleaming drop of pre-cum formed on the tip of his penis.  Rose stepped away from the shower so he could watch us.  She offered us soap, no washcloth, no sponge.  
	ÒDo each other,Ó Rose told us.  
	ÒI can wash myself,Ó Polly protested.
	ÒDo as youÕre told,Ó David said.  His voice brooked no disobedience.  
	We still wore our platform pumps, with our calves and ankles bound by their straps.  We still had on our fingerless mittens, and wore scarves round our neck.  Light pink pastel scarves, that once had matched our nighties, and made our t-shirts look alluring before that, but now hung all by themselves.  Polly still had barrettes in her hair, and it was pulled into pigtails.  
	I lifted my leg up behind me and reached back to undo the lacing of my shoe.
	ÒDonÕt bother,Ó David told me.  ÒJust soap each other where it counts.  Use your hands.Ó
	ÒBut IÕve got mud between my toes,Ó I said.  I looked at him, the water streaming down on me, warm now, breaking up my coiffure and pushing my hair down into my eyes.  I saw he would not allow me to do as I wished.  I was bathing for his erotic entertainment only.  
	ÒCome and suck my cock,Ó David told Rose.  Trippingly she went to him, her feet encased in her heavy cowgirl boots.  Her dress hid nothing, arched up in front and back by her responsibilities, showing her pubis, her bottom.  Quickly she knelt and put her mouth to his cock.  She began to service him.  He sighed, relaxed more in his chair.  The cleaning lady and the beautician laughed.
	As we washed, Polly and I found pleasure in each otherÕs hands.  My fingers explored her slit.  She swooned, fingering me in turn.  In his chair David strove to poke his organ deep into RoseÕs throat, even as he fought to retain his seed within the confines of his balls.  Such were the games we played with each other.
	At last DavidÕs passion ran its course.  Rose stood up from him, her cheeks bloated with his sperm.  David told her she did not have to swallow it.  She went to the sink and spit out his essence.  
	ÒIÕm sorry, but I prefer only to swallow the sperm of men I love, and you, sir, are just a client,Ó Rose apologized to David when sheÕd emptied her mouth.  She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
	ÒItÕs okay.  I donÕt love you either, or the girls,Ó David answered.  There was a satisfied look on his face.  ÒI just needed to cum, and you were available.Ó  He zipped himself up.  ÒI care nothing for females anymore.  However beautiful they may be, to me theyÕre just a gentlemenÕs way of relieving himself.  I might be gay, or just jerk myself off, but that would hardly be proper.  ItÕs sort of like going to the bathroom to me.  Just as I have to poop and piss, I have to shoot now and then too,Ó David said with a glowering smile to Rose.  ÒYouÕre a walking toilet, my dear, nothing more.  Despite your pretty legs.  Sorry.  I just have no feeling for you, thatÕs all.  Or any woman.Ó
	ÒWell, the feelingÕs not mutual,Ó Rose replied.  Tenderly she touched her bottom.  ÒIn my case, IÕll be feeling you for the rest of the night, sir.Ó
	ÒAnd tomorrow too, at breakfast, IÕll bet, sitting on extra cushions,Ó David laughed.
	ÒCome on, girls,Ó Rose told Polly and me.  ÒWeÕre done here.Ó  The beautician turned off the shower.  She detached the hose from the sink.  She turned on the faucet and rinsed away DavidÕs sperm.  The cleaning lady passed her mop over the floor outside the shower stall and wiped up the water that had exceeded its bounds.  Polly and I waited, watching her.  When she was done, the cleaning lady took a big fluffy towel and spread it out on the floor for us to step on.
	Wetly Polly and I emerged from the shower.  Our neckerchiefs dripped.  They were sodden.  Our mittens retained a little soap.  Our feet were mostly clean, with perhaps a trace of mud between our toes.  The cleaning lady gave us a towel to share.
	ÒThank you,Ó Polly and I both lisped in unison to her.  We were shy, quiet, domesticated.  We both wiped our faces on the towel.  Then I took it and dried Polly.  She dried me afterward.  David rose and poured himself a drink, watched us absently, as if wishing he might stroke himself, but also glad that heÕd rid himself, at least for now, of his need to cum.  
	Polly and I stepped off our bath mat towel to give Rose room to take a quick shower herself.  The beautician reattached the hose to the sinkÕs faucet.  As David cleared his throat impatiently, sipping his drink, Rose rinsed off under the shower.

