From roller39@mail.idt.net Mon Jul 28 19:48:37 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Honey Haven part 1 of 4 (NND)
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@mail.idt.net>
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 1997 23:48:37 +0000
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter One
I go to Teddy Bear High. Don’t laugh, that’s its real name.
Theodore Rooseveldt High. President Theodore Rooseveldt invented the
name “teddy bear,” so all my friends and me like telling people that we
go to Teddy Bear High.
At least, I used to go there. Then I got hired away, as a
model. At first my parents weren’t too thrilled about it. After all, I
was only 14. But the agent told my parents that I had an excellent
figure and face and needed to get started in the business at 14 if I
wanted to get ahead in it. Of course, my mom wanted me to be a star
swimmer, and my dad still somehow thought that his “little girl” was in
the third grade. The idea that I might have a sexy figure almost caused
him to punch out the agent. But, fortunately, I prevailed. I’d always
dreamed of being a supermodel. Being stuck in Peoria, Iowa, I’d never
imagined an agent would actually find me here. But she did. So off I
went to New York, and then to my first assignment. It was in Italy.
Little did I know what I’d get myself into. My father insisted
that I be “chaperoned at all times,” as he put it. The agent assured
him I would be. But when I boarded the plane for Venice, my only
‘chaperone’ was a fellow model, like me. Her name was Katrina. She was
16. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a soft, angelic face. But
her eyes gave off a worldly flash whenever she looked at you. She was
from Chicago. She’d done a little modeling before, but this was her
first overseas trip, for a major agency. Naturally I had all kinds of
questions for her. She spent the flight telling me all about
modelling. She was quite excited to be going abroad. We’d be working
for an important photographer, she said (Eveline Elginton -- the name
meant nothing to me, yet) and staying in a mansion outside Venice, not
in some hotel.
She was right on both counts. We were met at the airport by a
private limo. It whisked us out into the Italian countryside, leaving
the city and its charms, and problems, behind. We were told we could
sightsee all we wanted after our assignment was done. They’d give us
three extra days, paid, just for that. In the meantime, however, we
were introduced to Heloise, who’d rented the mansion where we’d be
staying. I have no idea who actually owned it. But Heloise was sort of
our house mother there, though not in any censorious way. She showed
Katrina and I to our private rooms. As the other models arrived, she
showed them to their rooms. A young bellboy carried everyone’s
luggage. I thought he was kind of cute -- almost cute enough to be a
model. From my bedroom window I watched everyone as they arrived. They
were all young, up through the mid-20’s perhaps, both male and female.
I noticed all of them were older than me. I felt sort of special, being
included with models who were older and more experienced.
The sun set over the Italian hills as I watched the models
arriving. The bellhop appeared at my door and told me we’d all be
boarding a bus to go to a nearby restaurant, if I wanted to come along.
He said there was no food in the mansion yet, although Heloise was busy
getting it stocked. There had been a delay or mixup of some kind. So,
still wearing my clothes from the plane, I went downstairs. We all got
aboard a bus. It was interesting, seeing all the other models close
up. I sat in a seat next to Katrina. We watched the scenery pass from
our window as the bus rolled into a nearby town. We offloaded at the
restaurant. You can imagine the other customers’ pleased looks when
they saw a whole bevy of voluptuous girls and dreamboat men walk into
the place! But we managed to have a nice meal, spread out among the
tables of the restaurant. I sat with Katrina and another woman, who was
perhaps 22. Her name was Angela. She was from Russia She had flaming
red hair that hung in loose, natural curls all the way down her back. I
felt sort of jealous of her. I was just a typical American blonde, with
long straight blonde hair down my back, that had just a few waves in
it. She looked at my bosom and told me my breasts might get too big for
me to be a fashion model. They were already fairly large and heavy, as
big as Katrina’s, and she was 16, two years older than me.
“Have you ever considered getting your breasts reduced?” Angela
asked me. I looked back at her with wide eyes.
“No,” I said.
“Well, it’s a possibility,” Angela said. “Keep it in mind, or
you may wind up doing cheesecake work.”
“Have you had your breasts reduced?” Katrina asked. Her voice
seemed a little worried, for if I had breasts that were too big, she
surely did too, for our bosoms were almost identical.
Angela brushed her hair back. Her own bosoms, I thought,
seemed a bit big, compared to some models I’d seen on runways and in
magazines.
“No,” she said. She sipped at her drink through a straw. “A
doctor in Russia offered to do it for free, if I would let him bed me.”
Katrina and I giggled. Angela smiled, kept sipping.
“It’s not fair,” Katrina said. “We’re told to get our tits
reduced, but guys don’t have to get their dicks reduced!”
Angela smiled. “You’d like for them to have to get their dicks
reduced?” she asked, still sipping on the straw in her drink. I giggled
into my hand.
“Well, I guess not,” Katrina said. Angela smiled, looked at
me. I smiled back, feeling conspiratorial, though she seemed, I think,
to have a deeper sense of it than I did.
We finished our supper and were loaded back onto the bus. We
were all pretty tired from our flights. Dinner at the restaurant had
been our first good meal all day, thanks to airplane food. Our stuffed
stomachs made us rather listless and sleepy on the ride back to the
mansion. Goodbyes were said as we filed from the bus and into the
house. We all went to our rooms. Heloise reminded us that we’d have to
be up early the next morning, for our first day’s shoot with Eveline
Elginton.
I fell right asleep. I didn’t even bother to bathe. I don’t
know about the others, but I slept right through the night. The
excitement of my first day abroad, all set to be a model, had kept me
keyed-up all day. The supper, mixed with a little wine, knocked me
out. When I awoke in the morning I belatedly took a shower. Then I
slipped into my clothes and hurried downstairs, to be ready for our
departure at 7 a.m.
Heloise had apparently been trying to get a breakfast together
for us but Eveline, who I had yet to meet, had vetoed that. It was felt
the restaurant would be quicker. So, boarding the bus promptly at 7, we
went back to the restaurant. Then it was off to the place where we’d do
our modelling.
It was a beach. It was open to the public, but fortunately it
was a weekday and there weren’t too many bathers there. The beach was
fabulous, with slow, rolling waves gently washing its sandy shore.
Being from Iowa, I guess I found most any beach impressive, but this one
was quite photogenic. Eveline Elginton was already there, the famous
international photographer. She was set up with a crew of helpers.
There were lights, and cameras, just waiting for us to provide the
action!
We offloaded from the bus. There was a small crowd of
onlookers but they were kept back by ropes. An assistant of Eveline’s
greeted us. His name was Enrique. I thought he was rather handsome, in
a fatherly way. He had greying hair and looked mid-fortyish. His
figure was straight and erect, with broad shoulders. I wondered if he
was a model too, or had been one when he was younger.
Enrique walked us to a long table. It had a wind screen behind
it, to keep back the breeze. The table was piled with swimsuits that
we’d be modelling. All the latest, of course. I knew my friends back
in Iowa would be jealous when they saw me in a new swimsuit they hadn’t
even had a chance to buy yet. Posing in a fashion magazine, no less! I
was quite excited. There were two cabanas and we were told the one on
the left was for the men to change in, the one on the right for the
women. There were privies in them too, in case we needed to relieve
ourselves.
Walking with Angela, Katrina and I made our way to the cabana.
There were perhaps a dozen females in all. Quickly we changed into the
bikinis Eveline’s assistant had helped us pick out. Then it was back
outside, where we sat under sun umbrellas for the makeup people. There
were three of them in all, and they worked quickly, for they had two
dozen of us to do in all, both men and women. It looked rather strange
to see people stripped down to almost nothing, save for small bikinis or
Speedos, sitting having their makeup done. The guys, wearing newly
fashionable ‘ball hugger’ swimsuits, sat with their cocks upstanding in
their suits as makeup women assiduously combed their hair and powdered
their features. I admit I got a few hot flashes watching that. When I
had to sit for makeup I found my nipples were poking into my bra, quite
visibly, for it was just a swimsuit bra, made of lycra. I blushed, but
nobody seemed to mind. They knew I was brand-new to modelling.
We worked all morning. We tossed volleyballs, beachballs. We
played in the sand. We swam in the sea. All the while Eveline and her
helpers directed us, and photographed us. Whenever there was a free
moment we lounged under sun umbrellas or an open-fronted tent that was
already set up for our lunch. Eveline didn’t want us to get too
tanned. She wished to keep us light-skinned, with just a soft tan on
our limbs, and our faces and bellies. The makeup people fixed our
makeup whenever we needed it and applied sun lotion judiciously. We
couldn’t look all shiny in front of the cameras. We had to look
natural, as if we were new at the beach, in our new bikinis.
At lunch we had fresh steamed crabs, brought in by a caterer.
After lunch we changed into new bikinis, and Eveline photographed us
some more. Then, as it was Europe, we girls removed our bras and played
with the men topless while Eveline took photos of us. I was quite
breathless at first, being bare-bosomed like that. Katrina, though she
hadn’t posed topless before, seemed to take it more in stride. Angela
helped us both feel less nervous. She was utterly casual as she walked
around with just a small thong-backed bikini on. She posed with us and
told us not to feel worried that a crowd of people were staring at us.
We were models, it was expected we’d be looked at, and anyway the
onlookers were watching everyone, including Eveline (who remained
dressed), and her camera men, and the guys who were modelling with us.
Of course it was the dreamboat male models who were making me feel at
least as nervous as the crowd was. But they were polite, speaking to me
softly and pretending not to notice my bosoms, and how my nipples stood
up so acutely. Angela reminded me that the men, trapped in their
‘ball-hugger’ suits, had spent the whole day with their pricks standing
up in their suits. I could hardly complain if my breasts were visible,
when they’d had to show off their credentials like that.
The sun sank low and Eveline called it a day. We retreated to
the cabanas and changed back into our clothes. The bus was summoned
from a nearby parking lot and we boarded it for home. It was nice,
being models, in the transportation department. Most people had to walk
to the parking lot to fetch their cars. But we had been granted special
priviledges by the beach authorities. Our bus could drive down the
walkway that ran from the parking lot to the beach, to pick us up, so we
wouldn’t be thronged with passersby asking for favors or autographs.
I think we were all glad to retreat to our rooms for a shower
when we got back to the mansion. All day at the beach can leave you
feeling rather wind blown and salty, even if you are a pampered model.
I bathed myself and then changed into clothes. I wore shorts and a
print shirt and sneakers. I pulled my hair back and tied it off in a
long pony tail. Heloise had finally gotten the food in, and we were
promised a casual, private meal at the mansion. I went downstairs.
There were tables set out on the lawn, in the gathering dusk. Torches
provided illumination, and a single candle set on each table. I found
Angela and Katrina sitting together at a table and joined them. Waiters
brought in by Heloise served us. It was pleasant, unhurried. Two guys
came and talked to us, Mark and Dave. They were both hunks. I felt my
heart beat faster as Dave, who I considered the handsomer of the two,
turned his eyes on me. Angela invited them to bring their chairs over
from their table and sit and eat dessert with us. We would make room
for them.
The men’s skin seemed to glow from their long day at the
beach. They had full, hairy chests that they’d sheathed in t-shirts.
They both wore baggy boxer shorts, a far cry from what they’d been
parading around in all day. Both men wore rubber zories on their feet.
They hadn’t bothered to tie themselves into sneakers like Katrina and
Angela and I had.
Mark began feeding Katrina forkfulls of her cherry pie.
Katrina could, of course, have fed herself, but she accepted Mark’s
generosity and let him put the food into her mouth for her. Dave tried
the same trick with Angela. She liked it so much that she moved from
her chair to his lap. I sat by myself, still feeding myself, and
thinking perhaps that was the best way, rather than having some man feed
me, no matter how good-looking he might be. But when Dave looked at me,
and smiled, I shivered. He kept feeding Angela but I sensed he’d have
fed me if I’d asked him to, or if Angela hadn’t been there.
I don’t know what my friends did that night, but I slept by
myself, with my teddy bear, that I’d brought with me from America,
keeping me company in my bed. It had seemed quite important to me to
bring teddy along, when I first left Peoria. But when I awoke in the
morning I looked at him and felt rather empty inside. After all, the
bellhop had insinuated that he would enjoy spending the night with me,
and a male model named Steve had walked me to my room. But except for a
quick, thankful kiss on Steve’s cheek, I’d kept him at bay. The
bellboy, despite his nice features, I’d laughted at. He, after all,
wasn’t even a model. So I regarded his offer of night time
companionship with something close to derision.
We had another long day at the beach. That night, at dinner,
Angela, sitting with me and Katrina again, and Dave and Mark and Steve
(we put two tables together), asked me a strange question.
“Have you ever done any erotic photography?” Angela asked me.
I looked startled.
“What?” I asked.
“You know, nude photography, and sex and such things like
that,” Angela said.
“No,” I replied. I had a cherry soda in a big, tall glass and
I put my lips over its straw to try to escape the conversation.
“Are you still a virgin?” Angela asked me. I felt myself
shrink in my chair. Everyone at the table, even Katrina, looked at me
expectantly. I sensed that I was unique.
“I- I tore my hymen riding a horse,” I admitted. Angela
laughed.
“That doesn’t count,” she said. She brushed her long loose red
curls back away from her face. The men grinned at each other.
“And I-- I did it with a boy once,” I lied.
“Well, then, no harm in asking her,” Dave said to Angela.
“Alright, then,” Angela said to me. “We have an offer to do
some erotic photography. A friend of Eveline’s. It’s a woman, don’t
worry, so she’ll be sensitive to your--” Angela’s voice broke off. I
expected to hear the word ‘inexperience’ but she spared saying it,
leaving her sentence unfinished. Steve, who’d been so sweet to walk me
upstairs last night, coughed. From nervous expectation or what, I don’t
know. I know I was feeling tense and nervous! I popped my straw in my
mouth and sucked at my cherry soda. The men, the fiends, admired my
lips as I sucked on it, but I knew no other quick way to silence my part
in the conversation.
Angela paid no heed to the fact that I was busy sipping my
soda. “We’ll get a good rest tonight,” she said, still looking at me.
At me! As if I’d slept with someone other than my teddy bear last night
or, indeed, on any night of my life! “The men, you know, have to be up
to the job.” She turned her eyes from me, glanced at Dave, then back at
me. “So what do you say? You can do more work at the beach tomorrow,
out all day in the hot sun, or you can enjoy indoor comforts.”
Honestly, I had no idea how to respond. The beach was fun but
I felt my heart palpitating at the offer I was being given. I didn’t
want to say yes, or no. “I’m too young,” I said finally, lifting my
lips from my straw.
“This is Europe, darling. And southern Europe at that,” Angela
said. “You don’t have to be a child if you don’t want to be. Not
here. But it’s up to you,” she added.
I looked at Katrina. She was my best friend, why wasn’t she
helping me out of this? Because, I saw in her fiery young eyes, she’d
already agreed to do it. She was from Chicago. A big city. She wasn’t
a small town girl, like me. I felt a twinge of jealousy and blurted
out, without thinking, “Okay!” Then I retreated to my straw again.
Heloise appeared at our table. “Hi, guys,” she said,
addressing us all. “Is your dinner okay?”
“Sure,” Steve answered. “What’s for dessert?”
“That depends on how exotic you want to get,” Heloise smiled.
She wore a t-shirt that she’d knotted below her breasts, plus shorts.
She let her hips sway forward, showing him the flat expanse of her neat,
suntanned belly.
“Thanks, but I’ll just take the pie with ice cream on it,”
Steve answered with a grin.
“Vanilla?” Heloise asked. As easily as if she hadn’t been
rejected at all, she pulled a pencil from behind her ear and produced a
pad and wrote on it. “What kind of pie?”
“Cherry,” Steve said.
It was with some trepidation the next morning that I got
dressed. I was, after all, getting dressed only to get undressed again,
quite soon. We were due at the photographer’s at nine. I put on a pair
of white panties, printed with tiny daisies, and felt awkward knowing
that others would soon be seeing me take them off. And not just my
fellow females in the cabana at the beach. Not today. Steve and Dave
and Mark would be there. Perhaps the photographer would even photograph
me taking them off. That thought sent a shiver up my spine. I still
didn’t know her name. I hoped she would introduce herself to me before
she asked me to strip for her.
I looked at my bed. A silver tray lay upon it. A maid had
brought me breakfast in bed. She’d said it was compliments of Heloise,
that she was trying ever harder to pamper us models. Unfortunately I’d
barely touched my food. My bacon and eggs were pristine, a waste of two
chicks and part of a hog. My coffee was undrunk. It sat well-cooled
now, in its china cup. Beside the cup of coffee lay a barely-nibbled
croissant. I was too nervous to eat. Perhaps teddy, sitting next to my
tray, would eat my breakfast for me.
I put on a conservative white bra. Then I donned a blouse,
which I carefully buttoned up. It had long sleeves and a high collar.
Finally I zipped myself into a miniskirt and slipped on modestly high
heels. I tied my hair back in a ponytail and looked at myself in a
mirror. Yes, I looked great. Then I remembered I didn’t have any birth
control. I’d never needed it before. Would I need it today? I wasn’t
sure. Perhaps not. Perhaps we would just be nude, and pretend. Yes, I
told myself. She was a female photographer, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t
ask more than that.
Katrina and Angela met me in the hall. Katrina smiled, blushed
a little. Angela put a slim arm around my waist and tossed back her
long red hair.
“Come along, Lolita, you look terrific,” Angela said in her
Russian-accented voice. I felt like I was in the grip of a bear,
despite her slim figure. Yet I allowed her to walk me downstairs.
There the men greeted us. They looked as great as we did. They wore
polo shirts, with slacks, except Steve wore shorts. I couldn’t help
admiring his stocky, hairy legs with my eyes. He saw my interest and
grinned. I blushed. His eyes fell to my breasts. I turned away,
hoping to deny him a view of them. I gazed about the large room we were
standing in. I heard nothing but silence in the house. I realized the
house was empty of models, except for us. The rest of them were already
at the beach, working hard. Heloise appeared in a doorway. She smiled
at us. She didn’t say anything. I flushed quite red, realizing she
knew where we were going.
I heard a car pull up outside.
“Come on,” Angela said. She reached for my hand and took it.
I resisted a little, then let her lead me outside. It was a bright,
sunny day. Yet I’d be posing indoors. I felt a momentary relief at
that. The sun was already hot. Then I remembered I’d be nude, in a
bedroom, with three horny guys, and felt a wave of intense
embarrassment.
Our conversation in the car was pleasantly free of innuendo.
You’d think, with three expectant guys, we’d be hearing sex jokes all
the way. At least, I would have thought so. But Steve and Dave and
Mark were men, not boys at Teddy Bear High. So instead they talked
about soccer, or pointed out sights to us girls. Angela had been to
Italy before and she pointed to a monument along the road as we passed
it.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“An old road marker, left by the Romans,” she said.
“I want to see the Leaning Tower of Pizza,” I said. “Do you
think we could go there for lunch? I like Pizzas.”
Angela laughed.
“That’s Piza, dearest, not Pizza,” Angela said. “And no, they
don’t serve Pizzas there. But I’m sure Svetlana will feed us
something.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“The photographer, silly,” Katrina said. We three girls were
sitting in front and the men in back. I was wedged between both Katrina
and Angela, Angela next to the window and Katrina next to the driver.
“Oh,” I said, looking down at my hands. “Well, I don’t know
everything.”
“You know enough to say ‘yes’ when you’re asked, and that’s all
you need to know,” Angela said pleasantly. She took my hand and
squeezed it. I looked up at her. I felt comforted by her touch. I had
an odd wish for her to keep holding my hand, right on through the rest
of the day.
We pulled up in front of an old brownstone within the outskirts
of Vienna. The driver helped us girls out. The men got out
themselves. Dave walked to up to the door of the house and knocked on
it. Large trees shaded us as we waited for the door to be answered.
Across the street there was a park. I could hear children playing in
it.
A maid answered the door. She was middle-aged. She wore a
traditional white apron and hat, plus a black pleated skirt. She bade
us enter. The men let us girls go first. Behind us, the car pulled
away.
The house was well appointed inside, but we were given no time
to admire its furnishings. The maid escorted us up a long narrow
staircase. At the top there was a hall, and we were taken down it and
through a doorway. I found myself standing in a large, well-lit
bedroom. The bed, to my astonishment, had red satin sheets. Its
headboard and baseboard were made of dark, rich mahogany. Beside the
bed, on a table, there was an ancient china water pitcher. But I saw no
glasses. Perhaps the pitcher was for washing. Under the table that
held the pitcher I saw a chamber pot. I hoped it was empty.
“Ah, you must be Katrina,” a female voice said to me. I
turned, saw a woman standing near a camera. She wore a loose skirt with
a tight bodice. It accented her breasts, which were of a considerable
size. Jewelry adorned her wrists, which were small, and a necklace
gleamed round her white, swan-like throat. She had long brown hair
piled casually atop her head. Beside her were two women assistants,
more casually dressed, one in a t-shirt and shorts and the other in
jeans and a very light, pullover sweater.
“No, I’m Cindy,” I said.
“Fine,” the woman, whom I guessed was Svetlana, replied.
“Please undress so we can do your makeup.”
I realized, suddenly, that more than my face would be made up
today. Every part of me would have to be examined and made perfect.
After all, nothing would be hidden from the camera. Feeling queasy in
my stomach, with the men and Angela and Katrina behind me now, and the
photographer and her crew before me, I began to unbutton my blouse.
There were sounds of undressing behind me. Svetlana used the
time to ask each of our names, which an assistant wrote down on a pad
for her, so she’d remember them. It took me a little while to undress
and Katrina actually finished before me. She headed over to the makeup
person and sat down in a canvas chair for her makeup.
I looked around. I nearly lost my ability to breathe when I
saw the men. At the beach, their cocks had been encased in swimsuits.
I could only see an outline of them. Now, however, in the bedroom, the
men stood naked and free of their clothes. From each of their loins a
long, banana-like cock stood erect, arching expectantly up in the air.
Underneath a full sack of sperm hung. I shivered. Angela took my
hand.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” she teased me.
“I-- Yes, it is,” I said. Steve grinned at me. I blushed and
turned away.
“You’re next,” a female voice called out. We all turned. The
girl in the sweater and jeans was busy combing the tight curls of
Katrina’s pubis, but already she was motioning for Dave to present
himself. He did, walking grandly across the room with his big organ
sticking out in front of him. She took the comb from Katrina’s nest and
began working it over Dave’s more luxuriant growth. Carefully she
avoided touching his ramrod hard cock.
“Ah, what a fine member,” Svetlana said. She picked up a
portable camera and bent over Dave’s loins and snapped a picture of
him. Dave grinned, loving the attention.
My turn came next. I was seated in the same chair that Katrina
had been in. The canvas seat felt warm from her bottom. The makeup
person, whose name was Dielle, powdered my face and my breasts. She
touched up my lipstick, did my eyelashes. She stenciled my eyelashes.
She applied a very light, pink coating of rouge to my nipples that
matched their color. The tips of my nipples, already excited, rose
under her touch. I felt my nest wetten. She was down there a moment
later, carefully combing my private curls.
“Oh, you’re wet already,” Dielle said. I blushed fiercely.
Svetlana told Dave and Katrina to get on the bed. “We’ll start
with some natural poses first, then move on to more complicated work,”
Svetlana told them. I watched them both knee their way onto the bed.
It was a big, sumptous bed, perfect for lovers. Its red satin sheets
glowed under the studio lights. Unfortunately Katrina’s favorite of the
three men was Mark, not Dave. She turned and looked at Svetlana.
“Could I pose with Dave?” she asked.
“No, darling,” Svetlana replied. “You’ll all pose with each
other before the day’s through. Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” Katrina answered. She looked up at Dave. She was more
than a head shorter than he, for he was a full grown man, the oldest of
the three males. Her brown hair bobbed neatly about her shoulders. It
had been glossed to perfection by the makeup girl’s hairbrush.
“Please face each other. Lean in to each other, as if you’re
about to kiss,” Svetlana ordered. “Yes, good. Don’t be afraid of him,
dear. He’s only a man,” she told Katrina.
“I’m not afraid of him. It’s just that he’s so big,” Katrina
said. She looked at Dave’s large penis and, after a moment, placed her
finger upon its crown. She tried to push him back from her.
“Darling, in the old days we were not allowed to show penises,
and mission number one would have been to jerk all the men off, in hopes
of hiding their equipment from the camera,” Svetlana said. “But things
are different now. Enjoy his penis. Let it press up against your
belly. Don’t be bothered by it, for heaven’s sake. You do like boys,
don’t you?”
“Yes,” Katrina admitted. She let Dave enclasp her waist and
draw her close to his hairy body. She flinched, feeling his cock press
up hard against her. I saw a flash, heard a click.
“Kiss,” Svetlana commanded. Dave lifted Katrina’s chin. She
closed her eyes. He pecked a kiss on her lips. She opened her lips a
little and let him kiss them again. Suddenly, their mouths meshed.
More flashes, more clicks. Angela gave a small, polite clap for their
performance.
“Now you,” Svetlana told me. “Up on the bed.” Dave and
Katrina were still deeply engaged in a kiss.
“Huh?” I said. “There’s already two of them there.”
“We’re not confining ourselves to conservative shots, dear,”
Svetlana said. “Do you think this is the 1890’s? Get up on the bed
with them.”
I rose from the comfort of my canvas chair. Katrina was still
kissing Dave, so I cast an anxious glance at Angela. But she was no
help at all. She merely smiled, nodded. I guess she approved of me
playing with her boyfriend. Suddenly I wondered if I should ask for
birth control. After all, Dave wasn’t wearing a condom. And couldn’t,
either, for the point of photographing him in the buff was to be able to
to snap pictures of, among other things, his cock. But I felt guilty,
asking, for it would mean we were to have sex. I still hoped we
wouldn’t actually do it. So I kept quiet. I felt my breasts bobbing
nakedly on my chest as I crossed the room. Dielle had slipped heels on
my feet. They made me taller, elevating my bottom. I could feel it
rolling with an alluring sway behind me. All could be seen, even the
crease between my cheeks. Absently I put my hands behind me, to hide
myself.
“No! Show your bottom,” Svetlana barked. My hands flitted
away. I saw a flash behind me, heard a click. I felt my tummy swimming
with butterflies and was glad I hadn’t filled it with a breakfast it
couldn’t have kept down. I patted my belly, trying to quell my
nervousness. It was flat, smooth, even a little withdrawn. I had an
innie navel. I explored it briefly with my finger.
I drew close to the bed. My knees banged against the side of
it. Dave, kneeling up upon the bed, turned to me. Gallantly he passed
an arm behind my back. I felt frail, captured by his big hairy arm.
Katrina reached down from her perch on the bed. Bending a little, she
freely clasped the nearest cheek of my bottom. I flinched. I felt her
hand exploring my bottom and lifted a hand to her face to try to push
her away. I tried drawing back from them. Dave’s arm kept me close. I
pushed at Katrina’s face with my hand. She opened her lips. One of my
fingers stabbed into her mouth and, closing her eyes, she sucked gently
upon it.
Flash. click.
I was undone. I was frozen forever on film, in a pose not
entirely becoming to my virginity. Whose eyes would see me when the
pictures were developed? I tried not to think about it.
I couldn’t free myself. Dave’s big arm prevented me from
drawing back from the bed. Katrina, handling my bottom, had me captured
by one finger. I relented. I let Dave pull me up between them, onto
the bed’s satin sheets. My finger slipped from Katrina’s mouth. She
smiled at me. She pecked a kiss onto the side of my face. Then, more
rudely, still palming my seat, her hand sought between the cheeks of my
bottom.
How erotic we must have looked! Our tan lines showed, where
we’d worn our swimsuits at the beach, but we were free of them now,
displaying the complete nudity of our bodies to whomever might purchase
our photos. We kissed, all three of us, nuzzling each other’s lips. To
get revenge on Katrina, I placed a hand on her bottom, though I wasn’t
so indiscreet as to wedge my fingertips between her bottomhalves.
The flashbulbs flashed repeatedly. I heard the click of the
camera.
We parted, slowly, unsure what to do next. We remained
kneeling on the bed. I gave a quick lick across Dave’s hairy chest,
then pulled back. Katrina kissed him again, on the chin, too short to
kiss his lips unless he bent his face down to her. Dave looked over at
Svetlana for direction. He was hard, pulsing. Katrina and I looked at
his big organ and imagined he must be ready to spend. Oh, too soon!
Don’t let him! I heard myself cry, inside my head. Katrina must have
thought the same thing for we both laughed, suddenly, looking at his big
manhood. Our breasts shook, attracting his eyes back to us. Suddenly,
perhaps impulsively, perhaps at a signal from Svetlana, he lifted a hand
between each of our legs. We were kneeling with our legs immodestly
open, not even really aware of it, until Steve’s big hand slid up to the
apex of our thighs.
“Oh!” I gasped. With a single finger Dave began sliding his
hand back and forth against the lips of my pussy. His finger was
stiff. I was soft and open against him. Too open. I drew my legs
together but heard Svetlana order me to keep them apart.
“Ah!” Katrina protested. Dave had one finger underneath her as
well, sliding it back and forth under her lips. I felt myself wetten
upon his digit. I looked down at his hand, heard Katrina murmur
something beside me.
We reached for his cock. He did not mind us handling it. Our
fingers were small upon his big member. I could feel it throbbing in my
grasp. Would he spend? I didn’t know. He kept up the fingering of our
nests. I let my head fling back. I breahted a fevered sigh. Beside
me, Katrina did the same. More flashes, more camera clicks.
“Very good,” I heard Svetlana say somewhere behind me.
“Spontaneous, without being disobedient to my direction. I think we’ll
get along swimmingly. Come down off the bed, you three love birds.
What do you think you’re doing this for, pleasure?”
Reluctantly Dave withdrew his hands. I felt deprived with him
gone from between my legs. I wanted him back. I tugged on his dick.
Angela appeared. She disengaged Katrina and I from her lover’s penis.
“That’s enough, girls,” Angela said. “Wait for your next pose
now. Would you like some refreshments?”
“I want--” Katrina said dizzily. I knew what she wanted. The
same as I. To continue in our wicked games. But we were models, not
lovers. With a somewhat palsied movement I slipped down from the bed.
How strange, to leave it just when we were all so ready! I blushed. A
camera caught my blush, my wobbly knees, my aimlessly flitting hands,
wishing to grab onto something that was not mine. Behind me Dave helped
Katrina down from the bed. His cock jutted at my seat. It stood up
rigid beside Katrina, pointing at the ceiling. She reached for him.
Angela slapped her hand away.
Steven and Mark, I saw, through my passion-bleared vision, were
still both hard and erect. Steven was sitting in the makeup chair,
getting his pubic hair combed. Mark was standing beside him. The
assistant in shorts and a t-shirt, whose name I still didn’t know, was
handing him a glass. It contained ice water. “Drink it down,” she said
to him, smiling. “Svetlana will want some photos of your gorgeous cock
peeing it out.”
Mark nodded, smiled. He drank down the glass. The assistant
had set up a big pitcher of ice water on a folding table. It wasn’t the
one by the bed, which I guessed was for washing, but another, fetched
perhaps from the downstairs kitchen while we were on the bed kissing.
“You too, hun,” the assistant said to Dave as he approached
her.
“Can I have a drink?” Katrina asked.
“Only if you don’t mind having pictures taken of yourself
peeing,” the assistant replied. She smiled. She poured Katrina a
glass. I asked for one too.
Six females and three males. In one bedroom. We made quite a
group. Three of the females were clothed, not models, but their
features were not displeasing. I saw my favorite of the men, Steven,
gazing appreciatively at the rondeur of the pink sweatered makeup girl’s
bosoms as she bent over him to dust a light powder onto his cock.
“What’s that for?” Steven asked.
“It will make you horny as hell,” the petite makeup girl told
him frankly.
“I already am,” Steve replied. He nuzzled the curve of her
sweatered bosom as she stood. She ignored him.
“It’s talcum powder mixed with a small dose of chili powder,”
Dielle said. “You may be horny, but not like you’ll be in a minute.
You’ll have a desperate need to rub yourself, but you’ll be prevented
from doing it. The photos should be breathtaking.”
“Men, let’s get you both handcuffed to the bed,” Svetlana
said. “Steven? Mark? Over here, boys.”
“Ach. I can feel it already,” Steven announced.
“You shouldn’t powder their penises until I’ve got them
cuffed,” Svetlana told Dielle.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dielle replied. “I didn’t know.” I realized
she must be new to erotic photography makeup.
“Over here, boys,” Svetlana said. She pointed to the foot of
the bed, where two towering mahagony bedposts stood. “Constance, get
the cuffs,” she said to the girl in shorts and a t-shirt.
I watched as Constance went to a wooden dresser next to the
bed. She opened a drawer and took out two pairs of metal police
handcuffs. She walked to the foot of the bed, where she stood
expectantly, waiting for the men. Her hair was drawn into twin,
efficient pigtails. I saw she wore no bra. Her nipples rose into her
shirt as she watched the men approach.
“Uh, my dick is feeling hot,” Steve complained.
“Put your back to the post, please. Wrists behind you,”
Constance told him. Steve obeyed. He gave me a quick glance from
across the room. I frowned. Now he liked me, and sought me out, though
a moment ago he only had eyes for the pink-sweatered makeup girl. I
felt a bit of vengeance in me. I watched with satisfaction as he was
cuffed to the bedpost. It looked very strong. There were marks on it,
as if other young men had been cuffed there before him.
Constance moved quickly to Mark. Dielle crossed the room with
her makeup kit, in order to powder his dick. Svetlana adjusted her
camera to capture the scene that was about to unfold.
Without realizing it, I began frigging myself.
“Don’t,” Angela said. She slapped my wrist. I drew my hand
from between my legs. She moved to Katrina, who was dipping a finger in
her water glass and rubbing it across her slit, trying to cool herself.
“Don’t masturbate,” Angela said. She clasped Katrina’s small
wrist and pulled her finger from her dell.
“I’m only trying to chill out a little,” Katrina replied.
“I know,” Angela said. “Go to the dresser and fetch a pair of
handcuffs for yourself and Cindy. I’ll help you stay good by cuffing
your hands behind you where they can’t get you in trouble.”
“Ohhh, I don’t want to,” Katrina said. But, tossing her long
shoulder-length locks back from her face, she crossed the room. She
opened the dresser and poked around. “There sure are a lot of condoms
in here!” she announced.
“I do a lot of sexual photography here,” Svetlana told her,
aiming her camera at the men. “We’ll use those later.” Katrina
sighed. She drew a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer. Then another,
for me.
“I don’t want any cuffs,” I told Angela.
“And I don’t want you cumming before your time,” Angela
replied. “Though you might do it as often as you please, it’s important
to keep you tense for the early photos. It makes them sexier.”
“Have you done this before?” I asked her.
“No, dear. Of course not,” Angela replied. “This is just a
lark. We’re really professional models, you know. Not erotic ones.
But I talked with Svetlana about it a lot on the phone. Here’s the
cuffs. Thank you, Katrina. Turn around, Cindy. Don’t make it
difficult for me.”
I turned. I showed her my bottom. I put my wrists behind me,
presenting them to her. In the distance I heard Steven (or was it
Mark?) groan with pent-up emotion. I wondered how much difference there
was between us, and them. They had big pricks and we had holes instead,
but we both seemed to need each other quite badly at the moment.
I felt the steel of the handcuffs press against my wrists.
They snapped shut. First one, then the other. Angela breathed on my
neck. She bent, licked my ear, as if to reinforce my new subservience
to her. I could do nothing but flinch. I felt my teats quivering
before me, all stiff and hard, heavy for my age. “Stand with your legs
open,” Angela told me. “You have only a small slit. Do not hide it
from the men’s view by pressing your thighs closed. Let them see it at
least, though they cannot touch you.”
I obeyed. Somehow, dispite my misgivings, I liked obeying. I
had only to do as she told me. She would handle the rest.
Angela turned me, so I faced directly at the men. She reminded
me to part my thighs. Then she moved to Katrina. My friend was as
submissive as I. Dave’s hands between our legs had made us exquisitely
feminine. Now he stood near us, drinking, so he could pee in Svetlana’s
photographs. I glanced at him. He smiled.
“Give me a drink,” I said. He approached, put his glass to my
lips. I drank greedily at the water, wanting what he offered lower down
instead, but accepting the water in lieu of it.
“Have you ever been whipped?” Dave asked me. My eyes bulged.
I spluttered in his glass. He withdrew it. Water dribbled from my lips
down my chin. It fell in droplets onto my breasts. They were promient,
sticking out in front of me like twin shapely gourds, forced forward by
my posture in the cuffs.
“No,” I told him, wide-eyed.
“Perhaps we can convince Svetlana to take some photos of it,
then,” he smiled.
“I don’t want to be,” I told him frankly. He pressed a finger
to my belly. He touched my navel hole.
“No girl wants to be, especially her first time,” Steve assured
me. “But there is a certain pleasure in it, you’ll find, being all
hot-bottomed, wiggling your ass.”
“But who would do it?” I asked.
“Perhaps me,” Dave replied. His fingers played lower across my
belly and grazed the top of my pubic thatch. I wondered at my being
bound, if he was going to frig me instead. “Don’t worry, I’ve done it
before,” he told me. “I know how to apply the strokes properly.
Especially on a newbie.”
“You’ve whipped other girls?” I asked.
“A few,” he said. I didn’t know if he was lying or telling the
truth. About the number, that is. About his experience, I had no
doubt. He was at least twice my age. He fondled my nest and let his
fingers wander dangerously close to my slit.
“Are you going to do it then, for her?” Angela scolded Dave.
He didn’t catch her meaning.
“If Svetlana lets me,” he answered. He looked up from gazing
at my pussy. “Oh, you mean frig her. Perhaps I will, hmmm? Just a
little.”
“Eh!” I gasped suddenly. It was an immodest cry, to be sure,
belted straight up from my tummy, but I couldn’t help it. Dave had just
stuck his finger into my snatch. Not far, just knuckle deep, but it was
the first ever to enter me. Casually his thumb searched in the folds of
my labial lips for my clit.
“Don’t!” I implored him. I gazed beseechingly in his eyes. I
searched for what, I wasn’t sure. “I’m a virgin.”
“What?” Dave asked. He sounded like a man who’d been shot.
“Ah, I knew it,” Angela said. “Now all three of them will want
her. So much for eroticism. She’s never even been opened!” She turned
from me, from Dave. For his part, Dave suddenly became much more
attentive.
“Really?” he asked. He made me gasp, and lurch forward, as he
intruded deeper in me, searching with his finger.
“Don’t!” I pleaded. “You won’t find anything. I lost it on a
horse.”
He entered me more, more, jamming his finger up inside me. But
with his other hand he stroked my long blonde hair. My ponytail swished
across my back and fell off it, dangling below my face.
“No, I feel something,” Dave told me. “Your hymen’s torn, but
not gone.” I felt his big finger in me and tried clamping my thighs,
but he easily took hold of one of my legs and pulled them apart. I was
just a girl, just 14, no match for him. “You’ll need to have this
removed,” Dave told me. “Not a problem, really. I’m amply equipped to
take it from you.” Bending under his searching, intruding finger, I
gazed at his penis. It was big, hard. Clear fluid dripped languidly
from its tip.
“Will we have some honeymoon photos today then, hmmm?” I heard
Svetlana say. Angela was telling her about my ‘problem.’
Dave used my resistance to his advantage. He bent me further.
He reached behind me. He palmed my ass. “How about your bottom?” he
asked, feeling my cheeks. “Have you been giving it away in back, to
save yourself in front?”
“Noooo,” I bleated. I felt his hand part my cheeks and a
finger probe against the rubbery ring of my anus. “I’m virgin ALL
OVER!” I shouted, but it was too late. He’d already stabbed at me. My
ring gave way and I felt his finger within my puckered hole, up to the
first knuckle.
“God, you’re tight. Quit squeezing your ass. I told you to
keep yourself open, girl!” Dave reproved me. I heard a whip crack in
the distance. I gasped, thinking somehow it was me, but then realized
it was one of the boys. Mark? Steven? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know
that much about them, yet. But it wasn’t Dave, for he kept me bent
over, a finger up my twat and another exploring my asshole.
“Do you want her, hmmm, boys? My, how you struggle against
those posts! Keep jabbing at me with your cocks, yes! How helpless you
look. Thrust at the camera, boys!” I heard Svetlana say. “Don’t worry
about Angela and her penis whip.”
CRACK! Again the whip. Again a scream, but it wasn’t me. It
was one of the poor boys, chili powder burning his dick and a whip
cracking across it to make it hurt even worse. I hoped Angela wasn’t
being too hard on them. They had fine penises, and I was soft on
Steven. But at the moment, bent over by Dave, I couldn’t do anything
but listen. I wriggled against my captor. Dave laughed. He drew his
finger from my ass and pulled out of my twat.
“There, stand up,” Dave said. “A virgin, by God! In all your
private places and with an unwhipped bottom, too! I’m going to have fun
with you!”
I shivered in his grasp. I didn’t think I wanted any part of
his fun. But he jabbed at my belly with his penis, smearing his pre-cum
across my smooth, tanned flesh, as if it were his right to. His
absolute right. Well, he was the biggest and the oldest male in the
room. But I was the littlest female. Surely he had no right to claim
dibs on me. I was too young for him!
“Ah, Dave,” Svetlana said. She left her camera and walked
across the room. Her step was light, yet confident. She placed a hand
upon his bare back. It glided lower, it palmed his manly seat in open
admiration. Then, suddenly, her tanned palm gripped one of his small
white buns. With the bulging fullness of his asscheek pillowing in her
hand, she forcibly turned him. He was a large man, and she was smaller,
and frail of figure, yet her grip was sufficient to get his attention
and to force him to obey.
“Ugh, what do you want?” Dave asked irritably as he was brought
about to face Svetlana. She paused. His penis jutted at her. Her hand
had slipped from his seat and now she passed an admiring fingertip along
the big veined length of his shaft. I shivered, watching. My dell was
safe for the moment, though it felt wet between my legs. His attention,
though unwanted, had caused it to honey itself. I wondered whose side
my body was on.
“Dave, you are here to work, not to play,” Svetlana told my
attacker. Possessively she clasped his organ, right behind the bulbing
cockhead, where the penis briefly narrows. She ringed the area with her
thumb and forefinger, not able to completely close upon it, he was so
big, but taking possession of him all the same. Then she looked over
her shoulder at Steve and Mark, suffering under Angel’s lashing whip.
“I think I’m finished with them,” she said to Angel. She tossed her
head. Her pinned up hair had lost several strands. They dangled down
in her face. Failing to get them out of her eyes with her head’s
movement, she reluctantly lifted a hand and brushed them back behind her
ears with her fingers. “Please jerk them off, so they won’t be
desperate and uncontrollable when you undo their handcuffs. Then you
may unlock them and dismiss them.”
“What?!” Steven, my favorite, blurted. He had endured the
chili powder, and the penis whip, only, it seemed, to be summarily sent
home. Mark looked equally vexed.
“Oh, did you boys think you came here for free sex?” Svetlana
asked. As she spoke, she stroked Dave’s big penis with her fingertip,
as if to soothe him and keep him obedient. He was, after all, not
cuffed, as Dave and Mark were. With her other hand she ringed his
cock. Her thumb and forefinger, holding him, had the appearance of some
sort of erotic leash. Miraculously, Dave stood still, soothed and held,
though he’d been about to rape me just minutes earlier. “No, boys,
sorry. I call the shots here.” She laughed, for indeed she did, both
photographically and otherwise. “Constance, man the camera,” she told
the young woman with the pigtails. “I want to record their agony as
they’re forced to spend.”
“What?!” Mark yelled. He was almost apoplectic now. He
strained at his bonds. His beautiful chest muscles bulged, showing
themselves in straining detail, yet the police handcuffs held.
“Darling, it’s *erotic* photography, remember?” Svetlana said.
“This is all about people’s sexual organs, and how they respond under
the stress of erotic play. You act as if Angela’s going to dismember
you. Semen must be jettisoned every few days by the male. You know
that. Surrender your seed to her and quit complaining. You’re like a
Doritos factory, aren’t you? You’ll make more. I’m quite sure of it.”
“Yes, but--” Mark stammered.
“That’s what I wish to capture, dear,” Svetlana told him, still
pleasantly stroking Dave’s penis, keeping him tense but (at least
partly) satisfied. “I don’t do bullshit erotic photography, sorry. I
want to see you frustrated, tense, and yes, remorseful as your sperm is
forced from your body. Then it’s home for you, while these girls remain
here, in my house, wet and hungry for your love.” She laughed. Her
breasts shook with her laughter. “How pretty they’ll look, so sweetly
desperate for male attention, but with none but Dave here to service
them, and only if I let him.”
I squirmed in my bonds. I did not like the thought of myself
being seen in such a state. Made up, my hair perfect, yet shivering
with sinful desire! Katrina walked away. Svetlana looked over her
shoulder, watched as the girl walked, with firm, defiant steps, toward
the bedroom door. Her white bottom wiggled behind her. It looked like
a rabbit’s tail, perched between her tanned back and legs. I glanced at
Angela. She still held the penis whip in her hand. It looked small but
hurtful. I wondered if it might not be used on our bottoms, and stayed
standing where I was.
“Katrina, dear. Where are you going?” Svetlana asked. Her
voice was soft, melodious. But it had a note of motherly displeasure in
it.
“I’m leaving!” Katrina said. She didn’t bother to turn
around. She spoke to the bedroom door, which she was now facing. It
was closed. She looked at it, wriggled her arms. They were cuffed
behind her and she had no way of opening it without the use of her
hands. Or so I thought. Suddenly, Katrina dropped to her knees. I
heard her bare knees strike the wooden floor. I saw her wince. She
wore high heels and had not realized that, in kneeling, she’d wind up
making an uncontrolled drop to the floor. She recovered herself and,
nude as a jaybird, she put her mouth to the round handle of the door.
She gripped the handle with her teeth and tried to turn it.
Svetlana turned and looked at Constance. The pigtailed girl
nodded. She ran to the door. I thought her purpose was to stop Katrina
but, then, I saw she was carrying a camera. She lifted it to her face
and aimed it down at Katrina, standing over the girl. Katrina, turning
the knob, looked up at the camera.
FLASH! click. Poor Katrina! Constance had captured her on
film, pathetically trying to open a door with her mouth. I knew many
males would rejoice at that picture. A handcuffed girl, trying to
escape her fate.
Katrina did not give up. She gripped the doorknob more tightly
with her teeth. It was big in her mouth, making her jaws split wide.
It was made of brass and, being well polished, was slippery. The saliva
from her mouth made it still more difficult to grasp. Constance clicked
off photo after photo of her. I felt sorry for Katrina, her bare
breasts, the tips risen, wiggling helplessly as she tried to escape.
Now and then she strove against her handcuffs, moving her arms
fruitlessly. The big metal handcuffs clung implacably to her wrists.
Her bare ribs stood out below her breasts as she drew in her breath,
fighting against the door handle. Her bare legs tensed. Her bottom
bulbed behind her, an invitation to the whip, should Svetlana command
that it be used upon her. We all watched, mesmerized. There was a
certain pathetic sensuousness it Katrina’s plight. I prayed she’d get
the door open, somehow, and planned to run through the open door the
minute her sacrifice paid off. I bit my lip, watching. How foolish it
was for she and I to come here! We had been young and frivolous,
playing with fire, and now we were burning. That it was between our
legs that we burned most of all was, I guess, due punishment for us,
that we deserved. I bent my knees, then straightened my legs, then bent
my knees again. I felt empty up between my legs, in my dell. I wanted,
yet I planned to run the minute Katrina succeeded.
A tear ran down Katrina’s face. She was losing the battle and
she knew it. She had done nothing but provide more photos for wicked
men and horny boys. She released the doorknob from her mouth. A sigh
escaped her lips. They were wet with her own saliva. It gleamed on the
doorknob too, where she’d slobbered upon it. She bent her knees, as I
was doing, as if feeling the same need as I felt. She straightened her
legs, bent them again. “Oh!” she cried. The camera clicked again,
capturing her arousal.
Svetlana tossed back her head and laughed. “Such excellent
photos!” she said. “And the day is still young, with the night not even
begun!”
“Boys, I’m going to put a cocktail glass down at your feet,”
Angela instructed Steve and Mark. I turned to them. I watched her
kneel. Her breasts hung sweetly, their tips ripe and tremulous,
jiggling with the free movement of her naked bosoms. Her belly was
flat, dimpled by her navel. Her cunt showed raw between her legs as she
bent, a red wet gash. There was a clink as first one glass, then the
other, was placed upon the bedroom’s wooden floor.
“To Hell with that. I have to go to the bathroom!” Mark
declared. A jet of pee sprouted from the tip of his hard penis and went
arcing down to the glass. He hit the rim, splattering pee in wide
spashing drops all about the missed receptacle.
“Hey!” Angela cried. She drew back. Some of Mark’s pee,
hitting the side of the glass, had splashed on her. Steven, meanwhile,
began peeing too. He hit the bottom of the glass exactly, a perfect
gentleman, but the force of his falling urine was so strong that it
splashed right out of the glass. Both boys were making a mess, creating
puddles on the floor.
“Dielle! Quickly!” Svetlana cried. I thought her intent was
to somehow stop the boys. Indeed, Angela, hearing her, reached up and
grabbed Mark’s big prick. She squeezed it, trying to cut off the flow
of his pee. She may as well have tried to stop up a broken fire hydrant
with her finger.
“Oh, my! Stop! Stop!” Angela yelled at Mark, kneeling below
him, looking up at him and his big penis beseechingly. Yet Svetlana had
not cried out to Dielle to stop the boys from peeing. She was much too
wicked for that. Instead, she wanted their lewd act photographed!
And it was. Dielle manned the camera that stood on the
tripod. She clicked off shot after shot. Each was accompanied by a
bright flash that caught both the boys and poor Angela, trapped between
their peeing dicks. Drops of Mark’s urine speckled her hand, her wrist,
her arm, even her belly and breasts. At last the boys’ flow slowed.
Both glasses were full with big puddles underneath them. Mark had
finally found the center of his glass. Little good it did, of course.
His bladder, as well as Steve’s had held much more than any single glass
could.
“Well, are you happy now?” Angela glowered at Mark. She
released his penis. It still stood out from his body, big as a banana
and hard as well-wrought iron.
“No,” Mark answered truthfully, for his testicles still brimmed
with sperm. Yet he did not want it wasted, spilled upon the floor as
his pee had been.
“Call the maid,” Svetlana told Dielle. The girl let go of the
mounted camera and walked gracefully to a pile of photographic equipment
upon the floor. She bent, and I saw her pick up a cell phone. She
tapped in a number and held the phone to her ear.
“Hilda? Would you please come up? Two of the boys have peed
on the floor. Yes. Right away, please,” Dielle said casually into the
phone, as if reporting a little accident by a baby (two, in fact!) to
its nursemaid.
“Angela,” Svetlana said. “If you go to the dresser you’ll find
foley catheters in the bottom drawer. Do you think you could manage to
catheterize the boys for me?” Angela stood. She brushed back her long
red hair.
“I guess so,” Angela answered. “I took a course in nursing
once.”
“Good,” Svetlana said. “It’s not too difficult. And you look
so beautiful, in the nude. I’d like for you to do it.”
“Why in God’s name do you want us catheterized?” Mark asked
angrily. Yet I sensed arousal in his voice, as if the thought of having
his penis run through with a catheter, fucked by it really, tempted him
against his will.
“So you won’t make a new mess on the floor with your sperm,”
Svetlana told him. Angela, meanwhile, picked up first one cocktail
glass, then the other. She made a face. The urine that brimmed in each
glass threatened to overspill the glasses’ rims and wet her hands.
“What should I do with these?” Angela asked.
“You could drink them,” Svetlana said.
“Not on your life!” Angela answered, a little shocked.
“Then water the plant with them,” Svetlana said. “Over
there.” She nodded to the big potted vine at the back of the bedroom.
“Won’t it kill them?” Angela said.
“Boys water plants all the time, I’m afraid,” Svetlana told
her. “Just dump it in. The soil will absorb it and the plant will draw
on the moisture and the nutrients.”
“Does pee have nutrients in it?” Angela asked, still holding
the brimming glasses. Above them her bosoms hung fresh and ripe, her
nipples fully sprouted, as if already watered by the glasses’ contents.
Svetlana laughed. “I have no idea, dear. Just get rid of that
urine, would you? I’m afraid you’ll spill more of it on my floor.”
“Okay,” Angela said. She walked with some trepidation to the
plant at the back of the room, not wanting to get any more of the boys’
urine on herself than she already had. Carefully she poured out their
pee. Then she walked to the dresser and set both empty glasses atop
it. They gleamed under the photographic lights in the room. I heard
the door open. We all turned. The maid entered. She was wheeling a
big bucket in front of her, with a mop standing in it. Water sloshed in
the bucket. I saw foam floating within it as she pushed it toward me.
She looked with diffident eyes at young Katrina, nude and handcuffed,
kneeling on the floor. She pushed the bucket past her. Constance went
to the door and shut it.
How embarrassed I felt! I was made up like a doll, yet I was
totally naked and, worse, handcuffed. It didn’t take a mature eye like
the maid’s to see I had a wet dell and wanted a cock up me. I shivered
under her gaze. It was imperious now, not modest at all, as if she were
secretly laughing at me. I was young and beautiful, but I looked
utterly silly now, and she knew, I imagine, that I had a long night
ahead of me. With Svetlana, it did not promise to be a honeymoon.
Rather, I feared, it would be more like a visit to the Marquis de Sade!
The maid stopped the bucket in front of Mark. She eyed him,
his forthright cock, stiff and needy. She got out her mop. She rung it
in the steel rollers above the bucket and then plopped it on the floor.
With quick, workmanlike strokes she brushed across the floor’s wooden
planks. Fortunately the floor was well polished, else the pee might
have stained it. She dipped her mop in the bucket, rung it out again,
and set to work on the floor once more. Angela, meanwhile, drew
catheters from the bottom drawer of the dresser. They were clear. We’d
be able to see the boys’ sperm as it shot into them. At the end of each
catheter Angela carefully attached a plastic medical bag. I saw that
each was empty, waiting to be filled. The boys, I had no doubt, would
take care of that, though they didn’t want to.
“Thank you, Hilda,” Svetlana told the maid. She had finished
her job. She took one more look at Mark’s penis, then at Steve’s, and
headed with her bucket for the door. I listened to the rollers
underneath the bucket as it wheeled across the room. She opened the
door, passed through. She closed it behind her. I saw dejection in
Katrina’s eyes. She’d missed another chance to escape.
Angela, smiling and confident, walked over to the boys. She
laid down on the still wet floor their catheters, and the jar of grease
that would be needed to lubricate the free ends of the catheters.
“If you don’t want us making a mess, why don’t you just have us
wear condoms?” Mark asked Svetlana with a frustrated look on his face.
How strange it must have felt for him! He was the man, with all his
bulging, rippling muscles, yet he was entirely at the mercy of girls!
Dave showed no signs of wishing to get him out of his jam. In fact, he
rather seemed to look forward to seeing the boys catheterized.
“Because you have a cunt, not a cock, and things go up cunts,”
Dave laughed. Svetlana patted Dave’s penis with her small hand, as if
to quiet a boisterous child.
“No, dear,” she said to Dave. Then, turning, she addressed
Mark. “If you were to wear a condom, Mark, what would the camera
record, hmmm?”
“It would show my cock wearing a condom,” Mark answered. He
frowned, angry at being asked such a dumb question.
“Correct,” Svetlana told him. She stroked Dave to let him know
he was still her favorite, even if she was talking to Mark at the
moment. “The camera would make a picture of your cock, but your lovely
big cock, my dear boy, would be concealed *within* the condom. The
ladies and gay men I plan to sell your photo to don’t want to look at a
condom. They want to see your young cock in all its glory. But I can’t
have you mess my floor again. Hence, the catheter is necessary. Please
accept it in the spirit it’s given.”
“What spirit is that?!” Mark gasped. Angela chose him first
and advanced upon him with a catheter trailing from her hand.
“The spirit of a penitent, accepting his justly due
punishment!” Svetlana said with a laugh.
“I thought so,” Mark groused.
Ah, how the boys struggled! Each one tried to avoid the tip of
the catheter, squirming in his bonds. But despite the wiggling of their
bare pricks, Angela had no difficulty capturing the manhood of each boy
in her hand. With her other hand she stuffed in the greased tip of the
catheter. The boys groaned. They shuddered. I had to avert my eyes
when Steven was poked. I loved him too much to see it done. Up the two
catheters went, up each boy in turn, until both had a line trailing out
of his cock, down to an empty bag which waited upon the floor to receive
their sperm.
“Alright boys, now its time for your big shoot out,” Angela
said. Her long red curly mane bounced along her shoulders and down the
length of her back. She was clearly loving torturing the boys. I
wondered if she might not open a photographic studio of her own, where
she could lure young boys to their doom. (Not to mention girls like
me.)
“Dave, doesn’t that look fun?” Svetlana asked our uncuffed
stallion.
“No,” Dave said. Yet when Svetlana reached between his legs
and gently squeezed his balls, I saw him give a pleasant groan.
“Just think, Dave. In a minute both boys will be relieved of
all that nasty sperm that’s in their balls, making them feel so hot and
bothered. Wouldn’t you be willing to undergo a catheterization, if you
could feel relaxed?” Svetlana asked. With her other hand she gave his
penis feather-light strokes, so as not (hopefully) to make him
discharge, while still giving him a little pleasure.
“No, no. Not over my dead body,” Dave said. Then he let out a
sharp cry. Svetlana had given his balls a sharp squeeze and a yank.
“You’ll kiss my toes if I tell you to,” Svetlana told Dave. I
saw in her eyes she was testing him, wondering how far she could push
him. He was, after all, quite large, and utterly free to strike her if
he wished, to kill us all, I imagine, if the desire came to him. He
wore no bonds.
“Uhn, don’t do that,” Dave said. Yet he made no move to resist
the tall, elegant woman who so intimately possessed him. In fact, I saw
him open his legs a little more, as if it was his fault she’d squeezed
him, for not giving her enough room between his legs. She fondled his
sac with her fingertips, feeling for his two individual testes. I think
she grabbed one and squeezed it alone, for his back suddenly tensed and
he let out a shout.
“You are wicked, woman!” he breathed.
“I use men and dispose of them at my pleasure,” Svetlana
replied. Her voice was cultured, diffident. She squeezed his other
ball, but more lightly, as if not to anger him too much. “How big you
are! And your equipment-- how magnificent! Truly, if you were not so
large and perfect, I’d have you whacked off like the boys, and sent
away. But you are special, aren’t you? You want to stay the night with
me and see what I can do with you.”
“I just-- thought I’d get out of the hot sun at the beach,”
Dave answered, truthfully. “I had no idea you were such a demon!”
“Demon*ess*,” Sveltlana told him. She squeezed his right
testicle again. (I only guess at this. She sure squeezed something,
though, for Dave let out another howl.)
“If you do that again, woman, I’ll kill you,” Dave said quite
seriously to Svetlana.
“My, my. You men are always so violent,” Svetlana said. “I’ll
have you know my name, to you at least, is not ‘woman.’ It’s Mistress,
from now on, and I expect you to use it, with respect and courtesy, when
addressing me. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” Dave said. I saw the muscles of his back tense,
expecting another squeeze, but she let him feel only the fondling of her
fingertips upon his balls.
“Very good,” Svetlana said. “Understand, of course, that other
men might call me ‘woman.’ Men that I respect. But not you. You are
nothing to me. Nothing, except for your beautiful big cock and your
wonderful balls.”
“Yes, mistress,” Dave said. I knew now why she’d kept him.
She’d guessed, somehow, that big as he was, she could break him. Steve
and Mark, however, were another matter, being younger and more
boisterous. Yet I sensed Steve could be made obedient. Perhaps it was
only my love for him. He was the youngest, just like me.
“Ah, Mark. Why do you resist my touch?” Angela asked the young
man under her command. (He, of course, was cuffed, being of a
hot-tempered personality.) “Isn’t this your dream, little boy, to have
a beautiful woman fondle your cock like this?”
“I’m not a little boy,” Mark protested. He watched as Angela
fingered his big penis and, bending, ran her tongue along it. Her
bosoms hung pendantly beneath her, like ripe fruit on display.
Constance photographed them both. Mark’s sighs, Angela’s loving
murmurs.
“Cum, Mark,” Angela said. “Do you want me to bite your penis?
Is that what you need?” She smiled. She placed her teeth on his cock
and gently bit into his shaft.
“No!” Mark gasped.
“Mmmm, you need a hickey on your cock,” Angela said. She
closed her teeth until just a small bit of his cockskin remained between
them. Then she bit, and Mark gave a loud yell. When she lifted her
face from his penis there was a sharp red mark upon his shaft. I could
not see it at the moment, being on the other side of Mark, but I had
little doubt it was there, and knew well what a hickey looked like,
having been given one by a boyfriend when I was ten. My mom had spanked
me for it. The boy had been younger than me, only nine, and she’d said
I was corrupting him. But I’d had nothing to do with it. (Of course,
we’d been playing doctor, which I didn’t tell her.)
“Yes, poor Mark, I want to see that little bag at the end of
the catheter filled right up,” Angela told the young man. “Svetlana
insists, and I’m not one to disobey her. Are you?”
“No,” Mark answered. He cast a worried glance at Svetlana, and
Dave, who so recently had felt Svetlana’s displeasure between his legs.
“Then shoot, Markie,” Angela said. Seeing he was going to be
difficult, she picked up the jar of catheter grease from the floor. She
dipped her fingers in it. Looking at him, she said, “I guess I’m going
to have to give you the ‘Hustler’ treatment, eh Mark? You’ve seen those
cartoons in Hustler, haven’t you? Don’t tell me you never jerk off to a
porno magazine. You know, those cartoons of men fisting themselves.
That’s what I’m going to do to you, Mark. Fist you until you shoot for
me.” Angela greased both her palms, rubbing her hands together.
With wide eyes Mark watched as Angela took possession of him
with both her hands. She had small hands, with delicate, tapering
fingers. Nonetheless she clasped his banana-like prick firmly. Then
she began yanking on it. She drew her squeezing hands down its length,
then pushed up, as if trying to force Mark’s penis into his groin. Then
it was down again, then up. She looked like she might be fucking him
with a dildo, except his penis stood out ramrod straight and utterly
erect, unmoving except for the wicked movement she made along its length
with her squeezing palms. I watched, tensely, mesmerized. Even Katrina
was watching. Our breath moved in and out of our frozen bodies, making
our breasts shiver, but otherwise we stood utterly unmoving and
spellbound. Svetlana herself hardly made any movement, though her hands
continued to flutter along Dave’s shaft, to keep him under control.
Angela moved with athletic grace, like a lioness. With quick,
even strokes she pulled and pushed on Mark’s hard penis. She looked
like a slim milkmaid milking, with determination, a stubborn cow. Mark
gazed down at himself, then flung his head back, gasped, looked down
again, trying to hold himself in. He did not want to be dismissed from
our party, I guess, or at least not in this ignoble way. Across from
him, manacled to the other bedpost, stood Steve, waiting with horrified
eyes for his cock to be milked in turn. I wished I could save him
somehow. But it was hopeless. Constance and Dielle were ever ready to
prevent any tricks, not to mention Svetlana, and Angela, who had already
punished the boys with a whip.
“Uhn, uhn, uhn, stop!” Mark pleaded. He tried looking at
Angela but, just as he did, she gave him another hard jerk, forcing his
eyes to the ceiling. Her work was taking its toll on his willpower. I
saw his back straighten. His knees bent. Suddenly, he loosed his
seed. Instead of splattering over Angela it went shooting into the
clear catheter. Svetlana let go of Dave’s prick and gave a quick clap
of applause. It was joined by Constance, who clapped too. Dielle was
too busy taking pictures to clap.
Angela let go of Mark’s dick. She watched him ejaculate,
clapping as she watched. Mark, desperate, looked at her. How rude it
was for her to let go of him in mid spurt, I thought! (I didn’t know
too much about boys’ anatomy but my girlfriend at school did, and she
said she said you had to keep rubbing them until they were done.)
“Oh. Do you want MORE, Markie?” Angela laughed. “I thought
you didn’t want me to play with your penis.” Then she took hold of him
again. “Come, Markie, get it all out. We don’t want you keeping any
back, do we?” she said. Mark was forced to spurt and spurt until I knew
he must be empty. I felt saddened, seeing his sperm in the bag, all
wasted like that. Mark’s penis began to shrivel. “There, Mark, you’ve
had your due. Time to go home,” Angela said to him. She wiped her arm
across her mouth. He needed no more hickeys. Giving him one had put
the sweat from his straining cock on her lips.
Dielle went to the cell phone. She picked it up and called the
maid. “Please come up and escort Mark out of the house,” she said.
“Yes, he’s quite finished. Oh, he might come up again, but Svetlana
says she has all the photos she needs of him.”
“Except for him dressing,” Svetlana said, raising her voice so
Dielle would hear. “We need photos of him putting his pants back on.”
She laughed. “Sorry, Mark. You are quite a hunk, otherwise you
wouldn’t be here at all. But I need these sort of photos, you know, of
a young man getting his just desserts and going glumly away. Try to
pout when Dielle takes your photo. Who knows? If you’re good you may
get a special invitation for a return visit.”
“Forget it!” Mark said. “I’m through with you, woman.” He
glared at her. Angela went to the dresser to fetch the key to his
handcuffs.
“Oh, do you think you’ve offended me, Mark?” Svetlana said.
“No, dear. I respect you. Unlike Dave, here.” She smirked, first at
Mark, then at Dave. “Yes, you’re like a God to me, Mark, especially if
you’re obedient and let the maid take you out, without giving me any
trouble. And now that I’ve angered you I’m tempted to be your slave,
and let you have your way with me.” She stroked Dave’s cock. “But it
will have ‘till wait until another day, Mark, when I can devote myself
just to you.”
Mark looked confused. I know that hot-tempered young hunk was
planning something when the cuffs were opened, perhaps smashing us all
to bits, if only he could get Dave to cooperate. But now, with such a
beautiful, accomplished woman begging to be his slave, he didn’t know
what to do. Svetlana had either picked out her men very well, which I
doubted, since she apparently didn’t even know our names when we showed
up. Or she was expert at handling males, perhaps having photographed
hundreds of them as an erotic photographer.
“Alright,” Mark said. “Give me a call. I’ll be at Heloise’s
for the rest of the week, working as a model. I know you’re just
bitching me, though, to get rid of me.”
“Hardly,” Svetlana said. She looked at him with admiring
eyes. “I don’t photograph nobodies. Even if Dave is one,” she added,
casting a glance at the man she held by his dick. “We’ll meet again,
sweetie, and you’ll hear me call you ‘Master’ the minute I set eyes on
you.”
Dizzied by his torture, and even more by the prospect of a
submissive Svetlana, Mark allowed himself to be unlocked from the
bedpost by Angela. He did nothing to any of us when he was free, just
stood there, dumbly, staring at Svetlana, visions of her as his slave
dancing in his mind.
The maid entered. She looked at us, at Mark, saw his small,
withdrawn prick. He took a step forward. The catheter swung between
his legs. Angela touched a finger to his broad shoulder.
“Mark, I don’t think you want to take that home with you,”
Angela said to Mark.
“Oh, yeah,” Mark replied. He looked down at the catheter still
hanging from his penis. Angela turned him to face her. She knelt. I
saw Mark grimace as the catheter was withdrawn. She held a betadine pad
in her hand and she smoothly passed it over his penis tip. Then she
broke open an alcohol pad and wiped off the stain left by the betadine.
“Okay, you’re free to go,” Angela said to Mark. “Don’t forget
to dress first. I’m sure the little girls playing across the street in
the park would just love to see your buff body walking out to the car.”
“Yeah, that’s all I need,” Mark agreed. “I think I’ve had
enough female attention for one day.”
The maid opened a closet. She’d hung our clothes there. She
pulled out a hanger. Mark’s pants were draped over it, plus his shirt.
She’d not bothered to hang his shirt up seperately. She handed him his
clothes.
“Thanks,” Mark said. “I’ll be leaving now.” Dielle snapped
photos of him as he dressed. Constance too, as if he were a visiting
Olympic champion, now taking his leave of us.
Mark left. The maid went with him, closing the bedroom door
behind her.
“Well, Steven, you’re next,” Angela said to my love.
“Oh, please, don’t!” I blurted. To my surprise, Katrina
blurted the same. We both looked at each other, a little jealously, as
if each of us had intruded on the other.
“What?!” Svetlana asked.
“Please let him stay,” Katrina begged in a small voice,
kneeling on the floor, her hands bound behind her.
“Well, Miss Misbehavior now seems a bit more interested in
sticking around,” Svetlana said.
“I’m sorry I tried to escape,” Katrina said. “I just-- felt
nervous, that’s all.”
“I understand,” Svetlana said. “Do you promise to obey if I
let Steven stay?”
“Yes,” Katrina gulped. I felt a little angry. He was, in my
mind, my boyfriend, not hers, though we hadn’t done anything together.
I wished she would go back to her old ways of thinking, or, better yet,
try another escape, and succeed. But we were here at Svetlana’s
pleasure, not mine, and she clearly wanted to keep the rest of us, at
least for a little longer.
“Steven, do you promise to be obedient to Mistress Svetlana if
I don’t whack you off?” Svetlana asked. Angela stood ready, her palms
greased, if he chose to answer in the negative.
“Uh, yeah... I guess,” Steve answered. He clearly wanted to
cum, just not in such an ignoble way as she had planned for him.
“Good, Steve. Then I expect you to keep yourself stiff and
hard and ready for my instructions, okay?” Svetlana said.
“Okay,” Steve replied. He was, even as I watched, becoming
beguiled by Svetlana, just as Dave had been. She had spells, this
woman, that she could cast with her eyes, or her mind, or something.
Perhaps it was her softly beckoning voice.
“Okay Mistress,” Svetlana corrected.
“Yes... Mistress,” Steve stammered.
“Leave the catheter in for now,” Svetlana instructed Angela.
“You never know, he might turn bad on us. But unlock his cuffs. I
doubt he’ll go anywhere with a foley catheter dangling between his
legs. Steven, be careful you don’t step on the tube when you’re free,
okay. That could hurt.”
“Oh, yeah,” Steve said. He’d never been catheterized before
and he looked with worried eyes at the thing dangling down between his
legs. Would he have to carry his little empty bag with him, wherever he
went, the bag at the end of his tube? Like a woman’s purse? I guessed
so. I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do.
Svetlana turned to Katrina, then cast her eyes upon me.
“Girls, I want you both up on the bed, in a 69,” Svetlana said.
“There’s no need to remove the cuffs. How pretty you’ll both look,
cuffed, but with your faces between each other’s thighs! Help them,
Constance. Get them both on the bed. Dielle, get ready to take more
pictures.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dielle and Constance said in unison. She did not
reprove them for not calling her ‘mistress.’ I guessed the command only
applied to us, her erotic players, in her theatre erotique. Dielle and
Constance were just stage hands, though pretty enough to play if
Svetlana chose to include them.
A few minutes later I found myself flat on my back on the big
satin bed. My knees were drawn up, but my legs were wide apart.
Constance had insisted upon it. I heard the camera clicking,
somewhere. Dielle was already busy taking pictures.
Above me hovered Katrina. Her legs straddled my torso. I
watched as Constance bent her down. With her knees on either side of
me, Katrina’s head was forced down between my legs. Her bare bottom sat
square upon my nose.
“Hey!” I cried out. I was a brownnose, my nose stuck up
against her anus hole and the cheeks of my face pressed ignominiously to
the cheeks of her ass. I smelled her, but she smelled sweet, for they
had perfumed her bottom. I knew my ass must smell the same to her, for
they had done the same to me. Our bodies sweated a little, from
nervousness, from the tension we’d endured as we stood waiting upon
Svetlana’s commands, watching Mark be milked.
I felt a soft sigh between my legs. It tickled my thatch. I
wriggled. My hands were cuffed underneath me and I could do nothing
save close my legs. I tried, found Katrina’s head was now between them,
keeping them open. Frustrated, seeing her bottom lift a little off my
face, perhaps so she could somehow kneel more comfortably over me, I saw
her wet snatch. I knew it would torture her to be tickled there, a
little. Yet I didn’t have my hands available. So, impulsively, I
darted out my tongue.
“Yeek!” I heard at my tail. Katrina had felt that!
“Oh, they’re starting already!” Svetlana cried. She had not
told us to tongue each other, just to pose. Yet she had not forbidden
tonguing either. She knew we were young, had never tasted pussy. I
enjoyed hearing Katrina scream so much that I gave her another stab with
my tongue.
Oh! As soon as her second scream died she stabbed me back! I
wasn’t sure she’d have the guts to do that. I stuck my tongue in her
snatch again, deeper this time, to let her know I could fuck her if I
needed to, if she didn’t quit licking me. I wanted her to get off me,
or at least not to sit her bottom on my face, like she had already. I
didn’t like smelling her ass, even if she had to smell mine.
“Yeek!” This time it was me who screamed. She went much
deeper than I thought she would. That dratted girl! First she’d stolen
Steven from me, and now she was licking my snatch! Desist, already!
Quit! Here, for your displeasure, miss, have a really good stab from
me!