	We rode in silence back to the castle.  There was just Rose, myself, Polly.  The driver was in front, separated from us by smoked glass.  The moon gleamed overhead, a miniature spotlight.  In a normal car, passing vehicles might have looked in, their occupants seeing our dishevelment.  But behind the tempered privacy glass nothing could be seen.  I felt squishy between my legs.  I know Polly did too.  The leather stuck to our bare bottoms.  We were damp.  We had nothing now, save our scarves and our shoes.  And our little mittens, hiding nothing, letting even our fingers show.  Polly sat uncomfortably.  I knew the sting of DaveÕs belt still blazed deep into her flesh.  He had hit her hard.  Had she wanted him to?  I wished to ask, could not find the courage to do so.  We were three females, adventuring in the world.  We met men, on their terms, daring them, paying for it a little, perhaps.  I wondered what else Rose had planned for us.  Did I wish to stay with her?  Should I disobey my lover and find a way to leave her?  I looked at Polly.  She sat twiddling her thumbs.  She seemed entertained by it.  I do not think the night affected her the least, now that it was past.  She was like a toddler, crying one moment, content the next, sleeping in the cradle of her motherÕs arms.  Her blonde hair hung down round her face, over her shoulders.  SheÕd been allowed to undo her pigtails in the car.  She seemed shrouded in innocence now, her hair forming a kind of veil, keeping her modest.  I wanted to reach out and pinch her bare bottom but I did not.  She was sweet.  I wished I was still like her, unknowing, even as I experienced love, kept innocent somehow by the imperviousness of my youth.  A year ago IÕd been like her.  But IÕd grown.  My experiences had eventually taken hold and changed me.  Lying that first night on the beach, pulling down my panties, IÕd been a babe still, hoping to be splashed by an unexpected wave.  A wave rising above the tide-mark, wetting me, bathing me in its overpowering love.  And then IÕd met Barbi, and Lord Shaftsbury.  How he had loved me!  And lastly I remembered Max, brutal and direct, prying apart my ass and making his love felt within me.  And so many experiences in between.  Yet I was only 14.  I had still so much to see.  IÕd stay a little longer with Rose, I decided, at her spooky castle.  
	ÒWhat are you thinking about?Ó I asked Polly at last, nudging her.
	ÒDonÕt bother me,Ó she replied, not looking up from her twiddling fingers.  ÒIÕm making up a new song.Ó  She hummed a few bars, her head still down, her hair still blocking her eyes from my view.
	ÒWhat sort of song?Ó I asked.
	ÒPink Panther,Ó Polly replied.  She looked up.  ÒRose, do you have T.V. at your castle?Ó she asked.  Her hair fell back and I saw her face, her nose upturned, her lips puckered as if inviting a kiss.
	ÒYes,Ó Rose answered.  ÒWhy do you ask?Ó
	ÒI like the Care Bears, and Pound Puppies,Ó Polly declared.  ÒThey come on every day, during the week, when thereÕs school.  And then on Saturday there is Pink Panther, and on Sundays I sometimes like to watch Captain Doom.Ó
	ÒWeÕll see,Ó Rose answered.  ÒIf youÕre good I suppose you both can be permitted certain liberties.Ó  She had glanced at us but now she turned and looked out the window, as if lost in her thoughts.  Was she thinking of past lovers, or making plans for us?
	ÒI donÕt need to see cartoons,Ó I said aloud.  I straightened my back, feeling mature by my declaration.
	ÒWell, who cares about you?Ó Polly said.  She went back to her finger-fiddling.
	ÒLouis,Ó I said to myself.  ÒLouis cares about me.Ó  And my parents, sort of, but they didnÕt matter.  Your parents always love you.  In their own way, of course, trying to keep you a child.  So it was Louis, I guess, who loved me most of all.  And I decided to keep him happy by staying with Rose, just a bit longer, at the Castle whose name I dared not say.  Even to myself.

	The castle seemed different when we returned.  A man in a black robe waited and watched us as the limo pulled up the drive.  I did not see him until the last minute, then realized that he must have been there all along, vulture-like, watching our car approach.  He opened the door for us, from PollyÕs side, and we spilled out.  Our eyes widened as we saw him.  His hood was thrown back.  His head was bald.  It gleamed in the moonlight.  He did not smile.  He showed no emotion.  
	Rose scooted herself out behind us, using our door.  ÒBranson,Ó she breathed, seeing our new visitor.  He perhaps smiled a little at her.  I could not tell.  
	ÒIÕm finished with Miss Pettance,Ó Branson said to Rose.  His voice breathed with intelligence, yet was low, growling, brooding.
	ÒHer two weeks are up already?Ó Rose asked.