Our little battle quickly took the turn Svetlana had hoped for,
and I, at least, had hoped we could avoid. I found myself enjoying my
friend’s licks. I think she liked mine too, though we never spoke of it
afterward. I stabbed deeper into her. At the same time I began to lift
my hips, begging for her to reciprocate. She did. She squatted closer,
though not so close that I couldn’t do my work on her. She left me a
small space so I could breathe. She was artful, her legs split wide,
her thighs tensed, her soft petal-like dell poised over me and brushing
lightly against my lips. I licked. I liked licking. For every lick I
gave her, she gave me one. It felt dizzyingly pleasurable to have her
quick tongue between my thighs. We licked more. Soon we were no longer
counting strokes. We were sluts. We were greedy. I ate her nest with
abandon. She fed within mine, licking deep inside my lips, right to the
tempting shield of my half-torn hymen. She tested it with her tongue.
I begged her, bucking my hips up, to remove it with her tongue. She
tried. She tore it a little more, I think, though there was no blood
afterward. Deep we delved. Hungrily we ate. Who took yours? I
wondered of her, with my licking tongue, as she nipped at my hymen. Was
it a girl, like me? I doubted it. In any event she didn’t take mine,
only opened it a little more, leaving the rest for a man to undo. Yet
we ate each other’s slits voraciously, like disciples on Lesbos, and, at
last, came upon each other’s faces. She honeyed my nose with her
juices. I honeyed hers.
“Very good. Excellent, girls,” Svetlana said when it was
over. Constance helped Katrina and I sit up on the bed. I felt the
satin sheets beneath my bare bottom. Between my legs I was sinfully
wet. I sat with my feet dangling over the side of the bed. Katrina sat
beside me. Our bare shoulders bumped. We edged a little farther
apart. Constance got the keys to our cuffs and unlocked our hands. I
flexed my arms. I saw Katrina flexing hers, beside me. It felt good to
be free again. I felt circulation flowing into my arms, my hands. It
had been inhibited somewhat by the cuffs, by my enforced posture in the
cuffs. Now they were free again. I looked at my hands. I flexed my
fingers. I felt my shoulders, free to hunch forward again, if I wished,
not yanked back as they’d been.
The satin felt wonderful on my bottom. I wished to sit there
forever, pampered, relaxed, admiring the stiff men from my satin perch.
I was a flower, a small bird. I was a cat, with long lashes, taking in
the view.
Constance went to the dresser. She returned with a small box.
It was made of plastic. She opened it. From it she drew two small
cloths. They were scented with Aloe Vera.
“Wipe with these,” Constance said. She gave me one, gave the
other to Katrina. I wiped my face with it. Constance laughed. “No!
Not your face. Ohhh, you’ve smeared your makeup,” she said. She tossed
the box onto the bed beside my hip and walked over to the makeup chair
to fetch a makeup kit to fix my face.
“Wipe your pussy with it, silly,” Katrina scolded me. She
wiped the cloth between her legs.
“Oh,” I said. I dropped my cloth upon the floor and fetched
another from the box. Constance returned. As I patted my slit with the
cloth, wiping away my lustful secretions, Constance re-did my makeup.
Katrina watched, then turned and looked at the men.
Angela, at Svetlana’s direction, was fitting both men with a
curious device. It was made of leather. At first I thought it was
meant somehow to cover their big cocks, to make them modest. Angela
bent before my favorite, Steve, and put a small leather band around his
balls. When she drew it tight he groaned. He lifted his hand in the
air, and glared down at her kneeling figure. I think he would have hit
her, but for the foley catheter stuck up his penis. It gave Angela a
very easy way to discipline him. One tug would make him most
remorseful. So instead his hand wavered, and then fell to his side.
Angela smiled, pulled the drawstrings tighter on the band. Steve’s head
shot back and he let out a mournful, throaty howl.
“Yes, dear. If it’s not tight you’ll spend. This will force
your sac down and keep your seed inside you while I torture you some
more,” Angela said in a soft, whispery voice. She knew how to put them
through excruciating pain without seeming mean about it. She was
helping them, as she saw it. Helping them retain their seed, so they
could stay nice and hard for us.
“Now the cock, dearest. Tie the other part around his penis,”
Svetlana instructed Angela. My friend lifted a second band, hanging
loosely in front of Steve’s balls. It was attached to the part of the
device already ringing his sac. Angela lifted up the second band and
wrapped it around the base of Steve’s shaft. She drew it tight.
Tighter. Steve howled.
“This is to keep back any sperm that somehow escapes your
balls,” Angela smiled up at Steve’s agonized face. “You’ll be grateful
for it once I really start putting your penis through its paces, don’t
worry,” she told him.
“Do I have to wear one of those?” Dave asked Svetlana.
“Of course, honey,” Svetlana said. Lightly she stroked his
cock. It stuck out massively in front of him, a kind of magic wand, of
great thickness, that Svetlana, a goddess and witch, could play upon
with her fingers. Beneath his crotch Dave’s sac of sperm was drawn up
tightly, bulging with his need to spend. The leather appliance would
force his balls down so they hung less tensely.
Constance bade me to stand. I did. She turned me around.
Bending over behind me, she clasped the cheeks of my bottom. I yelped.
“Shush, sweetie, I want to wipe your ass for you,” Constance
told me. I shivered. I froze. My bottom had sweated a little as
Katrina had toungued me, but really! I didn’t think this was really
necessary. Katrina, seeing my fate, quickly stepped around me and got a
wet napkin for herself and wiped her bottom. Dielle snapped a picture
of her hand wedged in her ass, wiping herself. Katrina blushed.
“Can’t I have any privacy?” Katrina asked. Dielle giggled.
“If that bothers you, wait ‘till you see how Svetlana and
Angela plan to torture the men’s dicks,” Dielle replied. She took
another picture. Constance crumpled the disposable cloth she’d used to
wipe me and threw it on the floor. Then, picking up the same powder
puff she’d used to powder my face, she lightly brushed it between the
cheeks of my naked ass.
“Oh!” I said.
“There, powdered on your cheeks at both ends,” Constance said.
Dielle giggled again. Constance turned to Katrina. Reluctantly Katrina
opened her bottom. She held it open with her palms as Constance
powdered her ass. I watched, hearing the camera click in the
background. We were on display. We would be captured forever like
this, on film, twin girls with powdered asses wondering what was planned
for us.
Angela reached back behind Steve and cupped his bare ass with
one of her small hands. Wordlessly she turned him. He was easy to
manipulate now, with his cock painfully bound in leather at its base and
his balls aching under the stress of their new imprisonment. The foley
catheter insured his complete obedience. He could not get it out
himself. Without it, he surely would have reached between his legs and
untied the appliance so ruthlessly gripping his sex. With it, he was a
captive, despite the freedom of his hands, the bulging muscles of his
arms, his thighs, his back. Angela turned him as easily as she might
turn a baby. When his bare ass was facing her she smiled. She gave one
of his plump white buns a small lick. She nuzzled the hairy ass crack
splitting his cheeks. Then, lifting a long leash, she parted his strong
thighs with her hands. Within, under him, her slender fingers attached
the leash to a ring at the back of his cockstrap.
Angela stood. She brushed back her red curly hair. She looked
poised, confident, despite her nudity. Her small, slim back arched
proudly and she drew the leash up, up, until it threaded up through the
crack in Steve’s ass.
“Yes, dear, I have you reined like a reindeer,” Angela smiled
and laughed. Steve squirmed at the pressure of the rings on his loins,
the sharp feel of the leather leash splitting open his ass. “Shall you
take me home to the North Pole, hmmm?” Angela asked my favorite guy. He
turned. She watched, seeing his cock begin to come into view. It
protruded in front of him like some lewd, horizontal stalagmite. “No,
dear,” Angela chided. She yanked hard on her leash. Steve groaned.
His back tensed. He returned to his former position.
Svetlana, meanwhile, had taken it upon herself to tie down
Dave. “Let’s get you saddled up,” she purred to him, tying a band
tightly around his balls. Dave stood with his legs spread, his features
breaking into a sudden grimace. He seemed both to dread her attention
and to long for it. Her nails were sharp, her designs were wicked, yet
she handled him with such aplomb that I’m sure he must have felt like a
work of art. She was nothing if not worshipful of him, especially his
big penis. We all were, I suppose, with our lambent eyes, watching him
as he suffered. I wondered who would be favored by his hard-on up her
snatch. I hoped it would be me, yet I was fearful, both of losing my
virginity and of his tremendous size. Still, my eyes glowed
passionately as I watched him. It was fun to watch. And painless.
“Woman, if you weren’t so beautiful, I think I’d kill you,”
Dave said to Svetlana. Her eyes flicked up at him.
“You aren’t the first to tell me that,” Svetlana answered. She
looped the second leather band up around his cock and tied its
drawstrings. Dave gave another grimace, yet suppressed any scream. He
was less vocal than Steve. ‘Well, he’s older,’ I said to myself.
‘Steve is just a boy. A young-man boy. Dave is a full grown man.’ I
did not feel remorse for Dave. He seemed old and slightly cruel, though
only in his 20’s. His face had lines on it and I think he would have
enjoyed hurting us, if he could. I was thankful that Svetlana could
keep him under such perfect control.
Dave was leashed. Svetlana, reluctantly I think, gave Angela
possession of him. The nude young woman smiled. She held them both
now, by their balls, in her small hands. Her generous bosoms hung like
ripe, full fruit on her chest. The men sported balls that hung with
generous fullness between their legs. I knew we must be ready to play
at sex now, and wondered which of us would be spermed.
“Costume them,” Svetlana said to Constance. Nodding, Constance
went to the closet that housed our clothes. For a moment I thought we
might dress, be free of this place, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about
that, with the men both so obviously ready to give pleasure to any
female who wanted it. Yet Constance opened the far end of the closet,
sliding back the big doors. I watched as she took out two chiffon
nighties. They were baby doll nighties. She walked over to Katrina and
I. “Put these on,” she said. “They’ve been specially made to fit your
measurements.”
I blushed. I felt flattered. A brand new nightie, for me! I
lifted my present carefully off its wire hanger. I slipped it over my
head. I shook out my hair. I felt lovely. I looked down at myself.
My bosoms lifted the soft, sheer fabric, not hidden in any way, yet
feeling quite special enveloped in the soft nightie. I could see their
pink tips. Despite their delicacy, the nightie was more delicate, and
the risen stems of my teats gave an extra lift to the nightie.
I tugged at the hem. Katrina, now wearing her nightie, tugged
at her hem too. It barely covered my pubis! Her nightie was just as
immodest. I moved and the front of my nightie rippled, the hem trying
to rise. It was so light and sheer that even the slightest movement of
my body would cause it to lift, the minute I let go of it with my
hands.
“What’s the use of this if it can’t keep me covered?” I asked
Svetlana.
“It’s not supposed to do anything more than adorn you, decorate
you,” Svetlana replied with a smile. “You’re an ornament, dear.
Nothing more.”
Dielle’s camera clicked. I blushed a deeper pink. Behind me
Constance lifted the back of my nightie up to my waist.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I asked, turning my head.
“I’m pinning it up in back,” Constance said. “So your ass
shows. It will make it easier for the men.”
“To do what?” Katrina asked. There was a note of alarm in her
voice.
“To fuck you up the ass, after you’ve been whipped,” Constance
answered, matter-of-factly.
“No!” Katrina cried. I felt a shiver of fear run down my
spine.
“Oh, please!” I said. Quickly my eyes flew to Svetlana.
“It will not be harsh, dears. Why do you think I have the men
so well restrained?” Svetlana asked.
“Oh, who will whip us?” Katrina asked. As she stood clutching
the hem of her nightie in front, Constance walked softly behind her.
She lifted Katrina’s nightie in back, baring her bottom as mine had
been. She slipped pins into it to hold it up.
“Who would you like to whip you?” Svetlana queried. There was
a look of amusement on her face.
“Oh I would never PICK someone to whip me! I don’t want to be
whipped!” Katrina said in a voice that suddenly sounded less defiant,
almost plaintive. I wriggled my hips, feeling their freedom. Would
they be constained soon, for-- I could not speak the words, even to
myself. My eyes darted to Steve’s penis, then to Dave’s. They both
stood out terrible and pulsing, sleek and strong and long, like sharks
hovering over trapped fish. I was captive, and knew it. Captive to my
own desires, and my fears, too scared to even try to run. I felt a wave
of erotic tension pass through me. It was unbidden, brought on by the
sight of the men’s hungry cocks. Did I want them? Surely I couldn’t
have such large appendages up my small virgin bottom. Surely I could
not. I would squeeze my cheeks and they would find me impossible.
Constance finished pinning up Katrina’s nightie. She bade us
to sit on the bed. We did, our hips bumping. I was glad for the firm
smoothness of the sheets under my hiney. I pressed my rump into them
and prayed I wouldn’t have to get up.
Constance went to the dresser. She returned with more
decorations for us. Two pink bows for our hair, and leather collars for
our necks. Katrina reached out, caught my hand. She squeezed it
tightly, almost making me squeal. I appreciated her grip, all the
same. It was comforting in its tightness. Painful but comforting. She
eased her grip. She shivered. Constance freed my hair from its
ponytail. She fluffed it with her hands. She told me I had pretty
hair. Then she tied the pink ribbon into my hair. Dielle snapped my
photo. Contstance adorned Katrina’s hair with a bow. After that
Constance wrapped the leather collars around our necks. She drew them
tight. I felt submissive, collared like that, wearing such a pretty
bow. I was girlish, meek. Katrina gripped my hand again, but this time
not so hard. We sat holding hands, waiting, while Constance fetched
more things from the dresser.
She returned bearing wristlets of leather and ropes. The ropes
were white, soft. I reached out with my free hand and touched one. I
looked up at Constance. She held something else too, brought from the
dresser. A box of kleenex. I could guess why she needed that. For our
bottoms, to wipe them after the men were through with our asses. Or was
the box for blood? I felt a queasiness in my stomach. For a moment I
almost fainted. Surely we would not be whipped until whoever punished
us drew blood? I turned my eyes to Svetlana. I wanted to ask, to
protest, but a mouse was in my throat. Something, anyway, that
prevented me from speaking. Perhaps it was the tightness of my collar.
I opened my lips, closed them. No sound issued.
“A little more lipstick on her lips,” Svetlana told Constance.
“Alright,” Constance answered. She had made me put out my
hands to be bound by the wristlets but, tossing them onto the bed, she
picked up her makeup kit from the bed’s nightstand. She made me part my
lips in an O. Still holding my hands out, waiting to have them bound, I
obeyed. I was shivering, unthinking now, only able to do as I was
told. Constance put another layer of lipstick on my lips, brightening
them. Dielle’s camera clicked intrusively.
The minutes of our preparation passed slowly. Angela was taken
aside and her hair was given a new gloss. Svetlana herself brushed it.
Angela offered to but Svetlana said ‘No,’ she would do it. She powdered
Angela’s bare breasts and touched up her nipples, using lipstick to make
them appear more red. I sensed it would be Angela who whipped us. I
gazed at her belly. It was smooth and soft and her navel dimpled it
prettily. I imagined it swollen a few months from now. The men both
looked so virile. Surely if they took her at some point tonight,
perhaps after doing myself and Katrina, she would not escape unscathed.
Her belly seemed to invite impregnation, it was so alluring in its
flatness. Below it was the spread of her hips. They were wide and
womanly. She would deliver easily between them, I thought. They seemed
made for child-bearing. Mine were still slim. I was only 14. But
Angela was full-grown, ripe for making babies. I wished they would all
leave Katrina and I alone, and let us watch Angela being taken instead.
I’d never seen anyone fucked. It would be perfect, I thought, Angela on
her knees, or on her back, receiving both men at once, perhaps, one
plunging into her mouth while the other rammed himself up between her
legs to her womb. She watched me with expectant eyes, perhaps knowing
my thoughts, perhaps not. She assessed my own belly, the flatness of
it, the indrawn girlishness of it. She gazed at my hips. I knew she
must be thinking of my behind. It was small, not like hers. Small and
compact and with pert cheeks that still stuck out behind me with an
impudent, childish air. Would she enjoy seeing stripes put across my
girlish bottom? I would cry, like a baby, and she would discipline me
like a mother.
“I haven’t taken any birth control,” I blurted suddenly,
remembering.
“He’ll be going up you in back, not in front,” Constance
replied. She was fastening Katrina’s wrist cuffs.
“But, what if he spurts a lot?” I asked. My voice was
trembling but I felt suddenly assertive. I did not want to get
pregnant. Not at 14. I wanted to see Angela get pregnant.
“Do you have any pills?” Angela asked Svetlana with a toss of
her head. Svetlana was drawing circles on Angela’s right nipple with
lipstick.
“Yes, I’ll get some,” Svetlana replied. She left off painting
Angela’s nipple and went to the dresser. Returning, with the pill plus
a glass of water, she said, “Give it to her. It will look pretty, your
feeding it to her. Would you like to whip her also?”
“Yes,” Angela answered. “I’d like that very much.”
Angela walked over to me. I was trembling. She bade me open
my mouth. “Stick out your tongue,” she said. I did. She placed the
pill on my wet tongue and Dielle snapped our picture. Then Angela made
me drink the water. She held it for me.
“Do either of you girls have to pee?” Svetlana asked us. “You
may be tied down awhile. I don’t want you peeing on the bed.”
“Can’t we even get up to pee, if we have to?” Katrina asked
with anxious eyes.
“I’d prefer not to give you a bathroom break in the middle of
your whipping,” Svetlana said. “Constance, pull out the chamber pot. I
want both these girls to pee so we won’t be bothered with their bladders
when we’re trying to get some good photos of them and the men.”
“And me,” Angela said, tossing back her red curls, savoring my
fright as she stood over me.
“Yes, and you,” Svetlana agreed.
I was forced to squat over the chamber pot. Constance helped
me position myself and held me by my bottomcheeks as I squatted.
Katrina held my hand. Dielle stepped close and took awful pictures
(awful to me, anyway) of my pee spritzing out of my snatch. The men
watched, hard stallions corralled by their foley catheters, but
anticipating a dinner bell.
Katrina went after me. The maid was called, to empty the
chamber pot. I wished to wait for her entrance and exit, but that was
denied.
“Please get up on the bed,” Angela said. She placed a hand
under my elbow, softly, but with blazing eyes that seemed to drill right
into me when I looked at her.
“Oh, can’t we wait?” Katrina asked. “I do not wish the maid to
see us!”
“No,” Svetlana answered. “She is a female like you. Doubtless
she tasted the whip when she was young. Get up, girls. I do not wish
to keep the men in suspense forever. They are human, after all.”
I heard a slapping sound. I gave a quick glance at the men.
Their hands were absently slapping their thighs. I knew what they
wished most of all to do. To yank on their cocks. Right away. Right
now. Like small boys who can’t stand anymore having untended penises.
They wanted to just forget everything, and yank and yank and yank on
thier big members and shoot their jism all over the floor. Yet they
were men, and waited. I rose, lifting my foot up, steadying myself with
one foot on the bed. Angela, behind me, cupped my bottom to keep me
from falling. I still wore the heels Constance had fitted to my feet.
I lifted my other leg. I stood momentarily on the bed, feeling Angela’s
eyes gazing at my bottom. Then I tumbled to my knees.
“Crawl up to the pillow,” Svetlana told me. Angela helped
Katrina mount the bed. Katrina did not try to stand on it. Why had I?
I didn’t know. Was it to show off my bottom, its whiteness, the glow of
its powdered cheeks presented so neatly between the tanned skin of my
back and my thighs? I did not know. I kneed my way to the head of the
bed and grabbed at the big pillow lying there. I pressed my face into
it. I wanted to hide. I wanted to be an ostrich. Behind me I felt my
hiney lift up, high into the air. I wiggled it. I kissed my pillow. I
felt so open, exposed. It was erotic. I wished one of the men would
leap on the bed, accept my invitation, and thrust himself between my
legs and take me right then, in my pussy, where I needed it. The whip
would be skipped. My ass would be spared. I would save myself, with
just a soft wiggling invitation of my bare bottom to the men.
“Stretch out your arms,” I heard Angela say. I lifted my face
from my pillow. I felt a warm bump on my hip and realized Katrina had
taken her place beside me. I waited for one of the men to jump behind
me and spoil Svetlana’s plans. But neither one did. Angela drew my
wrists out for me. She took a rope from Constance and quickly,
expertly, tied my wrists to the headboard. Katrina, beside me, extended
her arms and waited. Did she want it? This? I didn’t know. I didn’t
know anything anymore. Perhaps she didn’t either. I felt the coolness
of the air of the room on my fanny and wished again that one of the men,
it didn’t matter which anymore, would save us both. Or at least me. I
waggled my ass. I was lewd, indecent, saucy. I wanted. I felt Angela
open my legs with her hands. I blinked. My wrists were bound, secure.
Now she wished me more vulnerable in back.
“That’s it. Show your slit, your little purse,” Angela said.
“I’ll try not to bite it with the whip.” A camera clicked. I heard
Dielle try to suppress a giggle and fail.
“Very good, Cindy,” Svetlana complimented me. “You are truly a
perfect submissive. I thought you might balk, being so young. But you
hold the pose like a pro. Have you fantasized of this, hmmm?”
“No,” I said truthfully. But then I remembered myself on my
bed at home, sometimes, hearing my father tramp up the stairs, his feet
heavy with sleep. He would be going to his bedroom, with my mother,
talking so casually, yet I knew what they must do together beind that
closed, locked door. I would think of his strong hands and his broad
shoulders and the belt he wore around his waist. I would wish I’d done
something bad, so he might have to visit me, in my bed, before he went
to bed with my mother. Once I reached back behind myself and actually
pulled down my pajama bottoms, hearing him come up the stairs. He was
alone that night. My mom was downstairs, playing a late game of cards
with some friends. Lady friends, and it was just me and dad upstairs,
me in my bed and my daddy coming upstairs. By then I was too old to be
tucked into bed anymore, yet I wished he might tuck me in. But my door
was locked. They had let me put a lock on my door when I turned 12. I
heard my fathers footsteps pass my door. I heard the door to his
bedroom close.
Now I was presented once again, like before, except this time
my wrists were tied and I didn’t have pajama pants ringing my knees that
could, if my hands were untied, be pulled up. Instead my knees and legs
were bare and the nightie was pinned up behind me, showing all I had to
show. I felt the sheer fabric of it sliding down my back and knew even
that was now practically useless. I glanced at the nightstand beside
the bed. The tissue box waited, a tissue already pulled up from within
it and ready to be used.
We whimpered, Katrina and I. We were both made to show our
figs. I felt a wetness glistening within mine and wondered what kind of
weird slut I was to allow myself to be gotten into such a compromised
position. Collared, ‘dressed’ in a nightie, with a pink bow adorning my
head as if I were a small girl sitting primly in Sunday School. Or a
girl at the prom, but I was too young for the prom. And too young for
this too, I knew, though I had no idea how I could get myself out of it
now. I opened my lips to speak as I felt Constance put a knee on the
bed beside my face. Before I could utter a sound she wreathed a black
cloth across my lips. It was soft, but she wedged it deep in my mouth.
I almost gagged on it. It forced back my tongue. My mouth was opened
into a rictus, with the cloth dividing my lips. I looked like a fish
caught on a hook. Dielle took my picture. My eyes gaped as I felt
Constance tie off the gag in the nesting of my hair at the back of my
neck.
A moment later and Katrina and I were both silenced and
suitably posed. There was nothing more to be done, by way of
preparation. I had my pill, Katrina was already on the pill. The men
waited, their cocks stemming. I could not see them but I sensed an
eagerness on their part to see us whipped. I prayed it would not be
hard. I’d never been whipped. I suspected Katrina hadn’t been either.
What would it be like, I wondered, even as my tummy knotted in fear and
wished that my teddy bear might save me, if the men couldn’t. I
pictured him flying through the window, a brave little teddy bear, like
the brave little toaster in the video I’d watched when I was 6. He’d
fly in and save me.
“Earnest!” I breathed into my gag. It was the name of my teddy
bear. He could not hear me. My lips kissed the pillow beneath my
face.
“Oh, but it has so many thongs!” I heard Angela gasp, somewhere
behind me.
“Yes, each one is made of a small knot of leather,” Svetlana
told our mistress-to-be. “They will feel like a flight of bees
connecting with their bottoms when you swing it,” Svetlana said. “Their
bottoms should pinken right up.”
“How many strokes?” Angela asked. Her voice was casual. I
imagined her fingers accepting the implement in her hands and reaching
out to feel its dangling tips.
“As many as they can manage,” Svetlana replied.
“Do you wish me to draw?” Angela said. Her voice sounded sexy,
inspired perhaps by what she could do to us. Her nervousness at seeing
the cat was gone. The cat. The word resounded in my mind like a bullet
suddenly lodged and trapped in my skull but not yet spent. The cat.
I’d seen them in Pirate movies but never imagined I’d be subjected to
one. Least of all on my bottom! I pulled at my bonds. Beside me,
Katrina gave a gagged whimper and yanked at the headboard of the bed
with her wrists. It was no use. We were both tied. I’d seen a woman
once, in a Pirate movie, her dress opened in back and the cat used to
threaten her. They had not struck her. They had ordered her to tell
all she knew, but she wouldn’t, and just then the hero arrived and saved
her.
“Do not close your legs, Katrina,” I heard Constance say.
There was a slap. Flesh against flesh. Katrina gave a yelp and there
was movement beside me. “There, that’s better,” Constance murmured.
“She wants it already, give it to her,” Svetlana said to
Angela.
“No!” Katrina shrieked, but her voice was so muffled they could
not hear, or if they did they didn’t care.
“For God’s sake whip them if you’re going to,” Dave growled.
“I can barely stand looking at the sight of their bare taunting asses!”
“Oh, my, Dave feels taunted my you, Katrina,” Angela laughed.
“Do you wish to tease him into saving you? Hmmm? How naughty!” I
heard a rustling sound, as of cat-tails sweeping across a bare back.
Angela’s back. Then, suddenly, there was a whistling beside me and
Katrina yelped for all she was worth. I felt her knees bounce on the
bed beside me. “And you, Cindy, do you want your ass saved too?” I
heard. There was another whistling, as of bees in flight. Suddenly I
shrieked. My bottom felt stung all over and I rocked forward, then
back, on my knees. My cheeks wobbled under the blow and clenched. I
felt my knees draw quickly across the bed and my thighs snapped shut
behind me.
“I told you not to close your legs!” I heard Angela say.
Another swing, the cat whistling again behind me, and then my bottom
sizzled under a thousand buzzing, stinger-laden bees. They caressed me
quite painfully all over my cheeks. I screamed. Despite my clamped
thighs, the bees managed to squirrel into the furrow of my behind.
Katrina screamed beside me. Bees assailed her as my bottom
flexed and opened. I gasped. I felt tears plop onto my pillow. My
cheeks were wet. The lips of my sex were wet. My bottom flamed.
“OPEN your legs!” Angela shouted. Again the cat bit me. I
howled. Crying, I spread my legs, and immediately she struck me again.
The pain was unbearable. The bees found their way into the depths of my
furrow and one of them kissed my anus.
“Aughghggh!” I cried. But the gag kept me silenced. I heard
the door to the bedroom open. Beside me Katrina let out a shrill wail.
Despite my pain I turned my head. Was it my teddy bear? The maid! I
felt new tears burst from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. She looked
at me. I hoped for pity in her eyes, but saw none. She grinned,
instead. It was the first time I’d seen her grin. She was missing a
tooth. I gasped. Could she see the whiteness of my teeth over my gag?
It divided my lips. My teeth were white, perfect. The cat connected
suddenly with my bottom and I gaped at her. My lips curled back in a
grimace and I showed her my teeth, all of them, and then a scream
escaped from my throat.
I buried my face in my pillow. I must have closed my legs
again, for I heard Angela yelling at me to open them. I wriggled my hot
bottom, mournfully. Somehow I managed spread my knees. I showed my
fig, my slit. I shook my hot bottom like a dog shakes himself when
emerging from water, hoping to shake off the pain of the cat.
“A hard one now, on each of them, to make them completely
submissive for the men,” I heard Svetlana say somewhere behind me. Who
could she mean, I wondered. Us? We were already getting it har--
“YEEEEEEEEK!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. My face flew
up from my pillow. I heard the maid laugh. There was a sloshing, as of
the chamber pot being lifted, so she could empty my pee. I ground my
knees into the sheet of the bed and swung my bottom about like a hussy
looking for two-dollar johns. I wept. I drew in my ass cheeks and
pushed them out. I worked my bottom, trying to get rid of the pain,
quite unable to. I heard Katrina let out a banshee’s wail beside me.
The bed was big but it seemed to rock under our efforts. Then I felt
new movement behind me. Heavy, substantial. The bed dipped behind me
and I felt something like a big flagpole slap against my buttocks.
“NO!” I shouted. My gag kept me quiet, except inside my head.
I felt fingers parting the cheeks of my ass. They were blunt, large. I
felt oil on their tips and suddenly they were rudely intruding, or
trying to, into the ring of my anus.
“Be still girl, I have to lubricate your hole,” I heard a gruff
voice say. Dave! No! I expected Steven and was being given Dave! But
he was the biggest, and I the very littlest! Beside me I heard Katrina
give a yelp.
“Hold still,” Steve’s voice said. It was gentle, almost
afraid. Dave was anything but that. He ground a finger into my anus
and somehow managed, with a pained cry from me, to get it in me up to
the first knuckle. I felt like I had a big walnut pushed into my
bottom.
Angela appeared beside me. I felt her fingers as they ran
through my hair, heard her voice. It was soft now. Whisper-like.
“Yes, dear, you did very well,” Angela said. I imagined her big bosoms
hanging off her chest, their nipples sweetly lipsticked. Suddenly I
turned my head and, though I was gagged, I sought for the solace of one
of her tits.
“Oh, she wants to nurse!” Angela laughed. “May I nurse her,
Svetlana?” Angela asked.
“She might bite you,” Svetlana replied.
“No, she won’t, will you, dear? You’ll be too busy with Dave
for that, hmmm? Oh, I DO want to nurse you! Let me get your gag off!
I’ll nurse you while you’re fucked. It will help settle your nerves.”
Angela reached for the knot of my gag behind my head. “It’s her first
time,” she said aloud, to the maid. The maid only grinned. She was
still missing her tooth.
My gag was loosed. “OH, DON’TTTT!” I cried immediately. But
Angela at once put my lips to her nipple and made me suck it. I tasted
lipstick on my tongue. I did feel comforted, but then Dave yanked the
cheeks of my ass apart and bumped something long and very hard up
against my anus. I knew it couldn’t be his finger. It was way too big
for that.
“Unnnfff!” I groaned. I felt a stab in my anus. A stab from a
very wide, blunt instrument. It was slick with oil and grease.
“Come on, open up for me,” Dave said, rather distressed. “God
damn if that foley catheter wasn’t bad enough, now I’ve got to break in
a virgin. Ouch! Quit pulling on my balls!” He cried. I realized Dave
must still be wearing his leash. Perhaps Svetlana was pulling on it.
Oh, how my bottom burned! My cheeks were all aflame and now,
to make matters worse, Dave was trying to fuck me! I felt his penis’s
knobbed head press harder at my rosehole. Angela pressed my face to her
bosom, urging me to suck. I mouthed her nipple. I ground my mouth into
it as I felt Dave assault me more deeply from behind.
“Yes, I’m starting to go in, just a little,” Dave grunted to
himself.
“Settle down and quit wiggling your ass so much,” I heard Steve
say to Katrina.
“Wider, dear. He won’t hurt you. Svetlana won’t let him,”
Angela told me, clutching me to her breast. “That’s why she has him
leashed. A quick poke is all she really wants, a nice shot of him stuck
in you, with his shaft sticking out of you, half in, half out. Perhaps
she’ll even settle for just the head. Let him get that at least into
you, so we can all end this more quickly.” Angela stroked my blonde
hair as she spoke to me. I sobbed. My tears speckled the skin of her
breast.
“God damn, I’m going in!!!” I heard Steve shout.
“Why do I get stuck with the virgin?” Dave complained. He gave
me another deep poke but my cherry hole still resisted him.
“She’s virgin too, aren’t you, Katrina?” Steve asked
hopefully. But Katrina only whimpered in reply.
Dielle’s camera clicked. The maid laughed. I heard her leave
with the tub of sloshing pee. My pee, and Katrina’s. She would empty
it for us. I felt my dew sprinkle the sheets. A wave of intense
pleasure passed through me. I gasped.
“She’s orgasming!” Angela cried.
“Oh, catch it!” Svetlana told Dielle. More clicks of the
camera as I swooned. I felt a rude finger press between my legs and
search for my spot.
“Yes, girl, have your orgasm, it will make it easier for me to
get myself up you,” Dave said encouragingly. I felt my bottom open
wider. I shouted, suddenly, in the throes of my pleasure. He was
within! I felt like a giant cucumber was suddenly in me! I gasped. I
felt all the air being driven from my lungs. Dave worked a finger hard
in my slit. I came again, wetting his digit, feeling him slide even
deeper inside me.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Katrina cried beside me. She was cumming to!
We were doves, cooing for our masters. They rodded us, skewering us
with their penises. Our roasted bottoms were forced open.
“No, don’t squeeze!” I heard Steve cry. Katrina kept up her
chorus of pretty ‘Oh’s.’ I heard Dielle scurry to the other side of the
bed.
“Ah, all is lost,” Svetlana said. She must have seen his cock
flexing, half in and half out of Katrina (surely he could not be all the
way up her!). The cock ring, the ball ring proved inadequate in the
moment of need.
And then me! At first I thought I was having diarrhea! A
great wetness flooded me and I heard Dave, mounted behind me, let out a
groan. It was both of disappointment and relief. He had just the head
of his cock in me, but my squeezings had undone him. He shot himself
into my virgin hole. I felt his seed leaping up in me. I clenched my
passage hard. I did not wish to be inundated with his sperm. I feared
he might make me pregant, somehow. Yet the squeezings that kept back
his cock could not keep out his seed. It got up me somehow and flooded
me hard. I gasped. I sucked upon Angela’s tit, hoping somehow she
could save me. She stroked my hair.
“There, there, your first fuck, and in such an unlikely place,”
Angela said. She seemed aroused by my ordeal. I felt her hips arch
forward beneath me. My face was suddenly lifted from her breast,
lowered. My lips grazed her tummy. It was smooth, indrawn a little,
and she pushed me past her navel down toward her bush.
“No!” I cried. I smelled the perfume of her pubic hair. She
offered me her bush. I found myself licking it, exploring her nest with
my tongue.
“Yes, darling. Lick me like you licked Katrina. Make me cum,”
Angela urged. She pushed my face between her legs and made me lick her
directly on her fuzzed slit. “Mmmm, please, right there. Right THERE!”
Angela squealed. I must have found her spot for she shoved her hips
even more urgently in my face.
“Ahhh, they are all cuming now,” Svetlana said. “It is a
perfect ending. Catch it all, Dielle!”
“I am ma’am!” Dielle answered.
I lay disconsolate on the bed. Constance offered me lemonade
but I refused. My bottom was sore. I had to lie on my tummy to keep my
fanny turned to the air. Katrina lay beside me. Her hands were between
her legs, though, and I suspected she was pleasing herself with her
fingers. She squirmed, sighed. I kept my hands pressed to the sheets,
palms down, next to my thighs.
Angela sat on the bed beside me. “I’m going to put cream on
your bottom to help it heal,” Angela murmured. I heard a squirt, gasped
as a cold dollop of cream hit my bottom. I heard the click of a
camera. Was nothing sacred? “There. There,” Angela said quietly. I
stiffened as her fingers touched my ass. Very lightly she stroked it.
I shivered, pressed my face to my pillow. It was wet from my tears.
“The whipping helped you,” Angela told me. “Without it, think how hard
it would have been for Dave to get himself up you.”
“I hate you,” I replied, but my pillow muffled my words.
“My, are you two rising already?” I heard Svetlana ask. The
men, Dave and Steve, were strutting around the room, comparing notes on
our bottoms.
“We still have you to do, don’t we?” Dave asked. “God, it
feels good to be out of that fucking cock ring! Don’t ever put one of
those things on me again!”
“I want both you boys to put on your pants,” Svetlana said.
“I’m sorry, but the party’s over. Perhaps I’ll invite you all back
again sometime.”
“I thought we were going to stay all night?” Steve asked. His
voice was high, hopeful. Boyish.
“What, don’t you get any except here at my place?” Svetlana
teased. “I reserve the *right* to keep you all night, dear. But you’ve
all performed wonderfully. I do have other things to do besides
orchestrate your sexual satisfaction, even if I do get to take photos of
it. Such a penis. Try to get it into your pants, Steven. I’m closing
up shop for today. Perhaps we can do it again.”
Constance went to work on Katrina’s bottom. Katrina played
with her slit. Her own slit, masturbating. Angela told me I could play
with mine while she creamed me, but I refused. I did not want to be
thought a slut. No one stopped Katrina. I thought perhaps Svetlana
would, for it was obviously not going to help the men get into their
pants. But she didn’t and, at her insistence, both men did their best
to get into their trousers. I listened to Katrina’s soft cries. My
bottom began to feel a warm glow spread across it. The sting of the
whip was transforming itself. I sighed. I wriggled my bare hips
against the bed.
“Yes, it is not so bad, hmmm?” Angela asked me. “Not so bad
after all.” She patted my bare fanny. She rose from the bed.
I dressed. I gave back my nightie. I did not wish to keep it,
though Svetlana said I could. I’d had enough of that nightie. It had
left my bottom exposed and I’d paid an awful price for that.
I got on my miniskirt, wincing as I zipped it. I didn’t dare
try to get into my panties. Svetlana smiled.
“May I have them?” she asked. I looked at her, at my undies.
“You’re strange,” I said. I gave her my panties. She put them
to her nose and sniffed them.
“My customers will pay top dollar for these,” she said.
“Oh!” I gasped. I could bear no more. Svetlana handed my
flower-printed panties to Constance.
“Put them in a bag,” Svetlana said. “To preserve their scent.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Constance said. She took my panties over to the
dresser and opened the drawer and took out a small Ziplock baggie.
“Let’s go, dear,” Angela said to me. She took my hand.
“I want my panties back,” I told her.
“Never mind. They’ll be the delight of someone forever,”
Angela assured me.
“Some pervert,” I said.
We left the bedroom. It was dark in the hall, compared to that
room with all its photographers lights in it. I was thankful for the
shadows. We went downstairs, my hips wobbling uncertainly as I walked.
I carried my heels. I was too unsteady to walk in them. My cunt was
sore and my bottom ached. Katrina carried her shoes. We wore scorched,
opened. Yet my dell was still virgin, and the men knew it. Dave cast
me a sidelong glance. I stuck out my tongue at him.
“We could play some more, back at Heloise’s,” he said.
“Not in my ass,” I replied. I stuck out my tongue at him.
“No, no. Not in your ass,” Dave agreed. I gave him a frown
and he laughed. The front of his pants was bulging, but he was not so
desperate anymore.
“She is not your slave, dear,” Angela told Dave.
“Sure, I know,” Dave said.
The maid let us out the front door. I did not look at her as
we left. Outside, the sun was almost gone. Long shadows stretched
across the street. In the park across the street the children were
playing, but I couldn’t see them anymore, in amongst the shadowed
trees. I could only hear them.
30
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
From roller39@mail.idt.net Mon Jul 28 19:51:39 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Honey Haven part 2 of 4 (NND)
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@mail.idt.net>
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 1997 23:51:39 +0000
--------
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Two
Were we lovers? No, we were not. Definitely not. I was sure
of that. I lay in my bed, my bedsheet quickly pulled up to my chin. I
stared at Dave, my eyes wide, surprised. I realized that my legs were
spread under the sheet and that he could see the outline of them.
Quickly I clipped my thighs together. Teddy cowered beside me, lying on
the big pillow at the head of my bed.
Katrina stood beside Dave. She was dressed in the prim garb of
an eighteenth century lady. He was dressed like an Italian gentleman
from the same period. They were holding hands. Katrina smiled, tossed
her head.
“You’ll be late, sleepyhead,” she said to me casually. Her
eyes showed that she did not really care. She smiled at Dave, squeezed
his hand. He squeezed hers in return. She carried a mask on a stick in
her other hand. It was shapely, made to disguise the eyes. It had dark
gems studding it. They were ersatz, I knew, but they looked real. Her
mask was pink, shading into lavender. It matched her dress, a swirl of
deep pink and light purple, abundant with ruffles, hugging her waist and
her bodice but cascading down over her long slim legs in great brocades
of silk. Underneath, I sensed her legs were bare. It was in the way
she stood, provacative, with her hips thrust forward, as if to invite
one to look, if they could somehow lift the heavy folds of her dress.
She was poised, I knew, on the most delicate of high heels. I’d helped
her pick them out yesterday in a Venetian store. They gripped her small
feet like a china shop owner might clutch at his most precious wares,
afraid to drop them, afraid, despite the closeness of his fingers around
them, to even touch them.
“We didn’t come down here so you could just spend the whole
time sleeping in your bed -- alone,” Dave groused. I think he was a
little angry with me for oversleeping. We had left Heloise three days
earlier, all our assignments complete. We were tourists now. Dave,
Katrina, myself.
I sat up in my bed. My bottom felt smooth and soft against the
sheet underneath. I was wearing a sheer nightie, like the one I’d worn
at Svetlana’s. Dave had bought it for me, yesterday, in a lingerie
store. It was exactly the same as the one he’d taken me in, up my
bottom, except this one was shorter. It covered only the highest curls
in my pubic thatch, leaving all else exposed. In back it covered just
the shelf of my bottom, where it bloomed from my back. My ass cheeks
were quite bare, and he knew it, since he’d picked it out for me, and
‘fitted’ it to me by pressing it up against my clothed body in the
store.
It was warm in the room. We were staying in a cheap hotel. It
had clean sheets, though, and clean rooms, and that was all that really
mattered. An air conditioner set in my wall wheezed, combatting the
warmth of early evening outside. In an hour or two the night would cool
the city, but now the blazing heat of the hot afternoon lingered,
unwilling, like me, to depart.
“Get up, silly! Are you going or not?” Katrina asked
irritably. I wondered what they’d been doing all day. We’d danced the
previous night ‘til dawn. Then we’d stumbled back to our rooms to
sleep. I slept by myself, Katrina and Dave across the hall. It was an
old hotel. Bathrooms were shared between rooms. I shared mine with a
balding middle-aged man who used the toilet to read his mail and woke in
the morning with smoker’s cough. Katrina and Dave, in separate rooms
across the hall, shared the same bathroom. I was beginning to doubt
that they were as careful about their privacy, though, as I was with
mine.
“Well if you leave I’ll get dressed,” I said. I’d already
picked out my clothes for the festival. Long, opera-length gloves,
granny boots, and a dress that hugged my figure like Katrina’s dress
hugged hers. My dress was yellow and green. Underneath mine, though, I
intended to wear panties. No garters, though. Katrina had insisted
that I not be too formal. This was especially true of our breasts. Our
dresses were designed to clutch at our ribs and to rise high on our
backs, where they gripped our narrow shoulders and arms. Despite this
careful layer of covering, though, all frilled silk mixed with ruffles,
the front of each of our dresses was, at the breasts and above,
completely nonexistent. Katrina’s dress at least cupped the undersides
of her breasts. It lifted them unnaturally high. Her bare nipples were
perched just above the lacy top of her dress. In my case, though, my
dress left my breasts quite unsupported and naked. I didn’t know which
dress was worse. Katrina’s, that presented her nipples like ripe
strawberries, or mine, that left my own bosoms completely free, to sway
or wiggle or wobble whichever way they pleased as I walked.
Katrina tossed her head again. She let go of Dave’s hand and
tugged at the veil that shrouded the nakedness of her breasts. It was
separate from her dress, a large, puffy, cloud of fabric that she wore
round her neck. It was held in place round her throat by a slim
thread. It rustled when she moved. Lightly it covered her arms. It
had no sleeves, but lay rather atop her arms, and was tied very
delicately by a single thread to each of her gloved wrists. It was also
tied, by a thread so slim it might break, to the back of her dress. It
was made of diaphanous silk, but folded in on itself again and again, so
that its sheer, playful layers might hide the nudity of her breasts.
Yet in a final touch of decadence, its designer had left it open in
front, with no ties, save that round Katrina’s throat. Whenever she let
go of her shawl-like veil, its halves spread away from each other,
revealing what, through the sheer folds, had already been hinted at:
her naked bosoms. For my dress there was a similar shawl. We would
dance in them, I knew, and in the motions of our dancing we would be
helpless to keep ourselves hidden.
“Dave, she wishes to dress in private,” Katrina told our
friend. She turned to him and kissed him briefly on his lips, careful
not to smudge her lipstick. As she did so, she let her hand touch his
groin. She gave him a gentle squeeze. Then she walked to my bedside.
Dave, enticed, lingered a moment in the doorway. Katrina turned her
head, looked back at him. “Dave,” she snapped, quietly but firmly. He
gave a shrug and turned and walked out to the living room where the
front door to my room lay. I heard him open the outer door, step into
the hall. He closed the door behind himself. I heard him turn the key
in the lock, so no one would walk in on us.
“He has my room key!” I said to Katrina.
“He found it on the bureau in the living room,” Katrina said.
“You know how guys are. You can insist he give it back later.” Gently
she took the sheet from my fists under my chin. She drew it off my
body. “It might be safer in his hands for awhile, anyway,” Katrina said
to me. “You don’t have any pockets in your dress.”
“But I can put it in my purse,” I told her.
“No purse tonight, silly,” Katrina told me. “For me or you.
Just give anything you think you’ll need to Dave. He’ll keep it for
you.”
“But I don’t want Dave carrying around my things for me!” I
said, stubbornly. Katrina ignored my response. Instead her eyes
flitted down the nude expanse of my body. My nightie hid nothing. My
flesh could be seen underneath it, deeply tanned, from my toes to my
head, except where I wore my bikini when I was posing for Eveline
Elginton on the beach. There I was white, round my breasts and in a
band that stretched across my pubic hair at my hips, and on my bottom.
Katrina gazed at my bush, drew the sheet back more, revealed my bare
legs.
“Roll over,” she said.
“Huh?” I replied. My eyes were still wide from waking up to
Dave.
“Roll over,” Katrina said again. She took me by my slim
shoulders and turned me in my bed. I gave a squeak, then cooperated,
until I was flat on my tummy, my chin resting on my pillow. My palms
flitted at my sides, uncertain.
Katrina pressed her palms into the flesh of my bottom. I
squeaked again. “Well, you’re nice and healed,” she said. She spoke of
my ordeal under the cat at Svetlana’s. “How’s your hole feel?”
“Good,” I replied. A bubble formed on my lips as I spoke. I
felt babyish. I wished she’d quit touching my bottom but I liked, all
the same, being pampered by her hands in such an intimate place. She
eased my cheeks apart. Perhaps I needed to be checked. In my hole.
Dave had been rude to take me that way. Katrina was 16. She could
check me and tell me I was okay. It had been my first time. Between my
legs, where it really mattered, I was still virgin. I liked that. I
had endured Dave, and suffered under his intrusion, and yet, I was still
pure. Virginal. I wriggled my hips against the bed. I arched them. I
slipped my hands underneath me. I touched myself between my legs. My
lips felt squelchy, wet.
“Why didn’t you go to Rome with Steve?” Katrina asked me.
“I dunno,” I answered. The pressure of the pillow on my chin,
enveloping my jaw, made my speech slurred. But I did know, didn’t I? I
touched myself. My spot. My virginity. We would have been alone, he
and I. There would have been a honeymoon suite and we would not have
emerged from it for days. I would not be a virgin now, if I’d gone to
Rome with him. Instead I’d accompanied Katrina and Dave. Well, it had
really been me and Katrina, going by ourselves, just us two girls, and
then somehow, at the last moment, after Steve had already left with
another model, his second choice for his Roman honeymoon, Dave had
showed up. Katrina and I had been stepping into a cab with our things,
and there he was, suddenly, holding the door open for us as Heloise, on
the mansion’s porch, waved goodbye. The cabbie came round from the
trunk where he’d stowed our luggage, and Dave handed him his suitcase.
“What’s the matter, can’t get a date?” Katrina had asked Dave
as I slipped within the cab.
“You both can’t just go to Venice by yourselves,” Dave had
replied. “Two girls, both underage, who’ve never been there -- with no
chaperone? I won’t allow it.”
“He can be our guide,” I’d called from inside the cab,
foolishly. I had been a little worried about being alone with just
Katrina in Venice. Sure, we had plenty of money from our modelling
(especially from what Svetlana had sent us), but that was my worry. Two
girls, loaded with cash, wandering around Venice all by ourselves. Dave
seemed to me a sensible companion. He knew I didn’t like him but that I
respected him, and he’d already had his thing up me, so I felt like he
was, maybe, just a little obligated to look after us. Of course I had
no intention of allowing him to get himself in me again. Once was
enough with somebody like him, big and rude and gruff and spoiled rotten
from being a handsome model all his life. But he did owe me, I felt,
and we needed somebody big like him. Not Steve. Steve was too boyish,
too easily outwitted by the cons and crooks we might meet in Venice, not
to mention that he was less strong than Dave. Steve was cute, he had a
nice male body, but Dave was big, like a monster in some ways, I
thought, which was just what we needed to keep us safe in Venice.
And so Dave had come along. I fondled my slit as I thought of
how safe I felt with him. Katrina and I could go anywhere, and we
already had, exploring even the meanest streets, plus of course the
wonderful sights. With Dave by our side we didn’t have to worry at
all. Guys got out of the way for him. Men with evil intentions
straightened up when they saw him sit down next to us in a restaurant.
I felt wetness on my fingertips and remembered last night, before we
went dancing, how Katrina and I had gone into a small cafe and Dave had
gone immediately to use the restroom. Some guys had been watching us,
from another table. Then Dave showed up, sat down between us, and the
guys’ faces fell.
I felt a light slap on my bottom. It intruded into my thoughts
and I let out a small yelp.
“Don’t play with yourself,” Katrina said in an amused voice.
“Sowwy,” I replied. My voice lisped in my pillow.
“What were you thinking about?” Katrina asked suspiciously.
“Nuthin’,” I breathed, softly. My breath was pregnant with
desire. I sighed, lifting my bottom. Katrina slapped it again.
“Ow! Quit it!” I cried. I rolled over onto my back. My
breasts rolled on my chest, fell away from each other under my nightie.
Their tips were stiff, lifting the nightie up from the tips of my
bosoms.
“Let’s get you dressed so you can go out and party with
everyone else,” Katrina said to me. Her eyes gazed at mine. “You don’t
want to lie in bed by yourself all night, do you?”
“No,” I replied.
“Good,” Katrina said. Expertly she took my shoulder and forced
me to sit up. My bottom felt good, pressed once more into the
bedsheet. She couldn’t slap me there now.
“How long will the party last?” I asked.
“It’s the first night of the Carnival. It should last all
night,” Katrina answered. “We’ll ride in a gondola and go dancing and
feasting. There will be parties all over town and, dressed in our
costumes, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting in anywhere, at least
that’s what Dave says.” She drew me from the bed, but I resisted a
little, and sat with my legs dangling over its side. My bare feet
swayed in the air, too short, despite my long legs, to touch the floor.
“Dave’s pretty cool, don’t you think?” Katrina asked me. “I
mean, we would have just checked into some five star hotel, and spent
all our money, but he knew of this out of the way place, with its big
rooms, and its inexpensive rates. And now we get to party all over
town, without paying anything.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “I’m saving my money for college.” I pulled
at the pink silk hanging rather uncertainly off my shoulders, cloaking
my tits in its nothingness, letting them be seen while pretending to
hide them. “And nighties,” I added. Katrina bent and tugged at the hem
of my nightie. It barely covered my belly, leaving my furred private
all exposed between my thighs.
“Why did you let Dave pick this out for you?” Katrina asked
testily. “It doesn’t even cover your pussy.”
“I know,” I answered.
“Tsk,” Katrina said, trying in vain to pull my nightie down
over my delta. “If you let Dave pick out your clothes for you, dear,
you’ll wind up buying nothing but this sort of thing.”
“Well, he helped us pick our dresses,” I said. I cast a glance
at mine, waiting to be put on, hanging from a hanger in the open closet
of my room.
“That’s different,” Katrina said. “This is a festival. We
have to wear costumes. He’s been to the festival before and knows how
we should dress.”
“Do I get to wear a bra with my dress?” I asked. I opened my
thighs as I spoke. I felt naughty, showing my breasts like I would in a
dress like that.
“No,” Katrina replied. “You know that. The party’s all about
being uninhibited.” She smiled at me. She shook her hips slightly.
“Sexy and free,” she added.
“Have you and Dave been doing it?” I asked her, seriously.
Katrina frowned.
“That’s our own personal business,” she said. She tossed her
head. She urged me from the side of the bed and I dropped my feet to
the floor and stood up. “Maybe we have, and maybe we haven’t,” she
said.
“I’ll bet you’ve at least shared a shower,” I said to her
accusingly. Katrina blushed, slightly.
“Come on, Cindy,” she said, changing the subject. “You do want
to bathe before you go out again, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“Well hurry up. Your roommate isn’t reading his mail on the
toilet right now. Get in there before he decides to make the bathroom
his second home again.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “He can take forever in there. Sometimes I
have to knock really loudly! And all the while I can hear him sitting
in there, flipping pages and stuff, and opening envelopes. And he
grunts sometimes too. I don’t know what could be so exciting about
getting some envelopes and some magazines in the mail.”
Katrina gave a smile that seemed like a knowing smile, but said
nothing. She walked with me to the bathroom I shared with the man next
door. It sat between my bedroom and his. It was old, large, with a
commode with an overhead tank and a claw-footed bathtub. It had once
been ornate, but now its tiles bore cracks and its walls, once painted
with bright designs, had faded. Still, it was clean. It had an odd
sensuality about it, a reminder of Venice’s ancient past, when my room
would have included both my suite and the other man’s. Grand rooms with
high ceilings, a private bath, everything new then, and bearing the most
lavish appointments. I could tell how this hotel had once been. I
liked thiking of the lords and ladies who must have stayed here once,
long ago, and how this hotel might have been used for their private
assignations.
“Hurry,” Katrina told me, giving me a pat on my bottom. “Dave
is already floating around in our gondola.”
“Is it here?” I asked, a note of excitement in my voice. Dave
had taken us in one yesterday and I’d liked it very much.
“I’m sure he’s busy renting one right now,” Katrina said. “You
know how handsome he is. He’ll find two other girls to accompany him if
we don’t hurry.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I pulled my nightie over my head. I tossed
it on the floor, unthinking, despite its expense, eager to hurry now,
lest I miss a gondolo ride. I got a towel from the bathroom closet
while Katrina turned on my bath. The old pipes leading into the tub
guttered, wheezed. A moment later a flow of water spouted from the
tub’s faucet. It was clean and fresh and frothing, despite what you
sometimes hear about Venice not being the tidiest place. Katrina
adjusted the tub’s handles. She picked up a Mr. Bubble I’d bought for
my baths and sprinkled some in. I was ready now, my clothes off and my
bare feet cold on the bathroom’s tiles, eager to jump into the tub’s
warm water.
“Don’t splash around,” Katrina told me. “The man complained to
me and Dave last night when he met us in the hall.”
“Oh, he thinks I’m just a baby,” I replied.
“Well, I guess he’s decided you’re not responsible,” Katrina
said, watching me test the water’s temperature with my toes. “He said
he thought Noah’s Ark was going to come sailing up the canal behind our
hotel, from all the water you left on the floor of the bathroom.”
“I was playing,” I said. I stepped over the rim of the tub
with my other foot, satisfied with the water’s temperature. The bubbles
in the tub rose around my ankles.
“Oh, what were you playing?” Katrina asked. I blushed. I
tugged at the small rope around my neck. Dave had tied it there when we
first arrived in Venice. A small rope, completely unpretentious, that
lay tight around my neck and that had been securely knotted in back so
that it could only be removed with a knife. Its ends were frayed,
hanging down my back just an inch or so, like a collar one might find on
a puppy whose master, either from poverty or disdain, prefers to secure
with a length of rope out of his woodshed, rather than a leather collar
bought from a store. Dave had tied one around Katrina’s neck as well as
my own.
“I had to be, well, disciplined,” I said. I promptly sat down
in the shallow tub water the minute I’d spoken. I pressed my into the
tub’s bottom, feeling the slickness of its white porcelian.
Katrina laughed. “You pretend to be so modest and then that’s
what you play when you’re locked away in the bathroom, by yourself?”
I blushed more fiercely. “No,” I said. “It’s just, I
wondered, that’s all. Wondered what it would be like if that man came
in the bathroom and tied me to the faucet and spanked me with his
belt.” Katrina was still laughing. A blush covered all of me, I think,
right down to my toes. I picked up the bath sponge and rubbed my arm.
“Hurry and I’ll do your makeup for you after your bath,”
Katrina told me. “And then I’ll get you into your dress.”
“Who helped you into yours?” I asked her.
“A very thoughtful person,” Katrina replied. Her eyes glowing.
“Well it must not have been Dave then,” I said. Dave was
somewhat less than the perfect gentleman I expected a man of his age to
be, though he tried, I guess, and he wouldn’t have been as good a
protector of us if he was too gentle. Katrina drifted over to the
bathroom’s sink and opened the medicine cabinet above it. All my makeup
stuff was in there. The man hadn’t seem to like that I stored my stuff
in the bathroom, instead of keeping it in my room. But he had his
laxative and his antacid pills in there, so naturally I thought I might
put my stuff there too.
“When did you need Pepto-Bismol?” Katrina asked me.
“That’s not mine,” I answered, raising suds on my breasts.
“It’s the man’s.”
“Oh,” Katrina said. “You know we’re only going to be here a
few days. You might lose this stuff if the man checks out and somebody
else checks into his room.”
“No,” I said. “I think he lives here. He told me he’s an
executive of some kind -- for a beer company I think -- he said this is
a great place to stay if you don’t want to have to rent a house while
you’re in Venice, or stay in some expensive hotel room.”
“Oh well, then I guess you can leave your stuff here,” Katrina
said. “Though I doubt he liked seeing you put it all here. Do you
still use a Barbi compact?” She laughed.
“Sure,” I said, scrubbing my pussy. “It works. Why not?”
“I’m sure he loved seeing this,” Katrina said. “A
Winnie-the-Pooh toothbrush.”
“That’s not Winnie-the-Pooh, that’s Piglet,” I said. “I like
him. He’s little like me and doesn’t know as much as Winnie and
Tigger. I almost bought Tigger, though. I like him too ‘cause he’s
fast and does lots of stuff.”
Katrina turned toward me, holding up my toothbrush. “I’ll bet
that man thinks you’re in the third grade,” she said in a slightly
reproving voice to me.
“Well, then he won’t try to sneak into my room when I’m
asleep,” I answered matter-of-factly.
“That’s probably what you need,” Katrina said, twirling my
toothbrush in her fingers and looking at it. “A daddy like him to spank
your bottom and make you grow up.”
I lifted one of my legs out of the still rising tub water and
began scrubbing my knee. “He’s too fat,” I said. Katrina turned and
replaced my toothbrush in the toothbrush rack in the medicine cabinet.
The man’s, next to whose I’d placed mine, had since disappeared. I
guess he kept his toothbrush in his room now. Maybe he didn’t like
Piglet.
Katrina closed the bathroom cabinet. She’d taken out my hair
brush, and she languidly began brushing her hair with it. She stared at
her made-up face in the cabinet’s mirror.
“I don’t like people using my hair brush,” I called to her from
my now quite bubbly tub.
“Well, mine’s locked in my room, and Dave has the key to it,”
Katrina told me. “Anyways we’ve already shared a little more than your
hairbrush, at Svetlana’s.” I said nothing. I remembered our tryst
there. It had been strange, exploring another girl that way, my muff in
her mouth, hers in mine. I’d cum like never before on her tongue, as
she’d tried to devirginate me with it.
“Do you think we’ll meet any cool guys at the Carnival?” I
asked Katrina.
“We’ll meet lots,” Katrina answered, still brushing her hair.
“How many do you want to meet?”
“Lots,” I replied. Katrina giggled.
Suddenly there was a sound of water gushing from a container.
Katrina whirled around. “Cindy!” she cried. “Why didn’t you turn off
the water?”
“Ooops! Sorry!” I said. I leaned forward and gripped the
handles of the tub’s faucet.
“Hurry!” Katrina said. “You’re flooding the bathroom!” Water
continued to pour over the sides of my tub, carrying all my bubbles with
it.
“I know! I know!” I answered. The tub’s handles were big in
my hands. I twisted them. They moved slowly, graciously, as if to move
more quickly would show disrespect to the princes and queens who once
bathed here.
“Oh, my!” I heard Katrina say. Hastily she lifted up her
skirts so they wouldn’t become wet in the water. Her stiletto heels
barely kept her feet from being submerged. She advanced, then had to
back up, retreating away from me as my bathwater followed her across the
room, threatening to wet her feet. “My God, it will take hours to mop
all this up!” Katrina said. She retreated further as I struggled with
the tub’s old, slow handles. They squeaked irritably as I turned them.
Katrina fled from the bathroom entirely. The water followed her into my
bedroom.
“You do need to be disciplined,” Katrina said to me later, when
we were both in our costumes. Our heels clattered under our skirts as
we descended the hotel’s broad, winding staircase. The steps were old,
squeaky, but still firm underfoot. An elderly woman, sitting doing
knitting in a chair behind the front counter that served as the hotel’s
check-in desk, looked up.
“Could you send someone up to her room?” Katrina asked the
woman. The ancient clerk put her knitting needles into her lap. She
cupped her hand behind her ear. She leaned forward in her chair. “Room
2B,” Katrina told her. We’d heard the man coming back to his room as we
finished dressing in my room, avoiding the puddles my bath had made. I
knew we didn’t have much time to get help for the bathroom before the
man decided to use the toilet. “Her room is 2B,” Katrina said to the
woman. “She couldn’t get her bath off and the bathroom has water all
over the floor.”
“And lots of bubbles too,” I added. Katrina glanced angrily at
me, silencing me.
“And her room, the floor needs to be mopped,” Katrina told the
woman. “Some of the water flooded her bedroom too.”
“EEEEEYAAAHHH!” We both heard suddenly. Even the old woman
heard it. Immediately there was a loud thump on the ceiling above us.
“What was that?” I asked, wide-eyed. I looked at the woman, at
Katrina. It sounded like something heavy had just dropped into the
hotel’s second floor. I imagined a U.F.O., or maybe an asteroid. I’d
seen a show on Italian T.V. about asteroids. I didn’t know what the
announcer was saying, but he’d showed a house where an asteroid had come
crashing down from space, right through the ceiling.
“The fat guy just slipped in your bathroom,” Katrina told me.
She still looked angry. Even angrier than before.
“Ooops,” I said. I looked down at my toes. They were hidden
beneath my skirt.
“God Damn Fucking--” I heard a deep male voice hollar from the
second floor. Suddenly, there was another scream, and another loud
thump.
“I’ll bet he makes me take my Piglet toothbrush out of the
medicine cabinet now,” I told Katrina.
“Never mind your toothbrush,” Katrina said tersely. “Anyway
the tub’s broken and it flooded her bathroom and I guess you might need
an ambulance too,” Katrina told the woman behind the desk. Then she
took my hand and we hurried through the lobby to the back of the hotel,
where Dave was waiting, hopefully, for us in the canal with a getaway
gondola.
We floated languidly on the canal. Its waters lapped quietly
against the buildings alongside it as we passed. They were old, each
one made of bricks and mortar, or stone. Behind us the gondolier rowed
our gondola. We approached a stone bridge. Costumed revellers stood
atop it. They leaned out over the bridge’s parapet and offered
handfulls of confetti to us. It sprinkled down, we passed into it, like
into snow. I stuck out my tongue and caught one of the colored bits of
paper on it. Katrina, mischievously, opened her veil and let them see
her bared bosom.
She told Dave of how I’d let the water run over the tub into
the bathroom. He looked at me, as if sizing me up. I shrank a little
under his gaze. “And the man came back, and he tried to use the toilet,
and he fell -- twice,” Katrina said to Dave. She held up two fingers to
emphasize what, no doubt, had proven to be two quite painful falls for
my overweight neighbor. Dave grunted, nodded.
“We can help her learn to behave better,” Dave said. He
grinned at me. I didn’t like his grin. He had his arm around both
myself and Katrina, sitting between us. The gondolier behind us began
to sing. It was a romantic song, but I didn’t feel to romantic with
Katrina telling Dave how I’d been bad.
Nothing more was said, however, at least not on that subject,
and we floated from one canal to another as the gondolier took us on a
watery tour of the city. Dave and Katrina chatted. Dave told us about
the city’s seedier past and I blushed a little when he glanced over at
me, speaking of how lords and ladies had once held great orgies atop the
cities’ roofs, out in the warm summer air, under the stars.
“Of course, only the elite were invited to such festivities,”
Dave said. “But the whole city, I’m sure, could hear the screams of the
ladies and the grunts of the men as they fucked away in each other’s
arms until dawn.” He looked again at me. “It was before electricity,”
he said. “And they’d pick a moonless night, so they could rut without
being seen, except perhaps by starlight. But it was always on one or
two of the tallest buildings. And it would happen at Carnival time,
when there was much merriment in the streets below, and even if people
did hear screaming, which they certainly must have, they took less note
of it than they would have on a night when the city lay asleep.”
“You sound like you went to some of those orgies,” I told him.
I bumped his side with my elbow. “You’re certainly old enough.” Dave
frowned. Katrina let out a gay laugh.
“She’s right, you know, Dave,” Katrina said. “I think I see a
wrinkle on your forehead.” She reached up and touched a gloved finger
to his face.
“I’m not THAT old,” Dave harrumped. “For those days or to have
wrinkles. I’m only in my 20’s.”
“Still you’re older than me,” I replied. I flexed my back and
felt my bare, pert breasts rise as I arched my chest. I was secretly
glad they were naked. I could feel their freedom under my shawl and I
wanted to open myself to the sky, to let whomever might wish to gaze at
my young tits and handle them with lust. I could feel the tips risen
and stiff. The shawl opened. It had no tie, save that round my neck,
in its front. Hastily I gripped it with my hand, lest the gondolier,
leaning forward, catch sight of them.
“Here is the restaurant where we’ll be eating,” Dave said. Our
gondola approached a building with terraced steps. They led right down
to the water of the canal. The lowest steps were submerged. Above, on
an open portico, I saw diners. They were all in costumes. Candles
glowed on their tables. I saw a trio of violin players drifting between
the tables, playing soft music.
Our gondola bumped against the restaurant’s steps. The
gondolier came foward to help us, but Dave beat him, leaping up and
expertly passing out of our craft to the steps without rocking our
boat. He turned, tipped the tri-cornered hat he wore, then leaned down
and reached for Katrina’s hand. She extened it. He urged her to her
feet. Rising, she permitted him to escort her from our craft. I
followed, helped by Dave and the gondolier. I was younger and more
unsteady on my high heels, especially in a boat, than Katrina was.
Nonetheless we both gained the firmness of the stone steps. It felt
good to stand on them. Dave placed an arm round Katrina’s waist, then
mine. He walked us up the steps and into the open-air restaurant.
After dinner we danced, slow dancing, to the tunes of the
violin players. A string quartet joined them, adding music from a
stage. At first Katrina danced with Dave, then I did. Then a man,
letting go of his wife after a dance, approached me. He asked me to
dance and I said ‘yes.’ As he offered me his hands and I reached for
them, my shawl opened. He gasped as he saw the nakedness of my
breasts. Quickly I pressed my chest to his to hide my nudity from the
crowd. My arms, caped in the shawl, kept me from being seen behind the
concealing billows of silk. His shirt was white and crisp. It felt
good against my nipples. I let my head rest on the upper part of his
chest. He gazed down at me, wondering at my youth, my boldness. I
looked up at him and smiled.
“I like your costume,” the stranger said to me.
“I like yours,” I answered. I could feel the jutting of his
thing in the groin of his Colonial-style breeches. He wore boots on his
calves. They were black and well-polished. He stepped carefully as we
danced so as not to step on my small, pretty feet under my skirts.
We parted when the tune ended. I closed my shawl with my hand
before anyone could see how naked I was. They might, if the light were
strong, see my nipples through the sheer billows, but in this restaurant
it was too dark. Candlelight was its only illumination. The man gazed
at me. I smiled, turned, found another stranger waiting hopefully for
my hand. I accepted. He gasped as the first had done, as I raised my
hands to take his. I liked the feel of his crisp new shirt too.
We departed from the restaurant. We floated through a crowd of
gondolas now. The city was busy with life. I saw all sorts of
costumes. Women wore masks with flamingo’s feathers, or the feathers of
eagles. Katrina and I used ours only sparingly, too delighted by what
we saw to try peeking at it from behind a mask’s eyeslits. I saw a
woman with a long cape, open in front, and under it she wore only a
sheer pantsuit. It was all silk and decorated with a patterned design.
Another woman wore a sumptous blue coat. It looked like a fur coat but
it was made entirely of blue feathers. She was standing in her gondola
and under the coat, which extended to just her waist, she wore a cape,
and under that a thigh-length negligee. It was sheer, and hung open in
front, just like her cape and her feathery coat. Under it she was bare,
save for a lingerie bra and panties. They were blue, semi-sheer, richly
patterned with lace. I looked at her naked legs, her bare tummy. She
caught my eye, smiled. Then she slipped her mask in front of her face,
hiding her eyes. But the rest of her remained on view to whomever might
care to gaze at her lovely figure.
Katrina reached across Dave’s lap. She put her hand between
his legs, which were casually spread, and squeezed his crotch. Dave
grunted. The woman smiled, seeing it, though she kept her mask over her
eyes.
“You’re looking at that woman, aren’t you?” Katrina asked.
“Uh, yeah, how’d you guess?” Dave replied. Katrina massaged
the bulge where his prick was straining to release itself from his
pants. He wore Colonial breeches, like the man who’d danced with me.
“She’s lovely, and has a beautiful costume,” Katrina said. I
sensed a hint of jealousy in her voice. Our gondola approached the
woman and her two lovers. I saw she was young, perhaps as young as
Katrina and myself. Both the men were much older. She stood between
them, and at first I envied her, thinking her the wise owner of two
perfect studs. Then I realized that perhaps it was they who owned her.
There was a collar around her neck and one of the men held a leash in
his hand that connected to her collar. The other man, garbed like a
prince on his way to his stables for a bit of evening riding, held a
long, whippy crop.
“Together we would exactly equal each other,” Dave called to
the trio.
“Yes we would,” one of the men grinned back. The young woman
looked from Dave’s crotch to Katrina and I. Katrina drew back her hand,
replaced it on her lap. Dave’s bulge remained in the front of his
pants. He did not close his legs to hide it.
“We’re going dancing,” the man with the leash said. He nodded
behind himself, toward a building with flashing lights on his exterior.
“Club Go,” it said in bright letters. Sound from its interior drifted
out across the water of the Grand Canal. It was modern-sounding, not
slow and romantic like the music we’d danced to after dinner.
“We’re going there too,” Dave replied. Our gondola passed
theirs. I glanced back. I saw the man with the crop lift the back of
the young woman’s cape, her coat, her negligee. Then the other man, the
one with the leash, grabbed her panties from behind and yanked them down
to her thighs.
“Look!” I breathed, as I saw her white nether cheeks exposed to
my view. Dave turned. Katrina turned. Suddenly the man with the crop
drew it back and applied a single, swift loud CRACK! to the behind of
the woman. She shrieked. Her voice carried across the water of the
canal. As soon as the blow had been delivered, the man with the crop
let go of her clothing. As quickly as she’d been bared, she was
covered, except for the panties which I knew must still ring her thighs,
under her negligee and her cape and her coat. Unsteadily the woman sat
down in the gondola. The two men sat down beside her. Their gondolier,
as if nothing had happened, began singing a slow, romantic song. Their
craft began a meandering turn and shortly was following us toward the
nightclub. Partiers in the other boats, momentarily distracted, glanced
toward the sound of the shriek, saw nothing, save a slowly moving boat
with a happy, singing gondolier and three occupants. Did they know?
Had any of them seen what I’d seen? I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps,
perhaps not. I guessed not. It had been to brief, too quick. Other
people were standing in their gondolas, to talk or to throw confetti out
on the water. Others were sitting. The festivities continued.
Our gondola arrived at the landing of the Club. Dave got out,
then helped Katrina, then me. The gondola with the girl who’d been
whipped pulled up behind ours. I saw her struggling to get her panties
back up, under her many outer garments, before she was required to stand
up and get out. She succeeded, the men seemed not to notice, or to
care. She adjusted her bottom on the seat she shared with them. When
one of the men rose from her gondola, stepped out, and then turned to
help her out in turn, she seemed relieved at the opportunity to rise and
get off her seat. As she stepped from the gondola the other man, behind
her, gave her a friendly push on her ass. She winced. I looked at
her. Her eyes met mine and she blushed.
“You have cruel boyfriends,” I said to her as she approached
me. She was blonde, like me, almost my same height but a little
taller. She had promient breasts like my own. They pushed out between
the open halves of her garments. I envied her bra. I had none. Hers
was quite pretty. I knew it would fit me if I wore it.