	ÒThey are,Ó Branson answered.  ÒShe will serve her husband better from now on.Ó
	ÒIt is good that you are finished, then,Ó Rose said.  ÒI have two new guests.  WeÕve played a little, but their training hasnÕt really begun in earnest yet.  Show each of them to a room of their own.  Have them bathed.  They are not to do anything by themselves.  Assign a female attendant, for privacy.  Make it two.  They are young, and might prove wilful.Ó
	ÒYes,Ó Branson said.  He turned to Polly and I.  We shrank back, looked with wondering eyes at Rose.  She tossed her hair back.  She seemed not to see us, yet she was thinking of nothing else.  ÒThe potty, wiping, all is to be done by their attendants.  Have them fed.  Then see that they are put to bed properly.Ó
	ÒYes, mistress,Ó Branson breathed.  His breath seemed to flow out like a dragonÕs at rest.  Hot, tense, waiting.  
	ÒPolly, Fleurry, stand up straight!Ó Rose told us.  ÒBe proud of yourselves.  Arch your backs, lift your bosoms.Ó  We obeyed, knowing not what else to do.  I wished for a bikini at least, standing nude before Branson.  ÒAll is being done according to your loverÕs wishes, so donÕt fight it, please.  You will be well cared for by Branson.  I have other responsibilities right now.  WeÕll meet again in the morning.  Until then, behave, act your age, and remember that trouble can be easily repaid.  I intend to make you both grown-up girls, and you can both be grown-up girls, I can tell, because you already have the right demeanor and attitude.Ó  We stood quite alertly, our backs rigid, gazing at her in the moonlight.  I felt the moonlight caress my bosom and bottom, my flesh jutting out to intercept it.  ÒThere!  Such perfect bodies,Ó Rose complimented us.  ÒTruly, it is like curating delicious new works of art, working with both you girls.  You are living museum pieces, the best of the new, the avant-garde, fresh from Andy WarholÕs studio, or some new artist, perhaps, unknown yet to the larger world.  When you are finished here your lovers must hold coming out parties for you, in my opinion.  You will be perfectly formed then, not just in body but in mind too.  How youÕll delight men, and twist them round your fingers.  YouÕll have Louis, Andre, or any others you choose.  But first you must learn to be submissive.  To submit, yet control, that is the trick of it, for a female.  To control by submitting.  DonÕt worry, IÕll show you how.  Take them, Branson, and make them do just as you say.  Bye, girls.  WeÕll meet again soon!Ó She turned, and her bottom gleamed in the moonlight.  As she walked away from us, she tugged down her too-short skirt to try to hide it.  We were left watching a slim leather bib flap haplessly over her tush, hiding nothing, really, given how her hips wobbled.  She had a bold derriere and such a small skirt could not compete with its fullness.  Her bottom was womanly, complete and round and yet firm and trim.  It swayed and jiggled with a life of its own, though, tossing her bib-like skirt to and fro, catching even BransonÕs eye, though I guessed heÕd seen it many times before.  She retreated into the darkess, leaving us, going someplace in nothing but her skirt and boots, perhaps to fuck out back on the haystack with the help.  As for myself and Polly, we were hastened up the castle steps and within its doors.  
	Upstairs I found myself placed in a small but hospitable bedroom.  It had no windows.  None had seen Polly and I as we entered the castle, and I was thankful for it.  We both had had quite a night.  
	I felt someone enter the room behind me.  I turned quickly on my heels.  It was scary, being alone suddenly, without Polly beside me.  She had been taken elsewhere, by Branson.  I did not know where.
	ÒHi!Ó two female voices chimed at me.  They looked like college girls.  Their hair was piled atop their heads, one blonde, the other brunette.  The brunette introduced herself as JoAnn.  The other said her name was Sylvia.  
	Both girls wore long, flowing dresses.  But seeing them, I was immediately struck by how their dresses had been forcibly altered.  In front, the dress of each girl, despite binding her closely about the waist, had been pulled back to show off her bosom.  Their breasts were young and bare and they had obviously been chosen because they had lovely bosoms, high and finely tipped by rouged nipples.  
	Their dresses were pulled apart below the waist.  Their legs showed, right up to their muffs.  Their skirts were rolled up in back, letting their bottoms bulb out.  Uncovered, their derrieres shone with youthful dignity, white and soft and cleft in the middle.
	ÒWhy- why are you dressed that way?Ó I asked, gulping as I spoke.
	They giggled.  For a moment I thought of Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee.  ÒYou are dressed more conservatively?Ó they asked me.  I flushed crimson.