“I know,” she answered. She would have stepped closer to me,
perhaps for solace, but one of her boyfriends caught at her leash and
pulled it tight. She stopped in mid-step, yanked back by her neck.
Then he turned, handed something to their gondolier. I imagined it was
a large tip. Dave tipped ours. He said ‘thank you’ in Italian. “I
only just met them too,” the young woman said to me. She lifted a
finger to her throat and pulled with it at the leather collar that bound
her neck. I saw it was a dog’s collar.
We walked across the club’s landing to its front door. Three
men, three women, forming two mis-matched couples by gender, all of us
costumed. The doorman took money from Dave. He seemed not to mind my
age, or not to notice. We slipped inside. The couple behind us, with
their female on a leash, passed the doorman as easily as we had. It was
Carnival. The rules that might rein at other times had been suspended.
The interior of the club pulsed with life. I saw both costumed
dancers and casually-dressed tourists. They intermingled, easily,
dancing with each other as if all dressed alike. A flash of light
struck my breasts and illuminated my nipples. It passed away, just as
quickly, but another followed soon, in time with the music, briefly
showing my nudity to the crowd. We walked onto the dance floor. We
were eager to dance. I began dancing with Katrina and Dave, as before,
but a young man intruded and lured me away. He seemed surprised when a
beam of pulsating light illuminated my nipples under my silken shawl. I
smiled. I glanced at his legs and saw he was indiscreet, himself.
There was a huge bulge in the front of his pants.
“Did you bring your kitchen sink along?” I asked chidingly,
feeling mischievous. He followed my eyes. He saw himself. The
tightness in the front of him pants must have been killing him.
“I wish I could dance like you,” he said, lifting his eyes to
my breasts. I smiled, let go of my shawl. It fell open and my breasts
showed themselves. They swung and bounced as I danced with vigorous
speed. My hips pushed forward, drew back, gyrated. I felt my skirts
modestly swirling around my feet while my breasts jiggled wildly on my
chest. Others looked, I did not mind. I saw another woman with her
breasts bared like mine were. It was fun. It was permissible, at
Carnival.
I did not leave any hearts unbroken. I danced with every man
who asked, dumping him as quickly as I’d let him into my life, so I
could meet still more men. The music filled my ears and vibrated inside
my body. I saw the young woman who’d been whipped out on the canal.
She was dancing, happy now. Her leash hung free from her body. It
whipped about as she danced, striking others. They seemed too entranced
with her beauty, with the seductiveness of her costume, to mind. I saw
Katrina too, dancing with Dave a lot, but not always. Once I saw her
dancing with one of the men who’d cropped the girl in the gondola. She
let her nipples show. They looked like twin treats, perched up above
her bra, pushed up so that no eye, however unobservant, could miss
them. Her nipples were stiff.
The man with the crop, which he now had thrust through a belt
round his waist, so he could dance, pulled Dave aside. I saw him
whisper into Dave’s ear. Dave nodded. When there was a break in the
music they walked over to me.
“Where’s Katrina?” Dave asked.
“Over there,” I said, pointing. She was dancing with the man
who had been fond of the feathery girl’s leash.
“Annabelle, come,” the man with the crop called out. I saw the
girl in the feathery coat turn. She bade goodbye to the young man she’d
been dancing with. She crossed the dance floor, weaving through the
crowd of dancers.
“Yes?” Annabelle asked pertly. She lifted her eyes to the man
with the crop as a child might, obedient.
“We will go now,” the man replied.
“We will go with them,” Dave told me. He gestured toward the
man with the crop. “This is Carl,” he said. The other man, with
Katrina, came up beside us. “And this is Jake,” he said. I nodded, not
sure what to do. I wished to keep dancing, but I seemed not to have
been asked for my opinion. Katrina took my hand and looked at me
anxiously.
“Where are we going?” I asked her.
“Downstairs,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Can we dance downstairs?” I asked, curious.
“Yes. Yes you can,” Jake grinned at me. But I didn’t like his
smile, for some reason, and looked quickly away. He grasped Annabell’s
leash and urged her forward.
We walked through the club. At the rear, through the parting
of people as we made our way, there appeared a door. It was painted
green and had a doorman standing by it. He looked at me rather
suspiciously, then at Katrina, at Dave. Dave pulled out some bills and
paid him. Overpaid him, perhaps. The doorman opened the door for us.
We passed through to a flight of steps. They descended down a narrow
staircase. There was no railing, just the steps, and steeply rising
walls on either side of them. A single bare bulb, hanging from the
ceiling, illuminated the passageway. Dave went first. He made Katrina
hold his hand so she wouldn’t fall. I held Katrina’s other hand,
following her. I heard the two men and Annabell come through the door
behind us. I turned once, briefly. I saw an ashen look on Annabell’s
face. It made me shiver. Why was she sad? We’d been admitted. We
were going to dance more privately, that was all. There was no need to
be sorry about it. Perhaps this was a more exclusive place we were
going to, surely it must be. I liked dancing. It didn’t matter to me
where I danced, so long as I could.
As we descended the steps I realized we were climbing down
below the surface of the canal to our rear. I hoped it would stay in
its place. I didn’t want to find myself being flooded, down here, like
I’d flooded the bathroom at the hotel.
Dave opened a door at the base of the steps. We went in. Him
first, then Katrina. At once I heard her gasp, sharply. Yet, still
holding her hand, I allowed her to pull me in behind her.
My God! I couldn’t believe my eyes! I saw we were in a large,
bare room. Its walls were as bare as the walls of the steps we’d just
descended. In the middle of the room was a large stone block. A nude
girl was stretched across it. Her hair was coiffed, pinned up neatly,
and her face was painted as prettily as mine, I saw, when she turned her
head to look behind herself. But the similarity between us ended
there. Her dress, which she’d apparently been wearing, was held by a
costumed woman. She had it folded over her arms. The girl on the block
was on her knees. Her arms were chained to manacles in front of the
block. They were made of old, rusted iron, but they seemed to hold her
fast all the same. I saw someone had made her don cotton wristlets, as
if she were going out for a round of tennis. They protected her wrists
and kept them from chafing against the rusted iron. Behind her, her
legs were also bound. They were forced apart in a wide vee. Her fig
nestled tightly between her splayed thighs. Its only covering was a
light fringe of pubic hair. The room was brightly lit, especially where
they block lay. The poor girl had no hope of remaining modest. Her
ankles, like her wrists, were banded with small cotton bands, to protect
her from the rusted iron manacles which held her feet. She looked
straight at me. I don’t think she even noticed me, though, for she was
trying to see the brutish man who stood behind her. In contrast to her
lily-white skin, he was tanned and swarthy. He had on a hood, masking
his face, but from the rough, gnarled look of his limbs, the excessive
hairiness of them, I guessed he was no handsomer under his hood than he
was across the rest of his body. He was tall, but stocky, and seemed
most disagreeable to me, for he wore an undershirt, stained with sweat,
and had a fat belly. He reminded me of sergeants in the Army, strong
but fat too, a sort of sergeant-biker, with his fat belly and his black
hood and the tight black pants he wore. They ended at his knees,
leaving his calves bare. His calves were as hairy as the rest of him.
On his feet he had boots, but they lacked polish and ended round his
ankles, like short little galoshes a pervert might wear, exposing
himself on dark nights in the park.
Two men, gaily costumed, and much better looking than the
executioner (for what else could he be, with his hood?) checked the
bonds of the girl over the block. She struggled. It was hopeless. A
woman in the crowd laughed, not without pleasure, at her struggles.
Under the girl’s belly someone had placed a worn cushion. But her
breasts dangled free, off the block, twin pendant ripe fruits, waiting
to be spurred into wildly swinging action.
The executioner held aloft a long whip. The two men who had
bound the girl to the block stepped back. The whip looked menacing.
They did not wish to be struck by it. One of them handed the
executioner a wad of bills. He took it, looked at it, counted it
quickly with just his thumb, going through the bills like a man in a
fish market might, in the dead of winter, counting the bills hastily
because the cold was worse than being underpaid. But here, in this
brightly lit room, the denominations on the bills looked generous.
There was too much in the wad, if anything, not too little, but the
executioner pocketed it all.
“We are in luck,” Dave said quietly to myself, to Katrina.
“They are just starting.” I saw another girl, still in the crowd, but
standing slightly apart from it, being undressed by a man and a woman.
They helped her out of her costume. She was young, young as the first,
over the block. She glanced worriedly from the woman to the man but
said nothing. Her breasts were revealed, her belly. The woman, getting
her dress to her hips, pushed it down off them with the help of the
man. They handled her gently, yet I knew what they must be undressing
her for. I saw her pubis. I did not want to be like this, in this
room, seeing poor girls undressed to be beaten, but I was so transfixed
by the scene I could not turn away. Annabelle entered behind us. I
heard her gasp, a small frightened yelp. Then she was quiet. Her
boyfriend held her by her leash.
“What’ll it be?” the executioner asked the man who had paid
him.
“How severe can you make it?” the costumed gentleman inquired.
The executioner laughed. It was a sharp, unpleasant laugh. His big
belly shook as he laughed.
“I can kill her with this,” he said, dangling the whip before
the man’s face.
“Not - not that severe,” the costumed gentleman replied.
“We still have other uses for her,” the other man, his
companion, told the executioner.
“Just the bottom,” the first of the poor, unfortunate female’s
boyfriends told the executioner. “Smarten her up a bit. You know, give
her something to remember you by.”
“Permanent?” the executioner asked. His voice was gruff. He
seemed bored by the men’s inexperience in such matters.
“No. Not permanent,” the second man said. “A good, thorough
striping, that’s all. We don’t want her tattooed with the thing. Just
a good lashing to make her ship shape.”
“Ship shape,” the executioner said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll
whip her into shape alright, but she won’t be able to sit down for a few
weeks.”
“A few days,” the second man, who seemed slightly better versed
in things whippable, said to the executioner. His companion nodded,
mutely. The executioner yawned.
“Nobody ever really exercises my talents,” the executioner
said. “Okay, a thorough whipping, but don’t leave anything for her to
remember ME by, eh? I’m just a hired hand.”
“That’s right,” the second man said, firmly.
“It’ll hurt like hell all the same,” the executioner told him.
“That’s what we want,” the second man said.
The man and the woman who’d just finished undressing the girl
who would follow whispered in her ears. They seemed to be trying to
comfort her. She was shaking. Her knees wobbled. The woman bent and
lifted her leg and extended it. I could see the girl’s puss, up between
her legs. The girl stared at her ankle, and watched as the woman
slipped a cotton anklet around it.
My eyes scanned the room, perhaps looking for the brave little
toaster who would appear, or some more manly hero, and stop the
proceedings. Instead, all the men seemed transfixed by the plight of
the pretty coiffed girl poised over the block. The women, wickedly,
seemed as entranced as the men. Yet among some younger girls, at least,
girls like me, I saw troubled faces. Was there excitement mixed with
their worry? I guessed there must be, for I felt it in myself. My
nipples were stiff on my breasts. I saw eyes glance at me and, among
those nearest to me, they discovered my secret. I wore an elegant
dress, but my breasts were utterly bare. They could see my flesh, my
red nipples. I blushed, I hung my head.
SCREEEEAAACK! All heads snapped to the center of the room. I
felt my own lift, stare, as a wild shriek escaped the girl bound over
the block. I watched as her bottom tensed, contracted, a new red line
marking its otherwise pure, lovely white surface. My hands flew to my
own bottom in empathy. Is that how I’d looked, when I’d tasted the crop
at Svetlana’s? Yet this was no delicately-tailed crop the executioner
swung. It was a bullwhip. Made for big, sturdy bulls, yet used instead
on this soft young girl’s bottom.
“Ohhhhh---aghghgh!” the blonde with the coiffed hair cried.
Her bottom relaxed, then tightened again. She bit her lip and ground
her teeth. Her hips waggled. She could not escape her fate, but at
least her voice could escape, to our listening ears, and she could shake
her ass for all it was worth. She was caught, pinned by her limbs to
the floor, but her lovers had wickedly left her ass room to shake and to
strive under the lash. The pretty victim relaxed her cheeks again, then
tightened them once more, squeezing them repeatedly to try to throw off,
or at least to better endure, the whip’s sting.
Oh, why must men find delight in such awful things, I
wondered? I looked again through the silent figures standing in the
room, looking for a hero. I saw a tourist girl, young like myself,
flanked by a man and a woman. She gave them beseeching looks. Though
neither she nor they were decked out in costumes, they’d decided that
they would participate in the Carnival after all. In its deepest, most
intimate ritual, here in the room that was submerged under the water
level of the Grand Canal. As the girl watched their hands, her two
lovers began to undress her. She lifted a hand of her own, tried to
resist, but the woman slapped it away. Casually, as if the girl had no
right to refuse, or even to complain. Glumly the girl saw her blouse
undone, her shoes untied, her shorts lowered. Then the man, with a
flourish, as if unwrapping a precious gift, but one meant to be
consumed, like Christmas sweets, lowered the girl’s white panties. She
was left standing half-naked, her bare pubis showing while her bra
remained on her chest and her small, pink socks still carefully sheathed
her small feet.
The girl over the block was still grinding her hips into the
pillow atop the stone. Her asscheeks contracted and relaxed,
rhythmically, rudely. She still bore but one stripe. The executioner,
less vulgar than I had first thought him, was letting her make a show of
herself (though she had little choice in it), and to be admired. She
did, I had to admit to myself, have a lovely round bottom. With the
application of the whip, it was made to move in sensuous ways that could
only have been imagined without it. Tensing, releasing, tightening
again at the thought of what still lay ahead, for the executioner, to
keep the girl’s mind absolutely on him, struck his whip aimlessly
against the floor.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Each slap of the whip upon the floor
caused the girl to start, to freeze, expecting it was her the whip would
connect with. When it proved to be only the hard, stone floor, she
seemed relieved, yet frightened too, for it meant she still had to wait
for what was yet to come.
“Oh, please! Get it over with!” the pretty small blonde said
at last. She lifted her head, tried to free herself. I watched her
legs straighten and she tried to pull her feet from the manacles. Her
bottom hung quietly, still flexing a little, but waiting now, waiting
for the inexorable moment when she would be struck again.
A low wooden bench was set near the block. It was empty. I
had thought little of it, barely noticed it. Yet now, I saw the girl
who was waiting to be whipped led forward by her lovers. She was nude.
The woman carried her clothes. A man I’d not noticed, one of many
costumed revellers, turned and received the girl from her lovers. He
bade her to turn and, drawing a rope from his coat pocket, he pulled her
hands behind her back. Quickly he knotted the rope around her wrists.
Then he took her by her small, diminutive shoulders and pushed her ahead
of him. They walked round to the front of the bench. He sat her down.
She tried glancing down, perhaps to check for splinters in the wood, but
he plopped her right down, before she could look, and told her not to
move. He left her there, walked back behind the bench, and turned his
eyes to the fate of the girl over the block. I did not like him. He
was old, grey-haired. Yet he had a magisterial look about him, as of an
ancient inquisitor, or bishop, or judge, passing upon the fate of those
who fell into his grasp. All were guilty. All had to be delivered to
the executioner for a penitential flogging. With serene eyes he gazed
at the gasping girl over the block. He apprised himself of the state of
her bottom as a judge might, reviewing a parolee’s sentence. Yet he
kept silent, for it was the girl’s two male lovers who got to choose
what would be done to her.
I started. I felt fingers at my back. I twisted my head back.
“No!” I breathed. My voice would have been louder, but I was
too frightened to speak in the hushed silence of this wanton, buried
room.
“Yes,” Dave replied. Katrina sidled up to me and took my
hand. She smiled. A little abashedly, yet pleasantly, as if she had
already resigned herself to Dave’s suggestion that I be put over the
block.
“I must see him do it to you,” Dave whispered in my ear. His
words sent an erotic thrill up my spine, even as my mind reeled. He had
picked me! Not Katrina, but me! For this most intimate act it was me
he wished to see.
“I- I do not wish to,” I said. I felt my breasts rise and fall
as I spoke, softly, so as not to be heard except by Dave. He towered
behind me, kept unbuttoning my dress. I felt it open in back and the
air of the room, slightly dank, cool despite the bright lights, touched
my shoulders, my shoulder blades. My spine tensed. Dave kept
unbuttoning. I felt his hands, behind me, spread my dress open.
Katrina untied the shawl where it attached to my wrists. Then she
reached up behind my neck, and untied it there. My dress was dropped to
the floor. My shawl was lifted off by Katrina. I looked down over my
breasts, at my knees. They wiggled in and out, back and forth,
nervously, as if I had to go to the bathroom.
Eyes drifted toward me. Dave grasped my wrists and pulled them
behind me. Then he pushed me forward. I found myself padding barefoot
across the room. My naked bosoms bounced in time with my stride. The
minister of the whip (what else to call him?) received me. He turned
me, took my hands, bound them with rope. Then he sat me down, next to
the other girl. As soon as I sat, the girl who was a tourist was
brought forward. She still wore her bra. The minister, receiving her,
told her lovers to take it off. They complied. Her young breasts
sprang into view. They were like delectable fruit released from a
basket. Plump peaches, with hard pink-tipped nipples.
“She will not scrape them on the block?” the woman asked the
minister.
“No. She’ll be pushed forward, like the blonde, so her breasts
dangle freely,” the minister answered. Then, with the greatest
deference, he asked the girl, “Would you like to keep on your socks, or
should I take them off?”
The girl nodded, mutely. The minister looked bemused. Then,
smiling, he said, “I know not for which answer you nod, but the floor is
cold. Keep your socks.” He smiled. He brought her round to the front
of her bench and sat her down. I envied her socks. The floor was cold
and I sat with my feet poised, only my toes touching it, to keep my feet
from getting cold. The nude girl next to me, who would be second over
the block, sat with her feet poised like mine. Thanks to her socks, the
tourist girl was able to sit with her feet flat on the floor.
WHACKCK! The tourist girl’s knees jumped at the sound of the
whip.
“Eeeeyooooh!” the blonde over the block shouted. She had
finally gotten her second stroke. Two red lines now marked her bottom.
She strove to escape, to rise, but the block held her fast. Her ass
ground its cheeks together, uselessly, a consolation prize for being
unable to escape. Tears plopped from her eyes and hit the floor. Her
mouth drank in air and her young breasts waggled wildly on her chest.
Her back arched, her bottom jutted into the air, then shrank as the
sound of the whip hitting the floor met her ears.
Time passed. The blonde took another stroke, a fourth, each
measured for the maximum impact, each separated by a long interval so
she could fully taste and absorb the whip’s sting.
“May I fuck her?” one of the girl’s lovers asked at last.
Boldly he unzipped the fly of his trousers. The executioner looked at
the minister.
“Do not drop your pants,” the minister said. “It would be
unseemly. A certain decorum must be maintained. But if you wish to,
ah, release yourself, and have your way with her, I shan’t object.”
“Thanks,” the man answered. To the delight of the women in the
room, he pulled forth a huge, snake-like penis. It wobbled on the air.
I heard the tourist girl gasp beside me. How he’d managed to keep that
big thing confined in his pants, I had no idea. The man, his dick now
exposed to the air, hard and pulsing, turned to his companion. “I’ll do
her cunt, you do her ass,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if discussing
who would drive to a sporting event, and who would take the wheel on the
way home.
“Sure,” the other man said.
I closed my eyes as the girl received her lover. She was
embarrassed, and her bottom was sore, as she was quick to point out to
him, but one could not say that, when he was fully within her, she
didn’t enjoy him. I heard her sigh and gasp. I heard him grunt
happily. He sounded like a hedgehog rooting in the bushes, content and
happy as he dug into her with his cock.
Then the other lover, the one assigned her nether route, took
his place. The girl screamed at this. She did not want her bottom
fucked. I could hardly blame her, having tasted it once myself. I
glanced at Dave. He grinned at me, wickedly. I looked away and shut my
eyes again.
The girl was at last released. She couldn’t get up. Her
lovers had to lift her and carry her back down into the crowd. There,
at the back of the room, I saw them sit her flaming bottom into a big
wooden tub. It apparently had ice water in it, for she shrieked at the
first touch of the chilly water on her bottom. It was big a wooden
tub. The men sat her over its lip. Her feet dangled outside the tub.
A soft pink towel hung over the tub’s lip, to protect the undersides of
her knees from the raw slatted boards that made up the top and sides of
the tub. The men supported the girl as she sat. They held her arms, so
she would not topple backward into the tub. A woman approached, took
out a towellette, and daubed at the girl’s eyes.
“There, there,” I thought I heard her say to the girl. The
girl sniffled. She must have tensed her bottom for suddenly her mouth
gasped, worked in a kind of rictus of pain, and then stilled again. Oh,
how sore she must be behind, I thought, gazing at her. How awful that I
too was fated to undergo the same journey, strapped to the block,
flogged, fucked, and finally dealt with a little more tenderly, by a
woman with cheap moist towelettes.
The journey for the girl beside me had already begun. The man
and the woman who had undressed her now fitted her arms and legs into
the manacles alongside the block. The rope that had bound her wrists
lay untied on the floor. The minister walked over to it, picked it up.
He put it back into his pocket.
Her punishment was delivered. When it was through her lover,
the male, ground himself into her newly injured backside. And then,
seeing her released, I knew my own turn had come.
I did not wait for them to come and get me. As soon as the
girl ahead of me had been lifted up from the block, I rose from the
bench. The minister, thinking I was trying to escape, darted forward.
But he did not stop me when he saw my intention. With my chin lifted
high, my pretty coifs bouncing on my cheeks and down the back of my
neck, I walked proudly up to the block. I felt my breasts bobbing on my
chest and heard a gasp from the crowd. No other girl had shown such
temerity. I reached the block, looked down upon it. Then, carefully, I
bent my knees. The minister rushed forward and caught me round my tummy
before I could, as I’d intended, drop my knees to the stone floor. He
lowered me gently, lest I lose my balance and hurt myself. My knees
touched the stone floor gracefully, lightly. He eased me forward. I
felt my belly touch the worn cushion atop the block. It was damp from
the sweat of the other girls. There was a stain of semen upon it where
a male lover had given his all. Yet, in its way, it was comfortable. I
let my weight bear down upon it. I felt like a fish put over the block
at a fishmarket, or weighed, wiggling still with life, in a scale. My
arms were bound behind me and my head and breasts hung low to the floor
on the far side of the block. My hair dangled down off my head, long
loose curls of blonde hair glowing under the bright lights that flooded
the area round the block.
“Oh, she is so brave -- and so young!” I heard a woman
exclaim. I heard zippers unzipping. Men, unable to contain themselves
at the sight of my willingness, presented themselves in the crowd. They
found female hands to work their stiff rods or, absent that, began
pleasuring themselves. I felt a thrill of excitement. I was victim,
yet inspiration too. As I heard zipper after zipper undone I realized
not a man in the room could contain himself at the sight of my young,
voluptuous body placed so receptively over the block. To tease them, I
willingly spread my legs. I straightened them. I was mindful, too, of
the whip, and glanced back, anxiously, yet I couldn’t resist causing all
the men to milk themselves at the sight of my open cunt.
“Ah, God!” I heard a man exclaim. I looked round to see if I
could catch sight of Dave. Turning my head, looking far back behind
myself, I saw him. He was out too! His big banana-like prick hung
stiffly in front of him. Katrina, a little ashamed to be touching him
so publicly, nonetheless flitted her hands in admiration over his
organ. I saw Dave’s face, casual at first, tense.
“Not yet,” I thought I saw Katrina mouth. Not yet, wait ‘til
she’s whipped, don’t spend on the floor, I knew she must be saying.
Dave was twice her age, but with his thing forced from him pants and in
her hands, he was like a small boy too, being tutored.
“So this one thinks she can challenge me, eh?” I heard the
executioner grouse. His whip hit the floor. I froze. My knees
locked. My elbows straightened.
“Ah, you are not insensitve then,” the minister said gaily, in
my ear. He unbound my wrists. “I was worried, thought perhaps a girl
your age had somehow matured too quickly.”
No, I had not been, I assured him. Not by speaking, but by
suddenly beginning to shiver involuntarily. What was I doing? Oh, that
whip would hurt! It would make me scream. I would be debased and
fucked and left to the care of a woman and her disposable moist
towellettes. I resoved to trick them, to leap up and run. But
suddenly, in my fear, I found that all my limbs had turned to water.
They were lifeless. I could not move them. But the minister moved
them, and gently clothed them in cotton wristlets and anklets. Then, as
I felt the life begin to return to my limbs, he locked them swiftly into
the rusty old manacles.
I wriggled hard over the block. I tried to rise, pressing my
tummy into the pillow for leverage. I felt my ribs bulge from my sides
with the effort.
“Ah, she is so slim,” I heard a woman say.
“Yet with a bumptious bottom,” I heard another add. Traitors!
I thought.
“Please not too hard,” I squeaked to the minister. He lingered
by my face, contemplating me. He cupped my chin. He raised it.
Helplessly my breasts dangled heavily beneath me.
“Yes,” the minister assured me. “Quite hard.” He saw me
gasp. My limbs quivered still. My springy nipples danced in the air,
at the tips of my pendant breasts. I felt a sense of deep communion
with him, somehow. He’d placed the old rusted manacles on my hands and
wrists himself, and protected them first, so considerately, with the
small cotton wristlets. It was as if the rings were extensions of his
body. It was his strength holding me, I felt, though in fact he had
cheated and used evil clamps to hold me down. He squeezed my cheeks, my
jaws. My lips puckered into a receptive O.
“You adore the attention, don’t you?” the minister said to me.
His voice did not accuse. It seemed to express understanding. I tried
to shake my head ‘no.’ His hand gripped my face. I could not move it.
My lips tried to move but remained in the forced O of receptivity.
My eyes glanced down fearfully. Beyond the thickness of his
wrist I saw his crotch. It bulged. Despite his grey hair, his age, he
sported a hard on. I marvelled at it. In his youth he must have been a
stallion, I thought, having any girl he pleased, breaking many hearts.
Now, lined with age, he retained his virility still. I wished suddenly
I could kiss him there, console him, forgive him all his years and make
him young again. Just as quickly my mind recoiled. No! He was old and
I was young. We did not belong together. Yet, in his menancing, prying
hands, I felt a kind of security. He was wise, graceful in his cruelty,
knowing just how far to push a girl, I sensed... and when to stop.
“I’m-- I’m a virgin,” I managed to stammer through my pursed
lips. He stroked my hair. He coiled a finger in the ringlets that made
up my coiffure.
“Then this is your audition,” he replied, suavely. “Your grand
opening.”
“No!” I squeaked. My eyes gazed at his crotch. At any moment
I expected him to unzip himself and make me take him. I did not want to
take him, ever. He was old. I was just a baby.
Every man in the room now had his penis out. I did not have to
look to know this. I could hear the sighs, the grunts of male pleasure,
as the woman present pleasured them. It was, I knew, a light pressure
they applied, just a touch of fingertips. The men were being teased,
prepared. At the right moment an orgy would begin. Then all would be
wild, unscripted. Now a rude decorum still obtained, the men’s pricks
out, the females slowly bringing them to the brink of madness.
I lay over the block. I felt the length of my long legs,
pinned at the feet, rising in sweet slim lines to the apex where my cunt
lay. It showed itself between them. Fleecy, inviting, virgin. I felt
a wetness upon its lips.
The minister thrust his hips forward. I gasped.
“Take my zipper with your teeth,” the minister hissed at me.
His voice sounded like that of a snake. I shivered. I resisted. His
hand, under my chin, forced my face forward. My knees bent in
rebellion, my hips bucked, but I could no more refuse him than a horse
could, locked into a mating box. I felt my lips press against the sharp
coldness of his zipper. Unwillingly, his fingers gripping my cheeks, I
bit the metal tab. In a sudden act of vengeance, feeling so exposed
myself, I yanked it down.
“Good. More, more,” the minister murmured. I saw his
underpants bulge up between his opened zipper teeth. They bumped my
nose. I smelled a musky scent. Unwillingly, guided by his fingers on
my chin, I tugged the metal tab of his zipper to the very bottom of his
fly. “Now dig it out,” the minister snarled at me. He squeezed my
cheeks harder. My lips pursed more. I could not keep from doing as he
ordered. My lovely curls hung down round my face, my eyes, down the
back of my neck, shivering, as he forced my perfectly coiffed head into
his crotch. I smelled his lust, his need. I licked involuntarily at
his underpants, hoping that was all he wished.
“Don’t get my shorts all wet. Pull out my penis!” the minister
told me angrily. I heard laughter somewhere, behind me, all around me.
People were enjoying my torment. The executioner waited with his
bullwhip for permission to flay my naked ass.
I sucked at him. I strove with my lips to open his
underpants. “Suck harder,” he ordered. He reached down and sliced two
of his fingers between us; between my lips and his awful thing. He used
them to help me, opening his cotton fly in his underpants so I could
more easily pull out his organ with my mouth.
“Ack!” I cried. I felt the fleshy strength of his penis
against my lips. He pursed them harder. I was young. I might bite him
if he wasn’t careful. He kept my lips pushed out so that I could not
get my teeth on him.
“Suck it out,” the minister ordered me, again. I pressed my
lips against his cock. It felt like I was kissing the back of a snake.
Somewhere, buried in his underpants, lay the cock head, hidden from me
still. I extended my tongue between my lips and licked along the shaft
of his trapped cock. “Suck,” he ordered. I withdrew my tounge. I
kissed hard with my lips against his cock. I sucked. I pulled at his
organ, searching along the shaft of his cock for the still-buried head.
“Eeeek!” I shouted. Suddenly his head popped out. It landed
right in my lips. I silenced my scream. I heard him yell at me to suck
him. I felt my lips, split wide by his massive organ’s head, begin to
suck upon him as one sucks upon a straw. His pre-cum oozed into my
mouth. It was salty. I was repelled by it. My tummy tightened. My
hips bucked again upon the block. There was laughter. I heard a rustle
of skirts as several women, inspired, apparently knelt upon the floor to
service the cocks of their men.
“It is good,” the minister said. Abruptly he drew back. It
was good, for him, for I was just pressing my teeth to the skin of his
cockhead when he pulled it from me. Another moment and I might have
succeeded in biting him. I longed to do it. He deserved it. He would
torture no more girls with his wicked thing if I bit it off.
“She’s all yours,” I heard the minister say. He stepped away
from me. I heard a crack. I sobbed, clenched my cheeks. My bottom
wobbled naked on the block. I flexed my ass, realized it had only been
the floor the executioner had struck. I sighed, whimpered. My
apple-round bottom, its cheeks split receptively, waited.
“She is a virgin!” I heard a male exclaim. The minister,
wicked man, had shared my secret. There was laughter.
“She will not be, after tonight,” I heard another male say.
“She wishes to lose it theatrically, or is afraid to consent,”
a woman said.
“She wants to be brought to it. Some girls are that way. They
cannot bear to just say ‘yes,’” a woman added. Several men groaned.
They lost themselves, I think, in their wives mouths, upon hearing,
unexpectedly, of my virgin state.
“Give her bottom a good licking,” a woman declared. “She wants
to be punished for giving herself away tonight.”
Did I? I wondered. No, surely that was not it. I’d been
struck by the cat at Svetlana’s and that had been no pleasure, except
perhaps afterwards, when it left my bottom strangely glowing. I
struggled again to get up. The manacles that held me were old, rusty.
I was young. Perhaps I could break them.
A sudden touch upon my bottom. Fierce, hot. It splatted
across both my cheeks and impressed itself into them. A moment later it
was gone. The sound of its cracking rang in my ears.
“Eeeeeeyaaah!” I cried. The whip! It had struck me at last!
I felt my bottom cringe, release, cringe again. I jammed my cheeks
together. I felt them open. Air touched my bottom now, nothing more,
yet my cheeks were raging. Oh, how they hurt. A bright red line, I
knew, now spoiled the lily-skinned purity of my ass.
Laughter. More groans as yet more men spent into their wives
hands and mouths, or hung uncertainly at the brink, striving, fighting,
to hold themselves back under the assault of my sufferings, my screams.
Did they find this sexy, seeing me splayed like this over the block?
Wicked men! Yet I could only cry, spill my tears upon the floor. It
was damp, wet from the tears of the girls who had preceeded me.
“See how she works her cheeks. So round, so pretty. They
should make this an event at the Olympics!” a woman remarked. She
sounded old, mature. Decadant, like the minister. I rebelled against
my bonds and tried again to free myself. It was no use. The iron held
me fast. I gasped, sagged. My bosoms swayed ripely underneath me. I
was defeated. I could only wait for the next stroke of the whip.
SKEEEEERCK! Ah! It caught me anew. Wickedly it struck on my
bottom’s underside. I felt the blaze of it across the base of my
cheeks. It lifted me up, momentarily, then leapt away, leaving a streak
of redness and pain in its wake.
“Yeeeeooouuuuch!” I cried. My bottom shivered. My cheeks
tightened, squeezing hard, then opened with complete surrender, only to
bunch up again with utter fright, and then to open still again. I
squeezed them repeatedly, trying to throw off the pain. It was no use.
I wept, coughed, let out a smaller scream. My breasts danced underneath
me, swaying like gourds, like coconuts on a palm beset by a storm.
“How sweetly she struggles,” a woman remarked. I heard a loud
shout as a male, apparently, shot his seed into his lover’s mouth.
“I would give her first place if she were in the Olympics,”
another woman said.
“I’d pin the ribbon right on her ass,” a man said.
“You may pin yourself right up her cunt, perhaps, if her
boyfriend lets you,” a woman said. “Or, better yet perhaps, right in
her ass, if that what suits you.” There was more laughter.
CRRRAKK-AKK! A double blow! Twice the whip scourged me,
hitting first one of my cheeks, directly, then leaping to the other. I
ground my tummy into the cushion upon the block. My hips rose, fell,
rose again. I screamed, loudly, lifting my head, my eyes gaping. My
nostrils snorted like a woman’s, in the deepest pangs of birth. My legs
froze rigid, then bent a little, at the knees. Twin sparks of pain
radiated hotly outward from where the whip had struck my cheeks. Like
fire racing across an oil spill, the pain seemed to envelop my whole
bottom. I screamed more loudly.
SCRAAAAAK! Again the whip coursed across my seat. My scream
intensified. They had not let me wait! They were beating me! I was
being flayed alive!
WHAAAAAACK! Oh, God! I couldn’t believe it! The bullwhip
tore a new scream from my lungs as it bit yet again into my tender ass.
I wriggled my bottom. I bucked my hips. I ground my tummy into the
cushion underneath me and squeezed my bottom’s cheeks as tightly as I
could. They opened just as quickly, then tensed again. My bottom was
on fire! I balled it tightly, felt it spring open again, huddled my
cheeks once more. I pushed it out into the air. Oh, please, let it
cool somehow. It must cool!
WHIIIIIIACKCK! The whip glided in, masterfully, and struck my
cheeks anew. I shuddered under the blow. I screamed. I wished the
minister would return. I would not try to bite him, this time. I’d use
his cock to gag myself and die, so as not to have to suffer from the
whip.
SCRAAAAK! It struck again. I was being given more strokes
than the other girls, though I was younger. My mind was in torment. My
ass cheeks were tumultuous. I screamed perpetually now. I cried. I
was being lost, ruined. I could not save myself and no one else wished
to. I heard, somewhere beyond my screams, more gasps of male pleasure
as men used my plight to sperm their lovers mouths.
A finger pressed insistent at my bottom. It was slim, finely
nailed. A woman’s finger. No! It felt slick, oily. It had been
dipped in oil to prepare me. It prodded between my cheeks. It dug in
my anus. I tried to clamp my cheeks, to push it out. Flames seared my
bottom with every movement of my seat.
“Ahck!” I yelped, half gagging on my tears. My hair matted
itself across my face where my locks, wettened by my tears, had found
themselves stuck, much as I was being stuck by the finger.
“She needs someone slim. I am too big for her,” I heard a
familiar voice say. Dave! No! Dave was asking... was asking for a
male with a slimmer penis than his own to plow my bottom!
“Yes, he looks good,” I heard a female say. Katrina! I heard
people behind me. Someone, I sensed, was being examined. “The
discharge looks clean,” Katrina reported to Dave.
“You’d better not give my girl any diseases,” I heard Dave say
to someone. I twisted my head. Somehow I managed to look back over my
shoulder. There was a man. He was slim, athletic. He was presenting
himself to Katrina and she was kneeling in front of him, inspecting his
cock. She kissed it. I sobbed. My bottom hurt so badly! I could not
bear to have a male stick his awful thing up it!
“He is too young to have any diseases,” I heard a woman laugh.
“Have him use a condom, if you’re so worried about it,” I heard
a man, bitter that he’d not been chosen, grouse.
“No, I want her to feel him as he really is,” Dave answered.