	They walked up to me and took up a position on either side of me and gently guided me with light-touching hands on my shoulders and back toward a room next door.  ÒItÕs for convenienceÕs sake,Ó they said, their voices soft and melodious.  ÒWe donÕt have to lift our skirts when we pee, or when we poop, and, of course, men have ready access to us, which is the main point of it.  Branson ordered it.  Otherwise we would not dress this way.  But our lovers enjoy it and Branson offers us to them, and other men too, dressed like this to kill, you might say, or, rather, to fuck and show off our all bodily functions, which some men enjoy seeing.Ó  Each of them spoke a line or two, contributing to the otherÕs thoughts.  It was eerie.  They seemed like twins.  They were mentally bound into BransonÕs world, and that of their lovers, as fully as any two girls could be.  
	The adjoining room proved to be a private bath.  Like my bedroom, it had no windows.  I found there was a tub already waiting for me, a big claw-footed tub, old-fashioned, with hot water and bubbles filling it to the rim.  Gratefully I let the maids undress me and I sank into its warmth.  The two girls, older sisters it seemed, with me as their darling baby sis, knelt down on either side of my tub.  Carefully, trying not to get their boobs wet with bubbles or spray from my splashing, they washed me completely.  I tried to push them away at first.  But they insisted on doing me.  
	ÒRelax,Ó they said.  ÒYou will have plenty of chances to do things later.Ó  Their eyes twinkled.  ÒJust let us do this.  It is mundane.  You are to be spared such silly things.  WeÕll bathe you, and wipe you when you go to the bathroom, and weÕll even spoon-feed you, howÕs that?  Relax and enjoy it.  We ourselves were once like you...Ó  They spoke on, easing my fears, though never entirely.  JoAnn had been studying Law.  SheÕd been in her first year, toiling away, buried under seven classes worth of work.  Then, one day, sheÕd met a new lover (after abstaining to get all her studies done).  He brought her to Castle Cunt, and sheÕd never left.  She was a ÔveteranÕ now, here for a whole month, perhaps staying forever, she didnÕt know.  Law school was forgotten.  Life was forgotten.  She was just JoAnn now, the brunette sex pet in the lovely but too-revealing robe.  She did as she was told, she explained, and thought of nothing else.  She began like me and, when her initial training was done, she decided to stay on to help out with the new girls, while undergoing more advanced training herself.
	ÒBut the delightful thing about it,Ó JoAnn assured me.  ÒIs that you donÕt have to plan.  They tell you everything.  ItÕs hard sometimes, but never from the standpoint of responsibility.  You have no responsibilities.  You get to sink completely within your body and let them love and admire you.Ó
	ÒDonÕt you have responsibilities now?Ó I asked her.  She sponged down my tummy and on into the cleft between my legs.
	ÒNot really,Ó JoAnn answered.  ÒI mean, I donÕt have to obey.  IÕd be punished, sure, but they would do that.  And they would care for me as they punished me.  ItÕs not like real life, where you have to worry about rent, or eating, or getting here or there.  My lover sees to everything.  Even if IÕm being punished, itÕs his responsibility to see that IÕm fed, and watered...Ó  She looked at Sylvia and they both giggled.
	Sylvia had been a nurse.  SheÕd been a new nurse in the Air Force, just done with MIMSO and ROTC.  No boot camp for her.  To be an officer and a nurse one had only to attend a two-week training, with doctors.  But working the night shift at the hospital, trying to keep up, and keep everyone happy, had burned her out.  SheÕd gotten a chance to leave the Air Force, and jumped at it.  Downsizing had saved her.  Now she was just her boyfriendÕs sex pet.  He commanded, more thoroughly than any general, but she could obey or not, as she wished, though sheÕd be punished most indiscreetly and intimately if she chose to disobey.  
	ÒWeÕre planning to have me branded at the end of the month,Ó Sylvia told me, sending a shiver down my spine.  ÒIÕm trying to prepare myself for it.  It makes me very scared.  But I want to wear his initials within the cleft of my bottom, much as I wore rank in the Air Force, except these indications of status would be much more intimately placed.  Already IÕve met two girls who have similar marks.  Imagine going to a party where everyone had such rank and comparing each otherÕs brands!Ó  SylviaÕs face glowed at the possibility.
	ÒYes, its exciting, but I think IÕm too frightened of something like that to ever do it,Ó JoAnn replied, in a rare show of disagreement between the two.
	ÒMaybe IÕll convince you by my example,Ó Sylvia offered.
	ÒDonÕt feel you have to,Ó JoAnn answered.
	ÒI would never do that,Ó I breathed.  I touched my bottom cheeks.  I parted them a little, beneath the safety of the bathwater.  I felt the water flow against my anus.  
	ÒYouÕd be surprised at what youÕll do once youÕre properly trained,Ó Sylvia assured me.  I listened, said nothing in reply.  My stomach had butterflies flying within it.                       
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