“She must get used to the feel of cock. She is still too anxious.”
“I could break her in,” I heard the minister say.
“Perhaps,” Dave answered. I felt a shock of fright run down my
spine. Perhaps?! Perhaps?! Did Dave intend... No! Oh, I should have
gone with Steven, to Rome! He was my favorite. Why had I held back,
balked? Now I would pay for it, awfully.
“Mount her,” Dave ordered. I felt hands touch the backs of my
legs. Was it him? I tried to twist my head around again. I was too
weak. I was scared. I dropped my head and sobbed new tears upon the
floor.
The hands had callouses on them. They slid up the backs of my
legs to my flaming ass. “Ack!” I cried, as they touched it. Oblivious
to my pain, they gripped my aching, whip-marked cheeks. “Yeeeeek!” I
screamed at the male touch. Such hard, calloused hands, and they paid
no attention to my bottom’s state. With relish the male rubbed my ass.
He seemed to savor my condition, my soreness, how his hands alone could
pain me, his touch as harsh, upon my wounded flesh, as the whip had
been, when first it coursed across the softness of my pretty, rounded
ass.
He quartered my cheeks. With his thumbs he pulled them open,
peered with lust between, at the dimple of my anus. I felt the heat of
his member. It was close, hovering just above my seat. He had no place
to put it and, bending slightly, he brought it into contact with my
ass. It bounced once against my right cheek. He moved just a little
and it settled hotly between my bottom’s halves. I stirred on the
cushion. I did not want him and yet, somehow, it thrilled me to have a
penis caught between my bottom’s cheeks. Precociously I pushed out my
bottom, caught him more. He was deeply impressed in my ass’s furrow
now. I could feel his throbbing. I squeezed my cheeks together. I
would milk him there, deflate him. He would spend up across my back and
leave my anus pure, unviolated.
“No,” he murmured. “I must get myself in you.” I felt him
rise. His cock swept upward from where I’d tried to trap it. Then it
pushed down again, this time the head alone. It was big, bulbous. It
made a target of my ass and pressed hard, arrow-like, against the
bullseye of my anus. “Don’t squeeze your cheeks,” he told me. His
thumbs gripped me harder. He yanked my cheeks ruthlessly apart. “Don’t
squeeze yourself. I have to get myself inside you.”
“No! Not there!” I yelped. I wished to have him in my cunt.
“I cannot deflower you. That is for your master to have,” the
young man at my backside replied. His voice was deep. It sounded a
little ragged, half overcome with lust. “I can only help your master,”
he explained. “Your backside must be prepared for him. He is too big
for you.”
With that he stabbed hard against my rose. I screamed.
Katrina, appearing suddenly before me, placed a soft hand across my
mouth.
“No!” I blurted into her palm. She caressed my head. She
pulled at the curls of my coiffure that had become stuck against my
tear-stained face.
“There, there,” Katrina murmured. She patted my head. “It
must be done. I was deflowered not so long ago. You must be too, if we
are truly to have fun together here in Venice.”
The man at my rear pushed again at my hole, between my cheeks.
I felt a giving. A receiving. His head jammed itself into my hole.
His pee hole, I realized, gasping as his head split into my cheeks, was
now within me. I stammered ‘no’s into Katrina’s hand. They went
unheard. Small puffs of breath, the sound of my refusal muffled.
“I’m going to take you gently at first, and then, when I’m
fully in, I’m going to fuck you,” the man in my behind told me. “It
will be rough at the end. But I’ll try not to tear you up inside. But
you must be made to take it. There is no other way.”
“See? He is an expert,” Katrina told me. She patted my head.
“Then we’ll have fun back at the hotel.”
“Unh! Unh! Unh!” I gasped. I felt the man’s penis intruding
into me. I flexed my ass. I tried to squeeze him out. He slapped my
behind in response. I shrieked. The slap was light but, upon my
whip-marred bottom, it sent flashes of pain coursing all across my ass.
Deeper he penetrated. I sobbed. I could not keep him out! He
was wet with oil. Someone had lubricated him. Hard as I squeezed, he
intruded deeper.
“Put more on,” I heard him say. I felt a squirt upon my
bottom. No! I realized then he was being oiled as he fucked me. I
twisted my head back. I caught a glimpse of a woman’s body. She was
oiling him! Katrina gripped my face and made me turn my head to her
again.
“Lift my skirts,” Katrina called to a man. She chose one at
random, apparently. He came at once. Her skirts were drawn up as the
boy at my backside continued to drive himself into my ass.
Katrina pressed her hips forward. Her legs were bare now, her
skirts lifted up to her belly. I was forced to kiss her panties. I
smelled the sweetness of her cunt. The man behind Katrina slipped the
ties of her black undies. They were small, they fell with a quiet
flutter to her feet. Her nest showed. Katrina urged her hips forward
again and pushed my nose into her curls.
“Lick. Lick my pubis,” Katrina told me. “Concentrate on
finding my spot. Do not worry about the man in your behind. Forget
him. Concentrate on me. Find my spot and give me pleasure. Do it now,
girl!” she added, throatily. I heard her yelp. The man who’d helped
her lift her skirts was now poking at her bottom.
“You both need it,” the man husked to Katrina.
“No!” Katrina shouted. “Dave!”
“Eeeeyack!” I screamed. I was penetrated with a lunging
thrust. It speared me to my core. I worked my hips, pushed them back.
The man at my rear was too deep, too deep! He was forcing himself
deeper than I imagined anyone could go! We were both in peril now,
Katrina and I, both of us with our bottoms at pillage. I ground my
mouth against her mound. I smelled her, I licked at the honeyed
sweetness of her cunt.
“Oooohhhh!” Katrina gasped. Had I found her spot? I did not
want to. I bucked my hips, trying to rid myself of the man in my ass.
Katrina sighed again. In revenge for what she’d done to me I stuck my
tongue into her cunt. “Oooooh!” Katrina murmured. I did not want to
please her. I wanted to fuck her, to make her know what I was
suffering. My head lurched forward. My ribs strained. The nipples on
the tips of my breasts stood out in all their tiny glory.
“Ahckck!” I gasped. The man in my derriere made himself go
deeper still. “Noooo!” I sighed. But my tongue was up Katrina’s twat
and it only served to tickle her. The man in my bottom ignored me.
Then the fucking began. Dave proved no help to Katrina.
Perhaps her bottom needed to be opened too. Perhaps he’d tried her,
when they played together in their room, and found himself too big for
her. We both needed experience, I realized, though I did not want it.
If Dave, with his big cock, was to enjoy us, he needed lesser men to
open us for him.
My head swooned. I gave a screamy moan. Katrina clenched her
thighs. My tongue was trapped up her slit. I could not remove it. The
man behind Katrina had her asscheeks yanked apart and he was hammering
her behind. In and out I could feel him move, each stroke more rapid
and complete than the one before it. Her bottom ground against him.
She tried to get away but couldn’t. She cried out for mercy. He fucked
her harder.
I was a hole, nothing more. The man at my ass used me,
plunging deep, drawing back, then gouging his way in again. I felt the
air ripped from my lungs. I tried to scream, Katrina held my tongue.
“We must thrust in unison,” I heard the man behind Katrina call
to the man in my own ass.
“Yes,” the man up my ass replied. “Let’s see if we can’t.
Pull back. Are you back?”
“Yessss!” came from the man who’d suggested they rape us
together.
“Okay, now in,” the experienced boy in my bottom called. I
gasped into Katrina’s nest as he forced his way into me.
“Oohhhh! GOD!” Katrina cried. It was a double salute, a
double penetration. There was no stopping the men now. They were in
unison. They paced themselves. Each man’s thrust complimented the
other’s. I was forced forward at the same moment as Katrina. My tongue
slid deeper up her twat as we bunched together. Each of us, she and I,
put pressure on the other, letting the men leverage themselves into our
heinies. We were captive. We could only scream. (She better than I,
with my trapped toungue!) We could not resist. We were helpless. We
waited for the throbbing members to release their seed. We prayed for
it, clenching ourselves. It was the only way to set ourselves free.
Standing unsteadily, I leaned forward. I was free again. Nude
but free. I kissed Annabelle. She was being undressed for the block.
The executioner would whip her next.
“Goodbye,” I breathed. My teary cheeks wet her own.
“Goodbye,” Annabelle replied. Her voice was all nervous,
trembly. She didn’t wish to be whipped. I felt semen trickling out my
bottomhole and tried to clench my cheeks to stop it. “Goodbye,” I said
again, stupidly. My head felt dazed. Somewhere Katrina, herself barely
able to stand, was getting my clothes collected. I couldn’t leave
nude. I had to be dressed again, before we went upstairs.
“Ooooh, I don’t want to,” Annabelle breathed nervously to me.
“I know,” I answered. I had not wanted to either. But now I
had received, both the whip and the young gentleman’s cock. He had left
my bottom raw inside, yet fingered me at last, upon my clit, giving me
my sinful, hoped-for pleasure. I was wobbly kneed, satisfied despite
the soreness of my bottom. “Mmmmm,” I said, pressing my lips to
Annabelle’s. “It will not hurt too badly,” I lied. I pressed my palm
to her tummy. It was bare, warm. It drew in at my touch.
“Don’t,” Annabelle answered. I think she feared I would pass
my hand down to her muffin.
“Goodbye,” I breathed again. Then I toppled over, unable to
stand, but Dave, holding me lightly by my shoulders, swung his arm down
and caught me across my belly with his arm.
30
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
From roller39@mail.idt.net Mon Jul 28 19:54:25 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Honey Haven part 3 of 4 (NND)
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@mail.idt.net>
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 1997 23:54:25 +0000
--------
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Three
I stayed in my bed all the next day. Katrina told me I was
being silly, but my bottom hurt. I lay on my tummy, feeling rather like
a mother who’d given birth, with my reddened ass sticking up at the
ceiling. Katrina visited me now and then and pampered me. She put
cream on my hot cheeks. She fed me a late breakfast in bed, spooning
oatmeal into my mouth while I lay quietly clutching my teddy bear,
squeezing and releasing my derriere.
Dave entered my room, late in the day. He laughed at me for
being so childish. But he lingered, watching as Katrina bathed my face
with a warm cloth while I remained resolutely in my bed, my belly flat
against the sheets, my bottom mooning both of them.
“I think you need to get out tonight, don’t you?” Dave asked
me. He gazed at my bottom as he spoke to me.
“Oh, how could I?” I answered. I could never sit down.
“Your ass looks fine to me,” Dave said.
“Yes,” Katrina agreed. She reached down and touched her finger
to the right cheek of my derriere.
“Ooooch!” I exclaimed, drawing in my breath.
“You have one lovely line left, honey,” Katrina told me. “All
the rest have faded away. How precious do you think you can be, over
one little mark?”
“Mmmmmf,” I replied. I twisted my head back, trying to inspect
the damage myself. There was a hand-held mirror on the nightstand and
Katrina picked it up. Casually she balanced it in her hand so I could
view my backside. “Oooh, it’s a long line,” I said.
“The executioner was a master in his technique,” Dave told me.
“He could have ripped your bottom to pieces with that bullwhip if he’d
wanted to.”
“He knew I was delicate,” I replied. I wiggled my bottom and
drew in its cheeks. Katrina let out a giggle.
“You’re going out tonight, little girl,” Katrina told me. “Now
let’s go downstairs to dinner so we can fill up before the evening
begins. It’s all you can eat. You had just a little cereal today and
you’ll need more than that if you’re to have enough energy for the
night’s festivities.”
“Is your hole okay?” Dave asked. He drew close and extended a
finger.
“I already checked it, dear, this morning,” Katrina told him.
I rolled on my side to get away from his finger. He smiled, looked at
my pussy. I put a hand over it.
“I’d be happy to inspect your asshole for you if you like,”
Dave told me.
“No thank you,” I answered.
Dinner was scrumptious. The food wasn’t exotic, but I wasn’t
feeling up to exotic food anyway. Chicken, potatoes, french fries. I
was quite happy eating an ordinary meal that I could make sense of.
Dave seemed happy too. He gorged himself on the food as if we might not
eat again for awhile. I wondered where he planned to take us tonight.
Katrina picked at her food a little. She said she’d had a heavy lunch.
Dave grinned, as if he’d contributed to her fullness in some special
way.
There was a woman at a table near ours. She was tall, blonde,
quite healthy looking. Dave wondered if she was from America. I think
he was going to go over to talk to her, when our waiter arrived with a
note. It was from the woman. He unfolded it. Katrina and I looked on,
jealously. Suddenly Dave grinned. He considered it a moment, then
looked at the woman and nodded. She smiled, demurely.
“Would you excuse me a moment?” Dave asked us, looking mainly
at Katrina.
“If you insist, Dave,” Katrina answered. Dave rose, happily.
He reminded me of a boy going up to the front of his class to receive an
‘A’ from his teacher. When Dave had departed, Katrina reached over to
his place and picked up the note. I watched him walk over to the
woman’s table. There was a swagger in his hips. Dave offered his hand
to the woman. She rose, and gracefully permitted him to lead her from
the dining room. They headed for the hallway where the restrooms were
located.
Katrina was reading the note. I leaned across from my place to
hers. I gaped with big eyes, trying to read it. She titled it
slightly, so I could see.
“Am having party late tonight,” the note read, in a quick,
cursive script. It was written on a napkin. “Drinks, conversation,
dancing. Topped off w/ btm games.” There was a smiley face drawn after
that sentence. Then the note continued, “Girls fine, please bring.
Dress: lingerie. Need to measure you.”
That was all. A short, telegraphic message, on a napkin.
“What does it mean?” I asked Katrina. She gulped.
“It means we’re going to an ass party,” she told me.
“A what?” I asked. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat.
“See?” Katrina pointed at the note. “btm. That means
‘bottom.’ It says, ‘Topped off with bottom games.’”
“Bottom games?” I asked, alarmed. Katrina grinned at me.
“You look like you just sat on a tack,” she said.
“I hope that’s all I sit on,” I answered.
Dave returned. He sat down. I looked to where the woman had
been sitting, but she wasn’t there anymore. A waiter was clearing her
table.
“What’s up?” Katrina asked Dave. She looked at him innocently,
as if she knew nothing at all. She’d replaced the note by his plate.
“We’re, uh, going out tonight,” Dave said.
“Oh?” Katrina asked.
“Yeah. You know, dancing,” Dave said. He picked up the note.
He didn’t offer to show it to us, but put it instead into the pocket of
his coat. “You’ll have to wear lingerie, though,” Dave said. “Basques,
ruffle gloves, stockings... panties,” Dave added.
“My, that’s quite specific,” Katrina said.
“Don’t worry, we’ll go to a lingerie store after we eat.” Dave
cleared his throat. “I’ll have to go in with you, to make sure you both
get exactly what’s required.”
“Oh, I don’t want to go to a party where I’m walking around in
my panties,” I exclaimed. I wasn’t too keen on the ‘btm’ part either.
“What’s that around your neck?” Dave asked. I gulped. I
reached up, touched my throat. I still wore the rope he’d tied around
my neck our first day here. Katrina wore one too. They were small,
unassuming ropes, knotted behind our necks and sporting half-inch frayed
tails. They were slim, seductive in their simplicity, as if we didn’t
deserve anything better.
“It’s - it’s a cheap collar,” I said to Dave. Katrina was
feeling hers, even as I felt my own. There was no way to remove them.
A tough pair of scissors, of course, could get them off, but without
one, they were firmly knotted to us. There was no way to untie the
tight little knot which held each one in place.
“And what does it symbolize?” Dave asked.
“That we agreed to be your guests, and to let you be our tour
guide, even--” Katrina paused. “In intimate matters.”
“Good,” Dave said. He began eating again, as if he considered
the matter settled.
“What are ‘btm games’?” I asked. Katrina shot me a glare, as
if she wished I hadn’t revealed that we’d read the note. Dave looked up
from his food. He arched his brows. He cast a quick glance at Katrina,
accusingly, and then looked again at his plate. With excellent table
manners, he cut into the chicken breast on his plate with his knife and
fork.
“‘Btm games’ are games that celebrate the bottom,” Dave said.
He put a forkfull of chicken in his mouth, chewed. “Specifically, the
female bottom. There will be colonics and enemas and perhaps some
strings of beads, of different sizes, put in the available bottoms to
give pleasure and see how much a female’s bottom can handle. And you
might also expect to receive a penis or two,” Dave added.
“Oh, then I’ll be WITHOUT my panties!” I exclaimed. Katrina
rolled her eyes.
“Dave, do you really think this is a party we should go to?”
Katrina asked. Dave cut into his chicken, heartily enjoying his meal.
“I already got myself measured,” Dave said. “Not my ass, my
cock. She said she only picks the very largest and best men. She
picked me. Since I’m going, you’re going. I’m not going to leave you
two here, feeling jealous.”
Katrina laughed. “Oh, is that what she was doing to you?
Measuring your penis? I wondered--”
“Yeah,” Dave said. “And she told me you two were perfect
beauties. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“And my bottom,” I said ruefully. I reached behind myself and
cupped my ass.
“We can always leave,” Dave said. “Anyway, I want to see you
both in basques. That sounds fucking great! And they have to be
without cups, too, so your breasts hang freely. The woman said all the
females will be dressed that way, like French wenches.”
“Sounds exciting,” Katrina said, mockingly. “Especially when
I’m told I’m wearing too much, and have to remove my panties.”
“That’s another thing,” Dave said. “There’s a special greeting
at this party. And don’t complain -- I have to wear a costume too.”
“What?” Katrina and I both asked. Our eyes lit up
enthusiastically.
Dave cleared his throat, a little nervously. “I have to dress
like a Chippendale. All the men do,” he explained. Katrina giggled. I
put a hand over my mouth and barely suppressed one. The waiter at the
other table looked in our direction. I knew then Katrina and I would be
going to the party, if only to see all the cute guys in their
Chippendale outfits.
A maid greeted us at the door to the woman’s hotel suite. I
didn’t know if she lived here, or had merely rented the room for the
night. The maid was young. She spoke to us in a language I didn’t
understand. I think it might have been Russian. She was dressed
conservatively, in a traditional maid’s outfit. She took our coats.
We’d had a special evening already, Dave not only springing for our
lingerie, but for fur coats to hide our outfits under too. Safe now in
the suite, at least from the eyes of outsiders, we let ourselves be
seen. The maid hung our coats in a closet. She motioned to Dave to
undress. He wore a coat and a suit, but he had on his Chippendale
outfit underneath. He took off his coat, gave it to the maid. He began
unbuttoning his shirt.
The woman I’d seen at dinner appeared. She came round the
corner of the foyer, from the hall, and smiled at us. She was
seductively dressed in a basque. Unlike our basques, hers cupped and
covered her breasts. It rose by broad, twin straps to her neck, where
it bound her throat to hold itself up. The front of her basque, like
ours, was split down the middle, and had been carefully tied on by a
series of crisscrossing strings that ran from her breasts all the way
down the front of her belly. I could see her belly button through the
network of overlapping strings. Below, her basque ended, right at her
hips, leaving them bare. But a small panty covered her pubis. Barely.
It consisted of a very small triangle of silk, no greater in size than
the thatch it covered. It hung in place by two spaghetti thin
drawstrings that circled her waist. I guessed it was nothing but a
g-string in back, showing off her ‘btm.’ Garters hung down from the hem
of her basque and were attached to stockings. She wore matching heels,
of blue. Her entire basque was opaque blue silk with darker blue
ruffles, and ribbons. Her hair, like mine, was brushed to a high
gloss. It looked like spun gold. It hung down round her face and over
her slim, healthy shoulders. She seemed to exude vitality and
athleticism. One might have thought she was going to a tennis match,
save for her lingerie.
“Hi,” the woman said to me. “My name’s Joan.” She stepped
forward and, with a quick glance of acknowledgement at Dave and Katrina,
she plucked open the front of my panties with her hand. I, like she,
was wearing a basque, except I had to use my long hair to cover my
breasts, for Dave had insisted we wear topless basques to the party.
Joan slipped her hand into my panties. She ran her fingers
through my bush, lightly.
“Hi,” I answered. I blushed deeply. Nonetheless, perhaps in
retaliation, I reached for the front of her own panties.
“Yes, that’s right,” Joan said. She plunged her hand deeper,
between my legs. I had nothing but a g-string down there and she deftly
lifted it and placed a finger within my fig.
“Oooooh!” I sighed. My teeth jittered. I responded by placing
my palm into the front of her panties. I rubbed the springy curls of
her private.
“Very good,” Joan complimented me. She leaned forward and
lightly kissed my lips. Then, quick as she’d explored me, she withdrew
her hand. She moved from myself to Katrina. “Hi,” she said. Katrina,
looking suddenly flushed, let Joan slip her hand into her panties.
Katrina responded, feeling Joan’s muff in turn. They kissed.
Dave was almost finished undressing. He pulled his pants off
over his shoes, leaving on only a leather bow-tie around his neck, and a
leather pair, very tight and small, of underwear. His huge cock could
be seen, coiled inside the too-small triangular shorts. Below the
outline of his cock, his balls brimmed. They were so full they looked
as if they might burst the trunks. Part of his testicles couldn’t be
contained, and bulged out the crotch strap of his shorts. I looked at
it. It was hairy and looked like part of a big fleshy water balloon.
“Hi,” Joan said to Dave. He grinned. Carefully she opened the
front of his shorts. She let out a yelp as his big cock, leaping to
erection, sprung from the top of his shorts. It quavered hugely in the
air. Joan touched a shy, delicate finger to its tip. “My, you’re as
big as ever,” Joan told Dave. Her eyes were bright.
“Thanks,” Dave answered. He reached for the front of Joan’s
panties. Joan pulled back her hips.
“No, dear, you don’t get to feel me,” Joan smiled. “Not yet.
Only females can feel. This isn’t an orgy. It’s a bona-fide party. If
I let you men feel, all us girls would be down on our hands and knees,
or our backs, a minute from now!” Joan stroked Dave’s massive cock with
an appreciative finger. “Patience, darling,” she purred. Then she let
go of both his cock and the pouch that formed the front of his leather
shorts. “Put yourself away,” she told Dave. Then she turned back to
the hall she’d come from, leaving Dave to figure out how he was going to
fit his big cock back in his shorts after she’d taken it out and excited
it.
Joan clasped my hand. “You’re quite young,” she said to me. I
gulped, instinctively, thinking I was about to be bounced, somehow,
because of my age. Then she smiled. We paused in the hall. She seemed
intent on drawing something out of me before she let me pass around the
corner into the other room. Katrina paused, watching us. Dave stood
behind us, struggling to stick his hardened cock somehow back in his
pants. “Do you know what this is?” Joan asked me, frankly. I was
looking at her eyes and could only guess at what she meant.
“A party?” I asked. Joan nodded. She ran a fingernail up the
crossed ties at the front of my basque. It was sharp. But for the
strings, it might have grazed my flesh too deeply and cut into my tummy.
“What kind of party?” Joan asked. She insinuated her finger
between the ties holding my basque together in front and pressed it hard
into my navel. I gasped.
“A-- a--” I was too modest to speak it.
“Yes, an anal party,” Joan said. “For anal games and anal
sex. Do you know what anal sex is?”
“It means you get something stuck up your bottom,” I
stammered. I felt a moistness in my slit as I spoke. I hoped it
wouldn’t wet my panties.
Joan nodded again. “It won’t be easy,” Joan assured me. “Just
do your best and do as you’re told.”
“What if I have to poop?” I asked Joan. My eyes were wide. I
was both entranced and repelled by her words, by my circumstances. Out
of the corner of my eye I could see Dave still trying to get his big
pulsing prong back into his small leather shorts.
Joan laughed. “Then we’ll take whatever’s in your bottom out,
so you can go do it. But don’t worry, we’ll enemize everyone first. It
really shouldn’t be a problem.”
Katrina glanced anxiously at Dave. He seemed delighted by the
conversation, but it was doing little to help him get his penis stuffed
back in his pants. She seemed worried, but still bold. She’d told me
on our flight over that she believed in trying anything once.
“Are you willing to let an intimate place like your bottom be
owned by someone else tonight?” Joan asked me. Her eyes were frank,
direct. They drilled into me.
“I don’t know,” I stammered.
“You have lovely blonde hair, dear,” Joan said. “You remind me
exactly of me when I was your age.” She lifted my locks, brushed them
back from my breasts, exposing them. My nipples were unbearably stiff.
She touched one with her sharp-nailed finger.
“Don’t,” I hissed.
“Stand still,” Joan said. “Let me help you make up your
mind.” With that she dropped to her knees. I watched, frightened, as
she stared at my panties and took hold of them by their teensy
waistband.
“Noooo,” I breathed, but my hands fluttered upward, not down,
and Joan was able to slide my drawers down without interference. My
bush was bared. My panties banded my thighs. I wished she’d put them
back up, lest they crease my silk stockings. Joan leaned forward. She
blew softly on the tight curls of my bush. Then, without so much as
even a word of request, without any permission from me, she extended her
tongue. She let it rove across my private. Then it dipped underneath,
and I gasped. It licked sensuously at my labial lips. I was wet there
now, from her tongue if not from my own desire.
Katrina peeked round me, entranced. I blushed, I sighed, I
shivered. I wanted to push Joan away. I arched my hips forward
instead, and found my wrists sought by Katrina and pulled abruptly
behind my back.
“Mmmf! Mmmf! Mmmf!” I said in explosive gasps. Joan was
sending shock waves all through my pussy! I felt shivers all the way
down to my legs, to the tips of my toes. She closed her lips over my
sexual lips and sucked and tongued at my opening like a delicate animal.
“OHHHH!” I cried suddenly. People peered around the corner
from the other room. I flushed, seeing them. Yet they were dressed
just like me. The women wore topless basques. The men, like Dave, had
snug leather underpants on. Otherwise they were nude, save for cute
little bow ties. Suddenly I longed to be with them, to expose whatever
they wished to them. I would be theirs and, being inside me, they would
be mine. I wanted those men suddenly, even if it meant having to take
them up my ass.
Joan pulled her face from my bush. It was quite moist now. I
gazed down at her, at myself.
“Do you promise to surrender your bottomhole for the evening?”
Joan asked me.
“Yes!” I blurted. Then I wished I hadn’t, for instantly the
men standing at the junction of the hall and the room beyond seemed to
double the size of the (already enormous) cocks in their pants. One
man’s dick actually popped out of the top of his underwear. Another’s
shot out the side, cutting across his thigh.
“Gentlemen, please, mind your manners,” Joan said, turning her
head and following my eyes. Her fingers began to lift my panties back
into place. They would be wet now, I had no doubt of that. I felt the
silk touch me between my legs and immediately my juices wettened it. My
juices, and the saliva left from Joan’s mouth.
“I’m too big to mind my manners,” a man groused. He was trying
to replace himself in his shorts. “Especially in these small little
underpants!”
“You like us girls in tight little outfits,” Joan answered
him. “It’s only fair.”
“Yeah, but it hurts to keep myself stuffed in this little
leather pouch,” the man said.
“Then don’t think naughty thoughts,” Joan replied
dismissively. She turned back to me, checked the fit of my panties,
adjusted them slightly with her fingers. Then she kissed my bellybutton
and stood up. Behind me, Katrina released my hands. Joan smiled at
me. “You’ll be surrendering yourself to me tonight,” Joan told me. She
took my hand. She saw the look of dismay on my face. “Plus a few men,”
she added. “Do you think you can take several up your bottom?”
Vigorously I shook my head no. Joan smiled. “Don’t worry,
I’ll help you,” she said. “Dave told me you’re new at this. After
tonight you’ll be able to open yourself to any man who wants you.
Though it might hurt a little, training you to do that.” She glanced
down at my breasts, wobbling freely and nakedly on my chest, their tips
stiff. “You don’t mind a little pain, do you?” Joan asked me.
“Yes I do,” I answered.
“Then that’s why I’ll take special care with you,” Joan said.
“So it hurts as little as possible. But you can’t spend the rest of
your life avoiding men’s needs, dear. You have to be able to accept
them into your life and, perhaps, even control them.”
We walked into the party room. It was decorated with streamers
and balloons. Some were purple. Some were white. Many of them were
pink, reminding me of my moist interior, that seemed to be so desired
tonight. I looked for anything menacing, saw nothing. Just a wet bar,
the maid pouring drinks for us now, the other guests, perhaps eight,
milling about in their lingerie and leather bow ties and underwear.
Joan sat me down on a loveseat. She sat down beside me. Other
guests, already sitting, were joined by those standing up. Dave found
an empty stuffed chair and sat down. Katrina plopped herself in his
lap.
The maid appeared. She held a tray containing drinks. Joan
reached up to the tray. I thought she was getting herself, or me, a
drink. Instead she brought her hand down from it with a pair of
handcuffs! They were police handcuffs, made of steel.
“Have you ever worn handcuffs before?” Joan asked me. I shook
my head ‘no,’ then remembered I had, briefly, at Svetlana’s. I decided
not to mention that. “I want you to put these on,” Joan told me. To
facilitate this, she made me put out both my wrists. Then she gently
locked first one cuff on my wrists, then the other. I looked down at my
hands. They looked strange, gloved with my short ruffle gloves, made of
silk, matching the whiteness of my basque, with the steel metal
handcuffs clamped over them. I wriggled my wrists and found they were
securely bound into the cuffs. There was no more than a half-inch steel
chain between them.
Now Joan fetched me a drink from the tray. “Sherry? Gin?
Bloody?” she asked me.
“Sherry, please,” I said. My voice was quavery. My pussy felt
wet. I wasn’t sure what to do. Joan placed the drink in my uplifted
hands. I drew the drink to my mouth and sipped it. “Mmmm,” I couldn’t
help saying. I’d tried sherries on the flight over, gotten used to
them. I liked them.
Joan helped herself to a Bloody Mary. She drank it, slowly,
looking into my eyes. I looked into hers. She let her eyes fall again
to my breasts. She gazed at my nipples. “Those must be clamped,” she
said. She saw the alarm in my face. Joan reached out. She stroked my
long hair. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Though it does become you,”
she smiled. “Tonight, what is closed must be opened. What is free must
be imprisoned. All your sexual parts, save your pussy, which is
reserved to Dave -- yes I know you’re a virgin -- all your sexual parts
must be provoked. Your mouth filled, your bottom, your titties and even
your clit clamped.” I gasped. Joan grinned. “You are young, healthy.
This is as important as playing sports in school, or cheerleading. You
don’t just have arms and legs dear, you have sexual parts and places
too. These must be exercised, opened, explored, trained.”
I shivered. I didn’t want to be opened in front of all these
anonymous guests. I glanced around. Everyone was looking at me. Then,
suddenly, I felt a flush of delight. I was the center of attention!
Despite the other gorgeous women in the room, despite being the
youngest, I had every man’s eye. I sighed, shivered. Joan smiled.
“Get acquainted with the other guests, dear,” Joan told me
softly. “There are still a few more to arrive. Then, when everyone’s
here, and settled, we’ll go to the playroom.”
“The playroom?” I asked. Joan smiled, nodded.
“Yes, dear,” Joan said. “Remember, all this is for pleasure,
even if I do have to clamp your nipples for you and widen your ass.”
Joan stood up. She offered me her hand, and I felt required to
take it. She made me stand up. “Turn on the music,” she told the maid,
who still waited beside us with her trayful of drinks. There was music
playing already, in the background, but I sensed Joan wanted a change of
tune. “Turn down the lights. Let’s dance, while we wait for the other
guests.” She turned to the others, seated in chairs around the room. A
few were surreptitiously already petting and making out. Joan let go of
my hand. “Dance and mingle, everyone!” Joan called out. A few guests
rose. Joan saw a couple kissing and walked over to them. Gently she
grasped both the man and the woman by the hair. She pulled their faces
apart. “Dance, my dears. This is not an orgy. Not yet,” Joan said.
The maid turned on some music. It was a hard beat, pounding.
I liked it. I danced with several men. At first we danced a few feet
from each other but then, in each case, we drew much closer. It was
sinful, dancing like this, me in just lingerie, my bottom showing, my
titties bouncing all over as I twisted and swayed. The men looked
incredible in their briefs, bulging unnaturally. We gazed at each
other’s loins as we danced. They let me feel their equipment. I passed
my hand over the surface of their leather underpants. They cupped my
breasts, pecked my nipples with kisses. I was hot, flushed, excited.
Suddenly the music stopped. The lights in the room
brightened.
“I trust everyone’s had a chance to meet?” Joan asked. She
stood with a hand on her hips. In her other hand, she held a paddle.
It was leather on one side but I saw, strangely, that the other side of
it was covered with a soft black fur, as if she might instantly soothe
anyone’s bottom she spanked. Were we to be spanked? I clapped my hands
to my bottom. I didn’t wish to have my rear end paddled. I’d done
nothing wrong.
Joan eyed me. She brushed back her blonde hair from her face.
“Cindy, come here,” she said. She curled a finger and beckoned me. Her
face was severe.
“But I haven’t done anything,” I replied. Nonetheless, caught
under her cold gaze, I let go of the two men I’d danced with last, and
walked over to her. My hips wobbled as I walked. I could feel the cool
air of the room on my bottom and didn’t wish to change its temperature.
My pussy was warm, but my bottom was nice and cool. It wiggled sexily
with my stride.
“Bend over,” Joan told me. She pointed to a low coffee table.
The maid, now topless, with fine young breasts rising from her chest,
was spreading a soft white towel across the table.
“But I haven’t done anything!” I protested again.
“I’m not going to spank you because you’ve been bad, silly,”
Joan answered. “I’m going to spank you because you’re my favorite. You
have the prettiest bottom of all!”
“Ohhh!” I cried. I turned. Instinctively I clutched at my
bottom again. I looked at the towel on the coffee table. Was I
supposed to kneel on it?
“Take down your panties first,” Joan said. Amazingly, I
complied. I touched the drawstrings of my panties, fingered them a
moment, then pushed them down off my hips. I felt incredibly naked as
the g-string between my labial lips popped out of me and descended down
my thighs.
“All the way off?” I asked, gazing round my shoulder at Joan.
“Yes, and spread your legs wide apart when you kneel on the
table,” Joan said.
“Oh, please don’t hurt me,” I told her. My eyes were grave.
“The sooner you comply, the less you’ll be hurt,” Joan
answered. There was no change in her countenance. She looked as severe
as ever. I glanced about, looking for Dave. My eyes settled on him,
but he simply stared back at me, holding Katrina’s hand. Briefly,
Katrina nodded to me, in encouragement. Dave’s underpants looked like
they were about to burst.
“OH!” I said, disgusted. Why was I chosen to do this? Because
I had the prettiest bottom? I had the littlest bottom, that’s what I
had. Small and neat and compact and heart-shaped, with a dimpled little
anus sleeping between my hind cheeks. I stepped out of my panties. I
turned, handed them to Joan.
“Stuff them in your mouth,” Joan told me. Her voice was stern.
“What?!” I gasped.
“Do it,” Joan said. She waved her paddle at me, at my
backside.
With shivering fingers I lifted my panties to my face.
Gradually, slowly, reluctantly, but finally doing it, I opened my lips.
I pushed my panties into my mouth. I could taste myself. I wanted to
spit them out, but Joan pointed with a stiff finger at the towel-covered
coffee table.
“Oh, I don’t like this,” I said, but my panties muffled all my
words. I bent, kneed my way onto the table. The towel felt comfy under
my knees. It was thick, soft. They had taken every care for my
comfort, but to what end? To have my bottom smacked?
“Head down,” Joan told me. “Dip your back. Yes, like that.
Up with your bottom. You can raise it higher than that, girl.”
“OW!” I cried. With prying fingers she cupped my dell from
behind and yanked up my hips, intruding into my softness with her sharp
nails as she did so.
“Hold still,” Joan told me. “Don’t move. I’m going to give
you 20 smacks and I want you to count them.”
“But I have panties in my mouf!” I said in a muffled voice.
“Count them anyway,” Joan said. “I can hear whether you’re
trying to talk or not.” She took up position behind me.
I cowered with my face hard-pressed to the towel. I wished I
could sit on my bottom, instead of presenting it to her. But it was the
center of attention. My face, usually the center, was half-forgotten,
stuffed with my panties and buried in the towel.
SMACK! Suddenly a hard crack slammed into the softness of my
cheeks.
“Eeeeeeyoooowch!” I cried. My head bolted up. I wriggled my
tushy. My tail felt hot suddenly, and a shock of pain went coursing
across my bare cheeks.
“Say ‘One,’” Joan told me.
“Onefff,” I gasped. My panties blocked my speech but she could
make out what I was saying.
“Very good,” Joan told me. “Now I’m going to hit you again on
your ass and I want you to say ‘Two,’ do you understand? Did you watch
Sesame Street when you were little?”
“Yeth,” I gasped over my panties, hot with my scent.
“Good,” Joan told me. “Then you should have no problem
counting to 20.”
“No, but my bothom wil--” I was just saying, when the paddle
slammed into me again. “YEEEEEOOOOOCH!!!” I shouted. Then, my ass
grinding against itself, my cheeks tense and swaying, I added, “Two!”
I turned my head to look behind me. Really, I did not deserve
this! I wished to party, not to be spanked. Couldn’t I please get up,
I begged through eyes, wide with pleading. With my mouth I tried to
implore her to stop. She smiled, wanly, as if many years of handling
girls like me had wearied her a little of all this, and dulled her
interest. She was an expert with the paddle. I was too young to
appreciate her skill, her eyes seemed to answer. Then she tossed back
her mane of blonde hair, aimed carefully, and brought the paddle
sweeping in again. It skimmed in low through the air, at a forward
angle, then rose abruptly and caught me on the underside of my hinds.
“YEEEEEOOOOOCH!!!” I screamed. The thudding impact of the
paddle lifted me. I shut my eyes. Joan had given me no mercy.
Instead, she’d hit me on my tenderest part! I felt my knees bounce on
the towel. I flung my head about, my scream continuing, ending in a
gasp. I shook myself, like a dog emerging from water. My bare tits
wobbled like gourds upon a vine. I opened my eyes. I blinked back my
budding tears. Wimpering, I looked around, found Dave again. He had a
pained look on his face. I implored him with my eyes, thinking he was
feeling sorry for me. Then, my eyes dipping to his crotch, I saw it was
his own penis he was in pain over. His snug leather undershorts cupped
and held his loins. Within them, he’d grown to massive proportions.
His cock, its outline visible against the thin leather, strained at the
front of his pants like a snake caught in a trap. Indeed, his cock was
caught, for despite the straining power of his loins, the pants were
designed to hold just such a member. These were, he’d told me, pants
from the gay subculture. They were sewn by craftsmen who admired the
male penis above all else. They lived to test the penis, and work it,
and skillfully manipulate it. Now, gazing my eyes about, I saw that all
the men were in a similar pain to Dave’s. The females had caught on,
meanwhile, to the pleasure of seeing their men so uncomfortably
disposed. Whenever one popped open, the nearest female stuffed him
ruthlessly back into his shorts.
“Oh, God!” A man cried. His cock burst suddenly from the top
of his little leather underpants. It wobbled in the air, a big banana
loving the coolness of the room after the long, hot confinement of his
pants.
“No, no, dear,” the woman next to him smiled. Gleefully she
took his penis with the small fingers of both her hands. Another female
dashed over and drew open the man’s pants. Together, wrestling with his
manhood, they somehow managed to jam the stiff member back where it
belonged.
“Egggghh!” the man grunted. His chin rose, his neck strained
within the circling confinement of his bow tie. His broad shoulders
flexed and his chest, huge and hairy, tensed as if he were lifting some
enormous weight. Yet, obedient to Joan’s wishes, he kept his hands at
his sides. He did not interfere with the girl’s efforts. His big
fingers clenched and unclenched, grasping at nothing, at the air, though
I knew he longed to smash both women to the ground.
“Unh! There!” one of the woman proclaimed at last. I heard
the front of the man’s underpants snap securely shut. Both women wiped
their brow with the backs of their hands.
“You were almost impossible,” a woman told the man. It was a
compliment, it seemed, for her eyes were dancing.
“My God these pants are tight,” the man gasped.
“No, you’re just thinking naughty thoughts, that’s all,” Joan
called from behind me. “Good work, girls!”
Suddenly, as I gaped at the man, Joan let fly with another
swing of her paddle. It caught me full on both my cheeks. There was a
loud “THUD!” My slim throat gasped, my eyes blinked, a scream tore
unbidden from my throat and filled the room. My hips worked like a
maid’s, scrubbing floors, even though I was doing no work but receiving
the swings of the paddle. Pain coursed through both my cheeks.
“YEEEhooooooth!” I uttered. Then, with a wheeze, remembering
suddenly to count, I gasped, “Tweeeee!” My eyes clenched shut. My hair
shook about my face. My back arched, flexed, then dipped again lest she
punish me for not showing obedience in my posture. I was learning. I
hated it, but I was learning to endure a proper bum whacking. Somewhere
deep in me, a small delicate part of myself, newly born, complimented
me. ‘Good job,’ it whispered to me. ‘You perform beautifully. You’re
driving the men wild.’ I hated it. I hoped it would be paddled out of
me.
“I’m disgusted with you,” Joan growled behind me. My eyes
blinked open. What could she mean? I was doing so well! “That’s swat
number four,” Joan told me hotly.
Suddenly, before I could even plead my case, apologize for my
forgetfulness, the paddle exploded against my behind.
“YAAAAAAAAAAK!” I shouted. My bottom lofted upward, fire
shooting through my bulging cheeks. My ass clenched, released, fanning
the flames, involuntarily, that now engulfed my hinds. I could hold
back my tears now longer. They burst from my eyes. I screamed again,
feeling yet new waves of pain take hold of my bottom as I worked its
cheeks. I was wanton. I was uncaring. I rolled my cheeks and shook my
ass like a two dollar whore inviting men to her room. I was Bottom,
nothing else, burning, reddened cheeks that knew no stillness, no
modesty.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The paddle struck again, in rapid
succession. Joan counted the blows aloud herself and gave me no time to
even try. I shouted. I lost control. Tears streamed down my cheeks
and my ass, well punished, worked itself like that of a horse in
gallop. Yet I was running no where. I was kneeling, crouched on the
towel. My bottom up, my head down. Somehow I kept my back dipped,
despite the soft bobbing of my head, the straining of my neck, the
arched-high workings of my ass.
Oh, how it hurt! My cheeks felt like a blow torch was upon
them. I burned all over my hiney. I was the sun, rising in the east,
blazing its new hot rays upon a dewy morning. The men watched. I could
hear them grunting. Each impact of the paddle seemed to give them new,
unwanted inspiration, making their cocks strain harder in the
stranglehold of their pants.
“Mmmm, lovely,” I heard a woman say. Her voice lisped, softly,
as if admiring something very beautiful. Was it me? But it couldn’t
be, not with my hiney as hot and red as the coals of a barbeque!
“Take your hand out of your panties, or I’ll spank you next,”
Joan scolded. At first I thought she was speaking to me. I yanked at
my hands, frightened, then realized they were cuffed, tucked underneath
me, cushioning the rise and fall of my breasts. My panties were in my
mouth. “Take your hand OUT!” I heard Joan say again.
“Mmmm, but I can’t! She looks too pretty!” I heard the woman
reply. Katrina! It was her! Ooooh! How wicked she was! I had no
idea she was enthralled by my punishment I was still hoping she might
save me!
SWAAAAK! The paddle blasted into my bottom. It was the
hardest, I swear. A scream broke from my lungs. My head lifted,
dropped, lifted again. My ass waggled in the air helplessly, unbearably
absorbing the sting. I couldn’t. I realized the pain was too great.
Suddenly, clenching my cheeks hard, I dropped flat upon my tummy on the
table. Taking a cue from Katrina, I jammed my hands down between my
legs. I felt my fingers make contact with my little bush. I rubbed
them hard in the fuzz, pushed lower, seeking. Yes! I found myself. My
spot. Screaming in pain, in fear, I fought against the paddle’s awful
sting by rubbing my clit.
“Ooooh! Oooooh! Oooooh!” I gasped in a series of screamy
sobs. Each touch of my fingers upon the magic spot sent thrills of
pleasure through me. I was wet already, from Joan’s lickings, her mouth
upon my puss in the hall. My bottom, hurting terribly, tensed against
the inevitable onslaught of the paddle.
It never came. Instead, I heard Joan say, “Yes, dear, you’ve
learnt to take pleasure from pain. How wonderful! It will open up
whole new horizons for you. Rub yourself! Enjoy the sting of the
paddle on your tush as you bring yourself to orgasm. It will be the
first of the night, the first of many. How the others wish they could
join you, eh?” She must have glanced at the guests, for at that moment
I heard a scream from Katrina. I heard Joan shout something and, when
at last I turned my head to look, I saw Katrina on her knees. She had
her hands thrust down into her tiny pink panties and she was rubbing
herself furiously, as I was. Her breasts, freely hanging from her
topless basque, shivered their tips at me. Her head was flung back and
Dave had grabbed her by the hair, perhaps to stop her, but she kept
masturbating, oblivious to the eyes of everyone. Joan stood over her,
holding her paddle, waiting for her to finish.
“Ohhhhh, Katrina!” I mouthed from within my panty-stuffed
lips. I did not wish to see her punished, even if she’d delighted in
seeing me dealt with. It hurt. She would be in agony. She thought,
perhaps, it was bearable, but I knew better. Joan was awful, with that
paddle. ‘Stop frigging yourself, Katrina!’ I tried to call out. I
tried to warn her, but my mouth was muffled with my undies. Dave kept
Katrina’s head pulled back, forcing her to look up, perhaps at the
ceiling, perhaps at his own groin, displaying a prominent cock-shaped
bulge at the front of his black leather pants. Joan waited quietly.
She watched, we all watched, even me, still rubbing myself, as Katrina’s
fingers thrust and dug within her slit.
“OoooooooHHH!” Katrina cried, suddenly. Her breasts lifted.
Her tummy drew in hard, making a hollow beneath her ribs. The basque
fell in with her stomach, clinging to her tightly. It was like a sheath
upon her, clutching at her middle, while above her breasts wobbled
nakedly and below her legs strained upon the carpet. Her tiny panties
suffered under the exploring intrusion of her fingers. Their
thread-like waistband seemed certain to snap free of her hips at any
moment. Katrina worked her slit hard, gasping and groaning in a most
unladylike manner as she brought forth the fruit of her orgasm.
“HOOOOOOOO!” I shouted suddenly. I shut my eyes. I heard
Katrina blurt forth a wild scream. We were both cumming! I twisted my
hips. With the heat of my well-punished bottom tormenting me, I dug
hard in my slit. My hips bounced upon the softness of the towel beneath
me.
I ground my teeth. I let out a sob. I waggled my ass
indiscreetly, not caring now about anything, just my own hot pleasure.
In the distance I heard Katrina sob, moan, sob again. The flower of my
orgasm opened and engulfed me.
When it was over, my pleasure slowly seeping away, I lifted my
head. I looked at Katrina. She was down now, on the carpet, on her
knees. Dave had been permitted to sit in front of her and, amazingly,
he had been allowed to push down the front of his leather pants so that
his cock could stem free. It wavered in the air. It was big and thick
and meaty and I gasped upon seeing it. Katrina, doggie style in front
of him, facing his penis, gave its head a small, solicitous lick with
her tongue. Then my eyes lifted and saw Joan. She stood behind
Katrina, her paddle poised to begin Katrina’s punishment.
“Crawl forward and accept his cock in your mouth,” Joan told
Katrina.
“Oh, no! It is too big!” Katrina replied. Dave looked up at
Joan.
“She has a lot of trouble with it,” Dave said to Joan. It
really is too big for her.”
“Ridiculous!” Joan scoffed. “Are you not her lover?”
“Well, yes,” Dave said. I saw his hips nudge forward a little,
on the carpet, as if anticipating her next words. His cock trembled.
Katrina, about to lick it again, instead drew back from the big,
purplish head, her eyes expectantly widening, as if in fear.
“How fortunate you are to meet me, then,” Joan said. “I
watched you at the restaurant, with your girls. You are much too
solicitous, Dave. They are yours. You’ve collared them-- look at their
necks! They are your property and they must learn to love you
properly.”
“One’s only 14, the other 16,” Dave answered. But from his
voice I could tell he spoke in defense of his honor, rather than in
defense of us. His cock throbbed, he moved his hips a little closer to
Katrina’s face. He reached out, suddenly, and grabbed her hair. Her
eyes glowed with fright. He pushed his hips forward again and pressed
his cockhead to her lips. She was trapped. She could not back up.
Joan stood at her rear, a leg thrust down between hers. She tried,
bumped her bottom against Joan’s knee.
“Your girls will both be trained to love you tonight,” Joan
said aloud, solemnly. Her voice sounded like it was presiding over a
wedding. “With their mouths, their bottoms. Their cunts I do not care
about. Any girl can spread her legs, even a virgin. But slaves, slaves
like these, must be more helpful to a man. It is not enough simply to
open one’s legs. They must be accomplished, or they are hardly slaves
at all. Hardly even lovers.”
With that, Joan stepped from between Katrina’s legs. My friend
might have moved back then, save for Dave’s grip upon her hair. He
offered her his cock. She refused. She kept her lips pursed tightly.
He shoved the pee-holed tip against her mouth. Lipstick rubbed off her
lips onto his knobby crest. Yet still she denied him. Was she being
wilfull? I had no doubt she’d more skill than that! Yet, knowing not
how far she’d be forced to take him, she preferred to resist and not
take him at all.
WHACK! I shut my eyes, hearing the sound of the paddle. My
hands flew instinctively up from between my thighs and clapped
themselves to my bottom.
“EEEEEEOOOCH!” I heard screamed, and realized it was me, for my
heinie was still raw from my own paddling.
“BOO HOOPTH!” I heard from across the room. Opening her mouth
to scream, Katrina had suddenly received Dave’s cock.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Came the paddle again. Joan seemed to
show no mercy. I heard her shout that Katrina was 16 and ought to be
trained, by now, to the paddle. I kept my eyes shut, fearing to see.
“Mmmm, let me help you,” I heard whispered in my ear. The
voice was soft, feminine. My eyes popped open as I felt delicate
fingers touch my tush. My hands, long since having retreated, due to
the tender state of my ass, now tried to to bat her away. “No, no,” she
breathed. “Your bottom must be creamed and soothed.” I heard a rustle
behind me, as of a bag being set down on the table, opened. I pressed
my tummy hard against the towel underneath me and waited. I drew in my
breath.
“HOOOO!” I blurted when I felt her fingers touch me anew.
There was a squirting sound, and a cold cream spurted across my ass.
“Ooooh, no! It hurts too much!” I protested. But I pressed my hands
flat against the towel, by my thighs, and let her begin her work. My
legs, tense, spread apart.
“My, what a tiny little rosebud you have,” I heard her say.
Her fingers opened my cheeks, exposed the interior of my crack. “Do you
want some cream in here?” she asked. She giggled. I tried to protest
but she squirted me there before I could say anything. I doubt my
words, muffled by my panties, would have stopped her.
“Yes, you’re going to be fucked right here,” I heard her murmer
above me. Her finger, cream-laden, swirled around my bumhole. I
shivered under her touch. Was she right? Was there no relief, no
escape from this awful place without first surrendering my anal
virginity? I gasped again, looked around at the men. To my surprise, I
saw that many of them had freed their cocks. Joan had not given
permission. But she was busy swatting Katrina, and they, obviously
aroused, seemed able to bear her teasing no longer. The women, too, it
seemed, had tired of the game of self-denial. They played their fingers
over the men’s dicks, strumming them, it seemed, like instruments, while
their fingers played over their pantied dells. A few women, choosing
not to heed the very punishment Joan was now delivering to Katrina for
such a crime, stuck their fingers into their undies and freely diddled
their slits.
“Unnnh!” I gasped suddenly. The woman tending my bottom began
to massage it. She cupped my cheeks and forced me, through her
fingering, to wriggle my ass. New darts of pain shot through me. It
was horrible, I thought, needing this type of treatment. Her very touch
was a curse.
“No, darling. Don’t try to escape me,” the woman said. I was
trying to slither away across the towel. “Hold still and accept,” she
said. “Be sensible. Cream has to be applied to your bottom after a
paddling. It helps it heal. You don’t want to walk around with red
cheeks any longer than I you have to, do you?”
It was some twenty minutes later when Katrina and I found
ourselves standing before the coffe table. The towel, showing a small,
wet place where I’d spent upon it, now had a big steel bucket sitting on
it. Within was soapy water. My panties lay beside it. They were
crumpled into a little ball. They were soaked with my saliva. I
wondered if I’d have to wear wet panties home.
“You must wash your pussies, you naughty girls,” Joan told us.
She seemed not to mind that others now showed their loins, that perhaps
even a few females had cum. Dave had not. Straining, at the last
moment, he withdrew his cock from Katrina’s throat before spending. She
had taken the whole length of him, I think, though I’d been too scared
to look when she was really swollen and full of him.
The males stood around us, their leather underpants a thing of
the past. The floor was littered with them. Intermingled with the
men’s shorts were female panties. We were all naked at the waist now,
though the men still wore their ties and the females, myself and Katrina
included, still wore our basques, our ruffled gloves, our rope collars
(which we could not remove), and our stockings. Despite my spanking my
stockings still had no runs in them. I had checked them, being let up
at last from the table, and been surprised at how new they still
looked. They were fine silk, a whip might have torn them open. But
Joan’s paddle, well placed, had left them undamaged. I liked my
stockings. Dave had bought them for me. He said I looked great in
them. With my long legs, I imagined he was right.
“Open your legs and thrust forward your hips,” Joan told
Katrina and I. We obeyed. We each held a sponge. There was only one
bucket, though. We would have to share it. “I want you both to scrub
your pussies,” Joan said. “Don’t be shy about it. Keep your legs apart
and let everyone see. Rub yourselves. You seem to like it. Rub
yourselves with the soap and hot water and remember I have my paddle if
you don’t obey.”
I sniffled. My bottom was still horribly sore and I knew
Katrina’s must be too. She still had tears in her eyes. Mine had
dried, but there were stains running down my cheeks where my crying had
streaked away my rouge.
“Begin,” Joan ordered. Katrina and I both leaned forward. We
bumped each other’s shoulders as we both reached for the bucket. We
looked at each other. We giggled. Katrina’s giggle ended in a little
sob. The heat of the paddling was still intense upon her bottom.
“You go first,” Katrina sniffled. I dipped my sponge in the
bucket. I drew it out. Worried I might get my stockings all wet, I
spread my legs wider apart. Then I leaned my hips out, trying to get
them over the towel on the table, so Joan wouldn’t scold me for dripping
water on her carpet. Well, it wasn’t hers, but the hotels, but I knew
she might punish me anyway if I got it all wet.
“Oh!” I sighed. I pressed the warm, wet sponge against my
muff.
“That’s it, scrub your private,” Joan told me. “You too,
Katrina.” With a blush Katrina dipped her sponge in the bucket. Then
she rung it out, carefully.
“No, don’t wring it. You must WASH!” Joan told her. “Get your
pussy all soapy, like little Cindy is doing. My word, don’t you know
how to take a simple sponge bath, girl? You’ve spent, now your
spendings must be cleansed from your cunt lips. This may be an orgy,
but we do practise proper etiquette here.” Joan smiled. “Not hygeine,
my dear. Etiquette. It’s an entirely different matter. Your hair is
pretty and your breasts are firm and ripe and your lingerie looks
lovely. You are not a dirty girl in need of a bath, but a lingeried
beauty, showing yourself and letting the men see how squeaky clean you
keep your cunt lips. Rub them, that’s it! I do not mind if you make
yourself cum again. The hot sponge will wipe away your spendings.
“OH!” Katrina sighed. She tossed her head back. I think she
must have wanted to cum again for she now rubbed her dell quite
vigorously. I took inspiration from her, rubbed my own slit harder. I
tensed my bottomcheeks and felt their nudity, all stingy from the
paddle, yet there was, I think, a faint glow beginning to develop in
them.
“God, they’re lovely!” a man said of us. “Twin beauties, with
tight little asses and cunts that promise to be at least as tight, if
not tighter!”
“They are only offering their pussies for show,” Joan warned
him. “If you want them, you’ll have to find a way to get your cock into
their pretty mouths or, indeed, up between their buns.” She laughed.
“I hope you can manage it.”
“I can, I can!” the man groaned. But I hoped he might not, for
the women were all busy fingering those hugely presented cocks. With
luck some of them would spill, perhaps even on Joan’s carpet, and get
their bottoms whacked as I had.
“Now girls,” Joan said, addressing the women. “Do you think
I’m going to just let you stand around fondling the men until they all
loose themselves on the carpet? Not at all! It’s time we began
preparing for our anal orgy. There are several jars of cold cream, here
in this bag. I want you to share them amongst yourselves. Each of you
is to poke her sister in the bottom, so as to lubricate her there for
entry by the male.” She smiled. “Yes, girls, you will do each other.
If I let the men stick their fingers in you, they won’t be able to
resist sticking their more important parts in too. Men, stand back!
Play with yourselves as you watch, if you like, but if any of you sperm
the carpet, don’t think your ass will escape my paddle!”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was so awful, so
decadent! Were the other girls really going to lube each other’s
assholes so they could be fucked there by the men? Why, I couldn’t
imagine those big male penises going up female bottoms. Joan had
specially chosen each man, measuring him before inviting him, as she’d
done with Dave, at the restaurant. She hadn’t chosen them because they
were little. They were the biggest guys she could find, some admittedly
bigger than others, but all of them capable, I think, (though I’d never
actually seen him!) of putting ‘Long Dong Silver’ to shame.
“OHHHH!” Katrina gasped. I let out a heated breath of my own.
Were we really going to an anal orgy? I rubbed my cunt harder. If only
the men would take me there! But I was virgin, of course, and pledged
(quite how I wasn’t sure) to Dave. Only he could have me, and perhaps
not tonight. Tonight was devoted to my bottom, and maybe my mouth. My
ass and my face. Wasn’t there some joke about the two, told by
schoolchildren? I was too hot to remember. I ground my hips, feeling
the warm sponge against my slit.
Blushing, we had cum again, Katrina and I. We seemed the
Orgasm Queens of the party. Perhaps, I thought later, it was Joan’s way
of softening us up. With lots of orgasms we would, hopefully, be able
to relax, and take cocks up our bottoms more easily when the time came.
Our pussies were dry again. Joan had toweled them for us when
we were finished washing them. Then she’d applied a blow drier to them,
and combed them with a small comb, playing it across the bristly little
curls of our dells. In back, we’d each been poked by her, right up
between our nude, reddened cheeks. We were prepared now, as much as the
other girls, for being fucked from behind. Yet my cunt sang, wishing
for more attention. I wished I, or somebody, could give it what it
wanted. My poor bottom didn’t need anything thrust up it. It hurt
enough from the paddling I’d gotten!
Joan opened the door to the party room. She ushered me in
first. The guests, behind me, waited to hear my gasp at seeing what lay
within. My God! I nearly fainted when I did. It was a large room, but
it had not a stick of furniture in it. There entire floor, save for a
few small spaces, was covered with mattresses. I gaped at them.
“Each mattress is covered with a protective plastic sheet, as
well as the ordinary cotton sheet that you see,” Joan told me. I felt
like a tourist, on some strange vacation. “Take off your heels, dear.
You’re unsteady enough in them as it is. I don’t want you falling,”
Joan whispered. I took my eyes from the mattress-covered room and
reluctantly bent over. My bosoms hung beneath me. Their points,
despite my orgasms, remained stiff. Joan lightly caressed the small of
my back with a fingertip as I reached down and unbuckled my heels from
my feet. Then I stood straight again. “Very good,” Joan told me. “Now
go ahead, walk out onto the mattresses. Pick someplace and kneel down.
Don’t shy away from the enema bottles, dear, we’re all going to enemize
ourselves before we begin.”
With a pounding heart, I stepped up onto the mattresses. My
hips wiggled salaciously as I tried to negotiate my way across the first
of them. It was like trying to walk on a bed. The cushiony surface
dipped under the pressure of my feet. My bosoms bounced with each of my
steps. Tenderly I reached behind myself and cupped my still-flaming
ass. It would hurt, getting porked up the butt, and I wasn’t looking
forward to it. Yet how could I refuse? I wore my slave collar, made of
simple rope. I was adorned in a basque and stockings bought for me by
Dave. My gloves were gone now, left behind on the towel-covered
cocktail table, but taking them off had only impressed upon me how,
without what Dave had bought for me, I’d be utterly, completely nude
here. I had my body, that was all. Even the fur coat hanging in the
closet by the door had been bought by Dave. Perhaps that’s why he’d
been so generous. To impress upon me, at the proper moment, that I was
utterly and completely his. I was his slave. I wore his clothes and
went where he took me. Oh, how had I come to this? I’d only intended
to visit Venice with Katrina. I’d turned down my precious Steven,
despite his manliness, his boyish wonder at the world that I so admired,
sharing it myself. Now he was in Rome, celebrating an ersatz honeymoon
with his second-choice, while I, his first, was about to be put to
trials I, and perhaps even he, could not imagine!
I dropped to my knees. Kitten-like, feeling hopelessly
submissive, despite my plight, I turned my head and looked back at
Joan. She smiled at me. My heels waited on the carpet by the edge of
the farthest mattress. I would replace them on my feet when the night
was over. When my bottom was undone. I shivered. Then, I turned away
from her. I gazed up at a big enema pole towering over me. There were
several in the room. Several bags of saline hung down from it. They
were brand new, swollen with fluid. Could I possibly take those bags up
my ass? I shivered again, cupped my tushy with my hands, and winced at
the sting that still burned there. Slowly I impressed the pads of my
fingers into my cheeks. I drew the halves of my heinie apart. Yes! I
felt the cool air of this new room touch my dimpled anus. I would
receive. Straight up my bottom that dangling enema tube would go, and I
would take it all, as much as was asked of me. Then, just as quickly, I
felt refusal well up within me. I darted away from that awful pole. I
planted my bare bottom on the sheet beneath me. I yelped. My bottom
hurt so! I could not even sit on it! Joan laughed.
“Now you see why I paddled you, dear little miss,” she said in
a throaty voice. “If you can’t sit on your bottom you have to keep it
up in the air. Which is just where I want it!”
I bit my lower lip and let out a sob. She was right. I
couldn’t sit on my bottom. I had to kneel instead, keeping it a little
elevated. I placed my palms against the mattress and leaned forward. I
felt my bosoms hanging with supple weight from my chest. Their tips
were hard, so hard, despite my worries, my fears.
One by one the other guests began to filter into the room.
Joan delighted, insisted even, in bringing each one in herself. She
made each guest deposit their shoes at the foot of the strange bed we
all now began to gather upon. A bed as big as the room! With
strategically-placed enema poles growing like trees between the
mattresses, their heavy bags shading us a little from the room’s
overhead lights. It was bright in here. There was to be no romance,
only work. Labor, intensive effort, enema tubes up bottoms and then the
male penis, each male taking as many, I guessed, I feared! females as he
could.
“Hi,” Katrina whispered to me. She dropped to her knees beside
me. She seemed as awed by the room as I was. “Some room to have a
party, isn’t it?” she breathed.
“Yes,” I answered. “I don’t like it.”
“Well, don’t tell Joan that,” Katrina said. She reached out,
touched my hair, brushed back a long, drooping lock that had fallen
across my face. “Joan still has her paddle.”
“I know,” I said. My voice was soft, quiet. I watched as Dave
crossed the mattresses. His stride was firm, steady. He grinned at
Katrina and I. We blushed. His big dong stuck out on front of him like
some fleshy trombone, I thought, waiting for Katrina and I to put our
lips to it and play upon it. And our bottoms.
“Hi, girls!” Dave said cheerily. He didn’t mind this room at
all. It was made for him, for his cock. He would have nothing up his
ass this night, I guessed. That was the job of Katrina and I. To
present, to receive. To milk. His testes hung heavily under his dick,
reminding me of the enema bags overhead. He looked up. “Looks like you
girls are going to have to take a lot of fluid tonight,” he said.
“Thanks, Dave, I’m looking forward to it,” Katrina said wryly.
“I didn’t know you wanted a human enema bag for a girlfriend.”
“Ah, don’t worry,” Dave said. “You two are the best two girls
I’ve ever known. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Anything at all?” I blurted hopefully.
“No, not anything at all,” Dave replied. He grinned. His chin
was stubbled. The hour was late. Perhaps dawn would come soon, and
save me. Dave reached out. He cupped both my breasts. “God, how
pretty these are,” he said. “Yours are still growing, you know. I’ll
bet they’ll be really big by the time you’re 18.”
“Mmmm, do you think mine will grow some more?” Katrina asked.
She reached out and touched the shaft of Dave’s big cock. She stroked a
single finger along it, as if afraid to touch it with more.
“Sure, at 16? But they’re nice and big already,” Dave said.
“You don’t want them growing enormous, do you? Models aren’t supposed
to have big boobs.”
“Then it looks like we’ll be out of the modelling business,” I
sighed to Katrina. Dave’s hands, despite their callouses, felt
wonderful on my tits. They were male hands, not female hands, as I’d
endured all the night so far. They gripped me with male pleasure and
squeezed my tits as if in hopes I might offer milk. “Mmmm, Dave!” I
sighed. I limned my tongue across my upper lip. “Please don’t leave
us, okay, Dave?” I asked. “I want you right beside me the whole time!”
Katrina leaned over and kissed me. “How do you think Dave can
do as Joan wishes if he holds your hand the whole time?” she teased.
She was clearly a little more adventurous than I. I would have been
happy to just lie back and open my legs to Dave, and let him do the
rest. I didn’t need all this enema jazz. But Katrina seemed to have a
slightly wicked streak in her. I wondered what she and Dave did at the
hotel, sharing the same bathroom. A vision of her sitting on his lap,
kissing him, as they both pooped on the commode flashed through my mind.
“Alright, everyone, I hope you like my party room,” Joan
announced. “I set it up myself. Don’t worry, I took nursing. I know
all about enemas, in case any of you don’t.” She flashed a look at me.
In one hand she held her trusty paddle. In the other she held the black
bag containing all the cream. She dropped the bag on the mattress at
her feet. Then she stepped from the carpeted portion of the floor up
onto the mattress, kicking off her heels first. “Let’s get this cream
redistributed to everyone,” she said. “Men, I don’t mind you inserting
the enema tubes, if you wish. As soon as a girl has been filled and
emptied, she’s available for fucking. You may fuck your own girl as you
wish, but when you switch to another female that you don’t know, please
put on a condom. Cindy,” she called to me. “You’re closest to that
closet at the back of the room. Please open it and hand out the bowls
and the tissues I’ve stowed in it. Plus the condoms. Get up, girl!
Don’t just stare at me. You’re part of this party too.”
I was staring at her, I guess. Like a deer in headlights. Or
a bunny rabbit. I felt small like a rabbit. But my white tail had been
turned beet red by her paddle. I stood, wincing a little as my
well-whacked bottom shifted. I reached back, touched my aching cheeks
to try to soothe them, winced again, then turned and found the closet
Joan had spoken of. It stood innocuously just behind me. It had a
sliding door. I pressed my hand to the door, slid it back. Omigod!
Stacks of bowls, more tubes of cream, of oil, jars of KY, waited for me
to distribute them. In addition there were rolls of toilet paper, and
boxes of Kleenex tissues. I also, with a sinking feeling, spied a pile
of condoms in one corner, each wrapped in gold foil.
“Try not to just use whatever,” Joan called out to the guests.
“I’m planning to have another party soon and I don’t want to have to buy
endless quantities of new supplies.” I turned, looked at her. “Pass
the things out, dear.” Someone picked up the black bag at the other end
of the room and began handing out the creams it contained. I took hold
of a handful of rolls of toilet paper, fearing I might be spanked if I
didn’t.
“Hokay,” I said, grunting a little. Who ever would have
thought I’d be walking around at a party with an armload of Charmin?
With unsteady steps I padded over to Katrina and Dave, dropped a roll of
toilet paper between them. Then, my ass cheeks stinging as they rolled
behind me, feeling utterly silly, I walked around the room, handing out
lavatory tissue. If only mom could see me now! I heard a little voice
giggle in my head. And my dad, who’d insisted I be “chaperoned at all
times.” Well, I was going to be chaperoned all right, probably by every
randy male in the room! I looked at their big cocks as I passed them.
They watched my ass, seeming to savor it. Were we conspirators, or was
I just a victim? I couldn’t be sure. There were too many thoughts
rushing through me.
It was not too long afterward, and much sooner than I’d hoped,
that I found myself poised bottom-upwards on a mattress. Dave was
behind me. I felt his cock bang against the back of my thighs. He
positioned himself at my tail and eagerly parted my hind cheeks with his
hands.
“Ooooh!” I cried, feeling his touch, wishing he’d touch me
someplace else.
Katrina, bravely, had offered to go first, to show me, as best
she could, how it was done. She was kneeling beside me. She said she’d
done this before but, glancing over at her face, I think she’d lied
about that. There was a grimace upon her features. Joan, standing
behind her, was controlling the flow of enema fluid into her butt. Joan
gave her a little at a time. Whenever she wished to stop the fluid, she
pinched off the tubing with her fingers. Joan rubbed her pussy with her
free hand. Her paddle lay discarded upon the mattress at her feet.
“Oh, please hurry!” Katrina blurted. She shook her head and
her lovely brown hair swirled about her face and shoulders.
“Nonsense, dear, an enema is like fine wine, to be savored and
enjoyed,” Joan answered. “Do you like it?”
“The salt stings!” Katrina said.
“It’s a very low concentration of saline,” Joan said. “What do
you expect me to do, pump your butt full of champagne?”
“It would be nicer,” Katrina said. She shook her nude bosoms.
They hung under her crouching figure. Their tips just touched the
mattress. Whenever I moved mine I secretly enjoyed the scraping of my
titties across the sheet.
“And it would make you drunk too,” Joan said. “I couldn’t give
you as much as I’m going to, without turning you into a drunken slut.
No, dear, you’ll take salt-water up your butt, and quite a lot of it.
Lean forward more. I want to really fill you up!”
“No, PLEASE!” Katrina said. But she leaned forward, all the
same. Her face pressed to the mattress and her tail lifted higher,
toward the bright overhead lamp that burned so brightly down upon us.
“Yeah, you sure do have a cute little hole in your ass,” Dave
said. Nothing was hidden now, and I blushed, knowing it. I wondered if
anyone was watching me. I hid my face in my hands, so I wouldn’t see
them.
“YOOOK!” I suddenly squawked. My head shot up and my eyes
gaped wide. He was sticking it in!
“There, there, don’t wiggle your damn ass around so much. You
look like a duck!” Dave said gleefully. He thrust the slim tube higher
up my ass. My passage clenched at it. “This will clean any poop out of
you, so you can have all of me up your ass, every last inch,” Dave
chortled behind me.
“No, Dave! It’s in enough already. Don’t push it
H-I-G-H-E-RRRR!” I shouted. I heard someone laugh. Then I heard Dave
laugh. With probing fingers he shoved that damnable tube still deeper
into me. I gasped. I hid my face in my hands again. I wished my teddy
bear were here with me, so I could hold it. We’d share my fate
together, me and my Ernest. He would rub his fuzzy nose against mine
and console me.
“Yesssss,” Katrina hissed beside me. What did she mean, I
wondered? Was she liking it, now? I hoped she wasn’t trying to
encourage me. I didn’t want any part of this.
“Oh! God! Please! I’ve had enough!” I heard a woman scream
in the distance. A man chuckled. A woman laughed.
“Now I’m going to fill you up,” Dave said behind me.
“No, Dave! Not the fluid!” I cried. “The tube is enough!”
Suddenly I felt a gushing in my behind. I tightened my cheeks. It was
no use! Saline, warm and wet, flooded into my guts. It had a stingy
feeling to it. I shook my ass, trying to shake out the tube, but Dave
had stuck it way up me so I couldn’t get it out.
“Fill ‘er up, just like at the gas station,” Dave called to me
from behind my bottom. “This is a full service station, young lady.
And don’t think you can avoid my dipstick,” he added, mangling his
stupid metaphor.
“YEEEEK! I can’t take anymore!” Katrina pleaded beside me.
“What? You want me to waste the rest of the bag?” Joan asked
her. “Bottom up, young lady. I’m a nurse. I know exactly when you’ve
had enough, and we are stopping until you’ve got this stuff coming out
your nostrils.”
“Nooooo!” Katrina gasped.
“Yes, darling. I’ve enemized men, women, girls, you name it.
You’re acting like a baby. Lift that sweet bottom and stop fighting
it.
“Aack!” I heard Katrina howl, and echoed her, my ass filling
painfully full with that awful hospital fluid!
The minutes passed slowly. Each one was an agony of waiting.
Behind me, Dave pumped in the fluid slowly. He enjoyed seeing me shiver
each time more was added, filling me, stretching my bowels. Beside me,
Katrina took her libation with quiet sobs. Joan was pushing her to the
limit. I kept my face in my hands. My eyes were in darkness, despite
the bright lights which shone down on my bottom.
“There,” I heard Joan breathe at last.
“Oh, Jesus, please...” Katrina gasped. Her voice quavered.
She could no longer demand, only beg. For mercy. Joan showed her some
at last.
“Now I’ll begin to withdraw it,” I heard Joan say.
“Me too!” I squeaked to Dave, wiggling my ass. I felt
unbearably full and my tummy felt like it would burst.
“Ah, you’re such a baby,” Dave replied. But, to my vast
relief, I began to feel the tube that was so far up in me begin to slide
backward.
“Yes,” I breathed into my palms. ‘Take it out, take it out,
take it outttt,’ I wished to scream, but knew he would only jam it up me
again if he heard me. My palms were wet. I was sobbing very quietly
into my hands.
At last the tube popped out of me. I kept my bottom lifted
high, afraid I’d shit all over the mattress. I felt full, unbearably
so.
“Squat,” Dave ordered. I didn’t move. He reached around my
hips and grasped me by my shoulders. Up I flew, quite suddenly, drawn
by him so that I rocked, then fell back on my hips. He plopped me onto
a bowl. I felt a gushing within me. Suddenly, my bowels began to fill
the bowl. I gritted my teeth. I looked up, up at the lights, then down
between my spread knees. I saw my poop, all runny, gushing out into the
bowl. Was it my poop, or just the enema water? I couldn’t be sure. I
shivered. I looked over at Katrina. She was squatting on a bowl, just
like me. Joan held her, kissed her cheek. Katrina blushed. She looked
at me.
‘This is awful,’ I knew Katrina wished to say to me, but she
worried about being punished if she said it. My eyes showed the same
uncomfortable feeling. We were like children, having our first sit on
the potty. Tense, anxious, wishing only that it be over and done with.
“Ohhhh, please!” I heard a woman scream in the distance. I
could guess what was happening. The enemas were at an end. She was
having a penis stuffed up her.
“Now, back on your knees,” Dave told me. He grasped my hair
and shoved me forward. With a shout I fell face down on the mattress.
He took hold of my hips and forced me to lift my bottom. “Kneel, girl!”
he growled. “Katrina, help me with her. Joan, wipe her ass so she’s
ready for me as soon as I’ve done little Cindy.”
“Noooo, David!” I blurted. I tore at the mattress sheet with
my fingers. I tried to crawl away, but he held me. I felt a big,
knobby presence pass up between the cheeks of my ass. I tried to
resist, to keep my bottomouth shut, but it was wet and slippery from the
enema. “IN!” I heard David crow. Suddenly, like air being released
from a balloon, I felt all my breath forced from my lungs.
A soft hand caressed my hair. “Yes, darling, he’s going to go
right up you,” Katrina told me. She giggled. “And maybe go in you,
too!”
“No! No! No! No!” I hollared. But he was IN me, somehow,
and burrowing deeper still as I fought to catch my breath.
“Unh, uhn, uhn!” I heard behind me. Male grunts, as a man
makes when he’s exerting a very great effort.
“Yeeeeooook! Take it OUT!” I pleaded. He filled me, his big
sausagelike prick sliding inexorably up inside my enema-wettened hiney.
I realized then there must have been a mild cream mixed in with the
water, perhaps it was the tang I’d felt, perhaps there was only it, and
the water, and maybe the word “Saline,” printed on the bags, was simply
there to fool and confuse, to make it all more exciting. Whatever it
was, that fluid had left me well-lubed. I worked my hips, trying to
reject the big, horrible thing that was burrowing into my bowels, but
with every one of my wriggles Dave just seemed to plunge himself deeper.
“Ohhh, yes! Take it all, little one!” I heard Katrina whisper
above me. Her hands stroked my hair, my back, my silk-ribboned basque.
“Unnnnnn, DAve, Nooook!” I said. My words were all mushy. I
shook my hips, he plunged deeper still.
“God! She’s so tight I can barely stand it!” Dave suddenly
croaked.
“Give her a few strokes at least,” Joan told him.
“I’ll try,” Dave gritted. I felt him begin to pull back. I
gasped out a huge sigh of relief.
“Yes, please take it oooot!” I hooted.
“No, dear, he’s just pulling back so he can give you your
fucking,” Katrina told me. She reached back and took hold of my ass
cheeks. I squealed at her touch. I didn’t want her helping him!
Katrina spread my bottoms wider, to try to lessen the tightness of my
ass upon his dick. I felt like a turkey, spread and opened for its
Thanksgiving stuffing.
“Ahhhh,” Dave said, his words a half-grunt.
“Yeeeek!” I yelled. He was going up me again! “No, David!
Please take it out!” I blathered. He paid me no attention. I was just
something soft and wet and cuddly for him to stick his big prong into.
“Spear her,” Joan said lustily. “Your time has come, little
girl! You are an anal virgin no more!” she said.
“Noooo! I still ammm!” I stammered. I hid my face in my
hands, sobbed, wished her statement was false and mine true.
I was taken then, through one of the doors leading away from
childhood. I was just 14, but Dave showed me no mercy. He thrust his
big thing in me, back and forth, making me gasp, cry out, beg, plead,
all my words fruitless. At last, with Katrina squeezing his balls with
her hand (perhaps to save herself!) he spent in my tightness. It was
like being enemized all over again. I felt his hardness in me and his
jetting virility. I tried to expel him by tensing my cheeks but instead
he expelled himself into me, raping me, glutting me with his seed. When
at last he pulled from me he left me crying upon the mattress. My legs
lay scissored open behind me. My raw red bottom felt thoroughly
violated. I wished to be small again, to be me again, but I knew I
could never again be quite the same.
I lay sobbing awhile, listening to the screams and moans all
around me. Gradually I recovered. I lifted a hand and swept my blonde
hair away from my eyes. I sighed. I felt pouty and luxuriously
miserable. But despite my growing sense of delight at the sounds all
around me, my bottom still pained me terribly. Or so I told myself. In
truth, it was now a curious cross between smarting and glowing. I
denied that it felt good in any way, though, flexing my cheeks
tentatively, issuing a little pained breath as I did so, I found my
well-paddled ass not as disagreeable in its feelings as I’d feared.
Tenderly I reached back, lying flat on my tummy, and touched it with
both my hands.
“Oooch,” I sighed. Nobody heard. There were screams in the
distance, moans, grunts. The sounds of fertilization. I caressed my
bottom lightly. Yes, it was still hot, though I was no longer sure
whether it was hot and dislikable, as a fever is, or hot and tittilated,
as a lover is.
I rose to my knees. I kept my face pressed to the mattress. I
extruded the warm, polished halves of my bottoms into my seeking palms
and opened my cheeks with my fingers.
“Ahhh,” I breathed to myself. I felt the air of the room, not
as cool as before, but still soothing, touch my tiny anus. It felt
bigger now. My whole bottom felt bigger. Even my bosoms, cushioning my
chest, felt bigger beneath me. And my nipples were still traitorously
swollen with lust. I shoved my bottom back into my clutching hands.
Wider I spread myself. Then I drew away my fingers, feeling a little
embarrassed, and placed them under my chin. They were moist with
vaseline and I caught a scent of Dave’s seed on them. My fingers joined
stickily under my chin. I had him in me now. I possessed him. Dave.
Did it mean I loved him? I don’t think so. I didn’t like him, not
really. He was too big and old and rude for me. But still, I think I’d
grown to respect him. He had a respectable cock, I told myself, and
giggled.
The air caressed my hot bottom. I pushed it out more, dipped
my back, let it gently wash over my paddle-braised skin. Mmmm, I
daydreamed. I wondered again about Dave and then about Steven and what
he and his second-choice girlfriend were doing in their honeymoon bower
in Rome. Were they happy? Or were they worn out with each other by
now, and looking, perhaps, for excuses to part? I had a boyfriend once,
just my age, and we fought. He wasn’t polite, as Dave was, in his odd,
grown man way. Perhaps I liked Dave a little, but not really, no. Just
a little because he was nice to me, in a sort of sick, perverted way.
And because, I giggled again, he had a very respectable cock.
“Oh! GOD! Not againnnn,” I heard a girl cry. I turned my
head, slightly. Like a cat, like the detached owl in Bladerunner, I
peered into the mass of bodies sprawled on the joined mattresses. Poor
girl. Why did she come here if she didn’t wish to be fucked? I asked
myself. Silly girl. Even I knew it would be an ‘a’ party... that sort
of party. I didn’t like saying the word but, still, I admitted to
myself, I’d known, hadn’t I? Known it would be an ‘a’ party, and that
my ‘a’ would have to entertain. I giggled again. ...Respectable
cocks. Like Dave’s.
I closed my eyes. My eyelashes fluttered and I sighed. I was
content, though my ‘a’ was very sore. I’d had mine. I’d been undone,
but it had been bearable, though not how I’d have liked it, I don’t
think. How would I have liked it? I wasn’t sure. I’d heard of women
riding atop men, riding their prong until it burst into them. Yes, I’d
like that. But I knew, if that had been the way it had been offered to
me, I’d have refused. I’d have said ‘no,’ ‘sorry,’ ‘no thank you,’ as
all good girls must. And so it was that instead, I had to take it as I
had. I felt content. I was too good to ride on top. To ride me a man
had to force me a little, just a little, but be polite about it, and of
course he must have a respectable cock. Not just any man would do, no
no. He had to be respectable. And he had to use just a little
persuasion and force, else I’d be an old maid. Of that I was sure.
I hummed a tune to myself. I wiggled my toes as I hummed it:
“Cock, cock, cock, are you in the dock... again?
“Did you pop a girl who was too young?
“And now you’ve got to pretend?
“That by her your balls were not rung?”
I wiggled my bottom. I liked my song. Men like Dave should
beware. I could get them in lots of trouble. I smiled. A cat’s
smile. I brushed back my spider-like blonde hair. It stuck to my
sticky fingers a little. I plucked off the strands. Perhaps I would
weave a web around Dave and get him in lots of trouble, I told myself
happily.
A girl on her knees is an invitation. Alas, I didn’t know that
at the time. I thought I’d given my due. I was 14, after all. What
more could they want from me? Then, hearing a heavy tread behind me, I
suddenly froze. My head turned quickly back over my shoulder.
“Yeek!” I gasped. A huge blonde goliath was grinning down at
me. I tried to scurry away but I bumped my head against the door of the
closet. It was closed. I’d retreived what Joan wanted and closed it,
politely. Now it blocked my escape. The blonde god dropped to his
knees behind me, seized my hips, all in one quick movement.
“No! I’ve already been done!” I blurted to him. “I’m only
14!”
“I’ve done three girls already and you’re going to be the
fourth,” he said matter-of-factly. He flexed his cock. It was huge.
It put to shame those big sausages that hang from the ceiling in the
Pepperidge Farm store. Suddenly, Katrina appeared. Her hair was
tousled, messy really, and I saw white foam caked in it. Sperm. I
breathed a sigh of relief as she dropped to her knees beside the
Cyclopian man.
“You can’t just stick yourself in her,” Katrina told him. I
breathed a quick sigh of relief. I wriggled my hips hard, but he held
them fast with his giant-like hands. “Here, let me wash your penis
first,” Katrina told the big blonde. She produced a medicated pad from
somewhere, lifted it to her teeth. She bit it open. Then she reached
down and gently, respectfully, swabbed the head of his big cock.
“Hmmm,” she said. “I’m going to need several more.” Quickly she turned
on her heels, still kneeling, and reached behind her. She turned back,
bit open another pad. “Don’t fuck one girl in the ass and then another
without washing your penis first,” she explained to the giant. She drew
the cleansing pad along the top of his shaft. Then she slid it
underneath and wiped the sensitive part of him, right behind his
cockhead.
“Oof! Hurry up, girl!” the giant said.
“My, still so excited, and after three emissions already?”
Katrina asked him.
“I need a lot of sex,” the big man admitted.
“Well, I hope you get enough tonight,” Katrina said frankly.
“I hope so too,” the man answered.
“I don’t WANT him having sex with me!” I blurted from my
crouched position in front of him.
“It’s not what you want, it’s what’s available,” Katrina said
to me. “You’ve been opened by Dave. Now you’re available to others.
And they to you. It’s an orgy, dear.”
“Nook!” I said. I half-gagged on my word for, as I spoke it, I
felt the big blonde hunk jab me hard with the pee-holed tip of his cock.
“Open Sesame Street,” the giant said, in a flat voice. I don’t
think he knew there was a Sesame and a Sesame Street. Stupid hunk. I
pulled my body forward, clutching at the mattress, trying hard to free
myself from his grip.
“Stay, girl!” he growled. Katrina, just rising, turned her
head, thinking he meant her.
“What, you wish to do me next?” Katrina laughed. “Poor man.
I’m not responsible for your sperm problem.” Then, smiling at him, but
in a dismissive sort of way, a ‘catch me if you can’ sort of way, she
walked away, leaving me with him. Her bare bottom rolled atop her long
straight legs, an invitation, I’m sure, to his following eye, but
smeared already with the spendings of other men, which oozed milk-like
from her heinie hole.
“Katrina!” I screamed. I couldn’t believe it! How could she
just let this awful big blonde stupid man fuck me with his enormous
cock. Tears burst from my eyes. I felt betrayed. Then I saw her walk
wobble, and she collapsed to a mattress as only someone drunk, or
exhausted, could. Alas! The minute she was flat on the mattress a man,
large and handsome but surely not with her permission, leaned over her.
He raised her legs and splayed them. He presented his cock to her and
rammed it up within her belly. Her head lifted up, her eyes gaped, then
it fell back again. I saw the tip of her tongue rise from between her
lips and then loll down with them once more.
Suddenly two elegant legs appeared next to my face. Coming up
from behind me, stepping over my head with one foot, Joan compassed my
face with both her shapely ankles.
“A champagne enema will do that to a person,” Joan said matter
of factly, following my gaze. “They had quite a party, over on the
other side of the room, her and Dave and another couple. They kept
dousing each other’s rectums. Such a silly sport. But they promised me
they’d pay me for the champagne, so I let them have it.”
“Now that guy is letting her have it,” the giant behind me
said.
“Saul, you’re much too big for her,” Joan said to the hunk
behind me. “You’re even bigger than her boyfriend, and he’s no slouch
in the cock department. Unhand her hips. Find someone older, with a
little more practise in accomodating your size. She’s practically had
her first one tonight!”
I held my breath. I prayed to Jesus. Finally, with a grunt of
great displeasure, the giant let go of my ass.
“That’s what I hate about your parties. Not enough freedom,”
the giant said.
“I may host parties that are orgies, but they’re still kept
within certain bounds, dear,” Joan replied. “Thank you, and come again,
as I’m sure you will. But if you want to come again to my next party,
you must always do as I say.”
“I’d rip you in half with my hands if you weren’t so sexy and
having such great parties,” the blonde ogre said.
“Yes, dear, now go spend your seed,” Joan answered.
“Whew!” I squeaked. I looked up, saw myself staring straight
into her cunt, looked quickly back down again.
“Stay just as you are, dear,” Joan replied. An icy chill shot
down my spine.
“Why?” I asked. My voice was meek, tremulous. My asscheeks
flexed behind me, hiding my hole in their huddling halves, then easing
open again to reveal it.
“Yes, over here, Raymond. Here she is. Is your cock ready?
My! Such a nice long one, but not too wide. Yes, she needs another.
No girl leaves my party with just one sperming. Especially from her own
boyfriend. Get down and give it to her. She needs the practice.”
“Nooooooo!!!” I screeched. Too late! The young turk was at me
before I could even think of jumping away. Eagerly he thrust his
dickhead into my bare cheeks. I tightened my hole. He pressed. I felt
rubber, knew him to be wearing a condom. It was well lubed. My anus
resisted. I scrunched my eyes closed, balled my fists under my face. I
ground my bosoms into the mattress underneath me, dipped my back, hoping
to spring away, rabbit-like.
“YOOK!” I cried. He handled my hot bottom with excited hands,
feeling my burnished skin, still warm from my paddling.
“God, I love fucking a girl who’s been spanked,” he admitted to
Joan. I rotated my bottom in his clutching hands as he felt my skin.
Perhaps I could still escape...
Suddenly Joan’s ankles clipped themselves against my ears. I
could not move my head! She held it as if in a vise, using just her
legs.
“Joaoooooonn!” I gasped. I felt Raymond’s (was that his name?)
dick ram itself suddenly into my hole.
“Ahhh, in! She is well lubed from her boyfriend’s spendings,”
Raymond said. He prodded himself further within me. I was still wet
inside, though the sheen of Dave’s sperm on the outside of my anus had
dried.
“Yes, give it to her,” Joan urged above me, holding my head so
that I had no way to escape. “She’s still such a diffident little
virgin. She must be brought to enjoy cock, to take it and to welcome
it, even the biggest ones.”
Raymond pushed deeper in me. I felt his cock pulsing inside
me. It was long, moderately thick (though it seemed gigantic at the
time), and stiff as a bar of iron. The latex of his condom separated
the flesh of his poker from my own. I wriggled, tried to escape. I
felt my long-columned legs splayed wider by his knees. My I snorted.
My teeth chattered. He shoved his hips closer, his dong pierced deeper.
“Ohhh! PLEASE! Take it out!” I blathered. Joan laughed.
Raymond gave me another poke in response. I felt my lungs empty
themselves onto the closet door in front of me. As quickly I gulped in
new air, could barely hold it. A quick thrust from Raymond and I
realized he was almost all the way up me now. I lifted myself, felt my
breasts wobble free under me.
“NO! Down, girl!” Joan, who had relaxed her grip on my head,
barked. Her calves came slamming into my ears. She held me frozen in
my half-upraised pose. Raymond probed deeper still in my ass. I felt
his full balls bump rudely against my snatch. Our hairs, mine soft, his
kinky, intermingled there.
I was fucked. With slow, expert strokes, as if breaking in a
new filly, Raymond thrust and jabbed within me. With each leaping
stroke of his cock I prayed he would cum, but he didn’t. “You are being
trained,” Joan told me from above. She’d saved me from the blonde ogre
only to put me instead to a Master, it seemed, of opening brand new
girls. I wondered if she’d put him to my still-virgin cunt next.
“Unnnhh! Please cum,” I breathed through gritted teeth. Joan
laughed.
“Do you want me to tiddle my slit and cum in sprinkles upon
your hair?” Joan asked me.
“Noooo!” I felt my breath expelled and had to fight for a new
gasp, waiting for Raymond’s outstroke, before I could speak again.
“No! Him!” I blurted, and it was all I could say before Raymond thrust
himself in again, lurching all the air from me.
“Mmmm, she must have the world’s most beautiful bottom,” I
heard Raymond say behind me. His hands fondled my tail in admiration.
I twisted my back, then stilled myself, afraid his long thing, so deep
inside me, might rip up my insides if I tried wriggled too much. I was
caught upon him. I could escape no more than a fish could, speared on a
scuba diver’s weapon.
“Uh! May I come, Joan?” I heard Raymond say with a voice
suddenly agonized. I felt his balls shiver against me. “May I come?”
“Three more strokes,” Joan said. “Give her three more. I want
her well opened so that she complains not so much in the future about
this sort of thing.”
Back he drew himself, the latex-sheathed prong sliding from me
like a big turd oozing down my insides. Then, just when you would think
it would pop out, it shot up me again!
“GAAAAA!” I cried, whinnied, bleated, all of them, a sheep and
a mare and a pig too, perhaps, speared Piglet-like on the end of my
toothbrush back at the hotel.
“There, back again, dear. Hold it! Hold! I know she’s tight,
dear, that’s why I’m having you do her!” Joan scolded Raymond.
“WHEW! I can’t!” Raymond gasped, but indeed he did, much to my
chagrin, driving himself up me yet again.
“Now back once more,” Joan commanded.
“Oh, God! What an ass! How beautiful, how tight!” Raymond
exclaimed. He was in the throes of his passion now, his balls churning,
right on the brink of release. I felt him begin to slide back.
“NOOOO!” he cried suddenly. He thrust himself hard into me, without
pulling back as he’d been told. My eyes gaped. I bumped my nose
against the closet door. Suddenly, there was a huge throbbing within
me, splitting me open in my deepest, most intimate parts like a knife
splitting apart a peach. I felt spasms. His thing spasmed in me. Yet
there was no discharge from his peehole, for he wore the condom. His
hand reached down, around my belly. His fingers grabbled at my puss. I
shivered. We came, together. I spent my dew on his balls, anointing
them, though he gave me nothing but the jerkings of his cock.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
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-END OF 272 EMISSION
From roller39@mail.idt.net Mon Jul 28 19:56:51 1997
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Honey Haven part 4 of 4 (NND)
From: Andrew Roller <roller39@mail.idt.net>
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 1997 23:56:51 +0000
--------
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
HONEY HAVEN
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Four
The city was wet. It had rained outside, during the night.
There were puddles in the street and rain dripped from the pavilion roof
that overhung the driveway in front of the hotel’s steps.
Dave held my hand lightly as I stepped up into the waiting
taxi. Then he gave my bottom a push. I gave a shout. The cab driver
looked back. I clutched my fur coat to me and sat down, careful to tuck
my fur under my naked bottom lest it come into contact with the cab’s
well-worn back seat. The cushion of the seat was lumpy under my
bottom.
Katrina got in next, then Dave. He told the cab driver where
to go, in Italian. I couldn’t understand it, but knew what he meant.
The driver nodded. He looked at me, at Katrina. Then, letting out a
low whistle, he turned his head. He turned up the radio of his cab and
the car lurched forward.
We drove along rain-wettened streets. I felt sullen. I fogged
the window beside my face and drew a heart in the moisture left by my
breath. Then I speared the heart with a finger-drawn arrow. I felt
like that heart, well-speared. I shifted my bottom uncomfortably
beneath me. I had beads in my bottom. They’d been inserted by Joan,
one by one, each connected to the other by a long string. There was
some space between them on the string, but, inserted, they jammed up
against each other inside me. Then the natural movements of my rectum,
most disagreeably, caused them to gradually part, and work their way
deeper into me, even as I wished someone would pull them out.
There was a string sticking out of my bottom, with a ring
attached. I was sitting on the ring. But I dare not draw the beads out
myself. Dave told me very explicitly I must keep them up me, to train
my ass to better take his cock. And, worst of all, I had not been given
small beads, the size of marbles, as I’d seen other women receive. Mine
were the size of cherry tomatoes. They were big to help me learn to
accept big cocks.
Katrina had escaped without any beads. She sat drowsily beside
me now, half-drunk from too many champagne enemas. But other women,
before leaving the party, had been beaded, just like me, though many
with smaller, token beads, not training beads as I was being forced to
wear.
I shivered. I did not like Venice anymore. It was too
exacting. I wanted to go home and be me again. I wanted to climb trees
and declare that I’d poop on boys if they tried climbing up into my
treehouse, as I’d done when I was small. We’d argued about the size my
turds would be and my mom, hearing, had made me come inside and stand in
the corner.
“Mmmm! Buy me that!” I insisted, suddenly, pointing with my
finger through the window. My finger touched the center of the heart
I’d drawn there.
“What?” Dave asked.
“Hello Kitty’s Adventure!” I said. My breath made new fog on
the window, fogging over parts of my heart. I pointed at a streetside
store. It was called “Video Value” and it had the new Hello Kitty video
game prominently displayed in its window.
“Ye Gods, you don’t even have anything to play it on,” Dave
groused, seeing what I was pointing at.
“Then buy me a Nintendo too, so I do,” I told him
matter-of-factly.
“Pull over,” Dave told the cab driver. “I swear. I go out for
a nice long of drinking and womanizing and I wind up having to fetch my
two daughters from a party in some hotel!”
“They-- are your daughters?” the cab driver asked.
“Of course! And they should be home in bed, asleep with their
teddy bears, not out carousing with their friends!” Dave answered. “Not
that I’m too young to carouse, myself,” he added, winking at the cab
driver.
“Oh! Yes! The women of Venice are the best!” the cab driver
agreed. He nodded vigorously.
It was left unexplained, however, why Dave would buy a Nintendo
and a Hello Kitty game for his naughty daughter when he’d just had to
fetch her from a suite party, however. Dave came trundling out of
“Value Video” a few minutes later, lugging a big Nintendo under his arm,
as well as my video. The cab driver pressed a button in his cab. The
back of his trunk flipped open. Dave put my game in there, along with
my video.
“Just so I get to decide what you’ll wear when you’re wearing
it,” Dave admonished me, getting back into the cab. Katrina, sitting
groggily upright, slumped against him.
“Yes Daddy,” I replied. Then I giggled. Just so HE’D get to
decide what I wore when I played it? What did he mean by that? I knew
he wouldn’t be looking for me to dress modestly, would he? Did he
really want me to start playing his daughter?
“Yes, controlling what they wear is the first element in proper
discipline,” the cab driver said to Dave. He looked back at him in the
rear view mirror, as the cab pulled away from the curb. Dave nodded in
agreement.
I found myself standing in the hallway of our hotel clad in
nothing but a tiny white t-shirt. It was made for a much smaller girl,
and its sleeves, barely managing to stretch themselves off my shoulders,
clasped at the very tops of my upper arms. The edge of each sleevelet
was embroidered with a chain of small daisies. There was another chain
of them around the shirt’s neck. I’d had to stretch it and the
sleeveholes quite a bit, with my hands, before I could pull the shirt
on. There was a smiling teddy bear’s face on the front of the shirt.
My breasts, lifting the fabric of the shirt so that the undersides of my
bosoms showed, looked ready to rend the bear’s face at any moment. My
nipples poked stiffly from the tips of my breasts, indenting the fabric
in tiny twin points.
My belly was bare. My hips were bare. My muff showed. Dave
had wanted me to shave it, but Katrina wouldn’t let him. She told him
it was still coming in, I mustn’t shave it off so soon. I patted it
with my fingers. The hairs were small, blonde fleecy. I liked having
them. I didn’t want them shaved off.
The door to Dave’s bedroom opened. I looked up at him, my eyes
wide, startled. He’d opened his door abruptly, angrily. He was
stripped bare to the waist. He wore blue jeans but the belt was
removed. He held it dangling in his hand, strap-like.
“Come in, little girl,” Dave said. “What do you want?” I
nosed my way into his room. My legs were naked, my feet. My toes felt
the carpet under them as I padded across it.
“I want to play my Nintendo,” I told him softly. My hands
fluttered back to my behind as I passed him. I didn’t want him to whip
me. I saw my game, all set up, waiting for me atop a low coffee table.
It buzzed happily. Hello Kitty was running through a maze, being chased
by big doggies. They had long tongues and they left trails of slobber
on the grassy maze-floor behind them.
“Then sit down,” Dave said. “It’s all set up.” I saw a plate
of cookies lying on the floor. They were my favorite, Oreo cookies.
He’d already separated them so that I had only to pick them up to lick
up their creamy centers. There was a glass of milk beside the plate,
sitting on the floor. It was cold. It had sweat trickling down its
sides, from the coldness. “Wait,” Dave said. He followed me across the
room. I stopped in front of my game, next to my plate of cookies. I
turned around. He unzipped his jeans and shucked them down his legs.
Then he pulled down his underpants. But he didn’t let go of his belt as
he did it.
Dave’s cock sprang up toward me, hard and ready. I watched it
quivering in the air. It was like a tuning fork. A tuning fork of
love. I wanted to touch it, but it frightened me. It was too big for
me, I told myself.
I wasn’t wearing the beads anymore. Dave had pulled them out
of me when we got back to the hotel, one by one. Katrina had to hold
me. I didn’t like having them put in, or taken out. Dave told me I was
wilful.
It was hours later now, after dinner. We would spend the
evening indoors, just Dave and I, playing my Nintendo. I had worn what
he told me to. He was nude now. He flung his pants and his underpants
across the room. But he kept his belt. We were alone, he and I.
Katrina had gone out for the evening.
“I want you sitting in my lap while you play your game,” Dave
told me. “But first I want to warm up your bottom.” He swung his belt
at me. It caught my leg and I flinched. My hands flew up to my face.
“It still hurts from last night,” I said. I reached back
behind myself. Lightly, with just my fingertips, I touched my fanny.
“No it doesn’t,” Dave said. “It’s barely red. Look yourself,
in my mirror.”
With Dave’s permission I slipped past him. I kept my hands
planted on my ass as I went to his mirror. Then I turned, facing him,
but into the mirror, showing it my backside. I lifted my hands. I
turned my neck, craning, looked at my heinie. It was not anything like
I’d imagined it. There were still pink streaks, showing I’d gotten some
kind of punishment, but the redness I’d seen this morning, examining
myself in my own mirror, was gone.
“Dave, I don’t want to get spanked again,” I told him frankly.
Dave walked over to me. His tread was heavy upon the carpet. His belt
swung as he walked. He lifted a hand and grasped my chin and forced me
to look up into his face. His eyes were severe.
“There is much that you don’t want,” Dave said to me.
“Nonetheless you must learn.” I tried to look away. He jerked my chin,
made me meet his eyes again. “Tomorrow I’m sending you to a school for
virgins,” he said. I blinked, shocked. “That’s right. A school.
Where you’ll be trained in the ways of womenhood. Tonight, you can have
your game. It’s what you want, I know. You even want this shirt, don’t
you?” He grasped it contemptously with his fingers, the same fingers
that gripped his belt. He lifted it. He exposed my nipples. He let go
of it and it sprang backward, too short to cover my nipples without
being pulled down, landing instead on the upper shelf of my breasts.
“Tonight you’ll have your game, just like you want it, and your favorite
cookies. And milk, as befits a little girl like you. But tomorrow be
ready for them to come and take you away. Don’t protest. Don’t
resist.” He saw my fear and grinned. “And don’t worry. It will only
be for a few days. A week, at most. But it’s necessary, if you and I
are to be proper lovers.”
I looked down. My eyes grazed his chest. “I don’t want to be
your lover,” I lisped, my lips distorted by his gripping hand on my
chin.
“That’s what I mean,” Dave said. He did not require me to look
up at him again. “All these games. They amuse me, but I’m tiring of
them.”
“What-- What will happen to me there?” I asked him through my
pursed lips. Boldly I looked up into his eyes.
“You will be made to accept,” Dave said. “Do you agree to go?
I cannot force you. But I’ll not whip you tonight, if you say ‘yes.’”
I gazed from his eyes to his belt. It dangled menacingly in his hand.
“Yes,” I said softly. He let go of my chin. He whacked his
belt hard against the floor. It made a CRACK!, despite the carpeting.
I jumped. My hands flew to my chin.
“Over to the game,” Dave told me. Quickly I walked past him.
As I walked I was conscious of his eyes, fastened on my nude bottom. I
clapped my hands to it.
We spent the night with me sitting in his lap, his boner under
me, me wiggling excitedly as I maneuvered Hello Kitty from the clutches
of all the dogs. My bottom was warm, despite not being spanked. I felt
him sweating under me. I drank my milk and ate my cookies, licking the
cream up first. I asked him if he wished to play Hello Kitty but he
said no, he was playing it enough as he was, feeling my warm derriere
move upon him each time I pushed on the game’s joystick.
Sometimes I had to move to his thigh, to prevent him from
spending. He made me sit splayed upon it, with my cunt pressed to it,
my knees bent and my legs folded back underneath me. I rubbed my slit
on his leg, still playing my game, friskily. Four times I left a wet
spot of orgasmed dew on his leg when he moved me back to his groin.
In the morning, before dawn, with me randy again and him
desperate, he took me to his bed. He laid me on it, stretching me out,
like a sacrifice. He put a cloth under my bottom, to catch the
spendings of blood between my legs. Then he took me, viciously, right
where I’d always wanted it but never gotten it.
The bald man down the hall reported my screams to the
management.
I had only a little time to pack my things and make myself
ready before the woman from the school for virgins showed up. There was
no time for breakfast. I protested. It was too quick, I said. And I
wasn’t a virgin anymore. She dismissed my complaints. She was tall,
well-dressed, with a prominent bust.
“We will be travelling by train,” she said. “You can eat on
the train. And sleep, also. The school is in the Alps. It is a fairly
long journey.” Her voice was thickly accented, German or Swedish, I
couldn’t tell.
“But Dave--” I said.
“He is downstairs at breakfast,” the woman replied. “With your
friend.” She picked up my teddy bear. “Is this yours?” she asked.
“Yes!” I said. I snatched it from her.
“Come, you will see your friends in a few days,” the woman
said. “There is no need to say goodbye. They will be waiting for you
when you return.”
“But--” I said. She took my arm. I was wearing my favorite
torn blue jeans, a (much bigger) t-shirt, my sneakers.
“You dress poorly,” the woman said. “But it will be
comfortable for travelling, I suppose.” She hefted my bag. “I will
carry it. Scoot! Out the door with you! We will miss the train with
all your delayings.”
I hurried from my room, my teddy bear clutched in my arms.
“Why take all my things if I’m coming back?” I asked. She was right at
my heels, driving me into the hall. She shut my door with a slam.
“The future is not certain,” she said. “It is best to prepare
for whatever transpires.”
I was about to ask her if that included never seeing Dave or
Katrina again, when the door to the bald man’s room opened.
“Young lady!” he said. His voice was like an announcer’s in
the still, musty air of the hall. I looked at him fearfully. He raised
up his hand. I wondered at it, then saw Piglet grinning atop his fist.
“Oh! My toothbrush!” I said. I scurried down the hall to
him. I prised Piglet up from his fist as his big, beady eyes watched
me.
“I woke up an hour early this morning!” the man said sternly to
me. His breath was harsh upon my face as I rose on tiptoe, lifting
Piglet out of his fist.
“I’m sorry,” I said. Piglet popped out of his hand, at last.
“Are you leaving?” he inquired.
“I might be back,” I answered.
“I hope not,” he said. “And that boyfriend of yours should be
arrested!”
“He-- he works for the police department,” I stammered. I felt
I should make something up. Why, I don’t know. Dave deserved to get in
trouble for fucking me, and then sending me straightaway to a ‘school
for virgins.’ I wasn’t even a virgin anymore!
“Poliza!!!” the bald man gasped. He threw up his hands. “In
this country, everything’s rotten. Bad food, bad water in the canal,
bad old hotels where nobody calls the police when some girl is getting
her ass laid by some guy twice her age! No wonder I hate this country!”
“Thanks for getting my Piglet toothbrush,” I said in a hushed
voice. I darted away from him.
“You should be learning your ABC’s, not getting porked!” the
man said angrily. He stepped into his room and shut his door behind
him.
By evening our train was laboring its way up into the Alps.
The woman and I shared a private room on the train. She kept an eye on
me but, otherwise, did not keep me actually imprisoned in the room. I
was free to come and go as I pleased, with her permission. It felt
strange, being half-captive, half-free. I asked about the school but
she only told me that I should feel honored in going. Not all girls
were admitted.
“Who, then?” I asked. I speared a smoked sausage and rolled it
across a pair of broken-open egg yolks on my plate. We were eating
breakfast, in the train’s dining car. Men, passing by or sitting at
other tables, sometimes eyed me with more than Platonic interest. I was
not wearing a bra. My tits wiggled freely beneath my t-shirt. It had a
big photo of a sullen, unshaven Kurt Cobain on the front of it. I
guessed their interest wasn’t in him.
“Only the prettiest girls,” the woman said. Her name was
Matilda. She pronounced it in such a way that it sounded, in her Swiss
accent, much prettier than it would sound in American.
“And how does this Headmaster, this man who runs the school (I
did not dare say its name in the dining car), how does he choose? He
hasn’t seen me, has he?”
“No, of course not,” Matilda said. She plucked a sausage from
her plate and inserted it between her lips with practised efficiency.
She bit off the end of it.
“Then how?” I asked.
“Dave has sent up other girls before you,” Matilda said. “They
were entirely satisfactory, in their face and figure. Of course the
rest of them needed instruction, which is why you’re going.”
“He’s sent--?!” I blurted. I cut off my sentence, lest the
other diners think me more than a schoolgirl travelling with her
mother. Yet I felt insulted. I wasn’t the first Dave had ‘sent up’?
“Darling,” Matilda said. She bit off another piece of her
sausage. “You are not the only person Dave has met in his life.”
“Of course, I know that,” I said. He was with Katrina right
now! Yet, still, how silly it was for me to feel special, when in fact
he’d sent perhaps legions of girls to the school.
“Dave is popular, as you will be,” Matilda said. She finished
her sausage.
“I’m already popular, back home,” I said to the woman. She
glanced over her shoulder. A man at a table nearby was showing an
unusual interest in our conversation.
“We will speak of it more back in the room,” Matilda told me.
Then, more loudly, she added, “You are learning your lines well,
dearest. You’ll be the smash of your school play!”
I nearly giggled out what little I’d eaten of my sausage. It
was intended for the over-curious man, that last line, I knew. It was
fun, being mysterious, pretending, like Mr. Rogers does. But I still
wondered what would happen when we arrived at the school. It was, after
all, a school for virgins. That wasn’t the most politically correct way
to categorize girls, virgin and non-virgin. Nor was it the best
assurance that I would just, as the man back at the hotel had suggested,
be learning my ABC’s.
The peaks of the Alps were tall, and capped with white. They
reminded me of Dave’s penis, sliding out of me what seemed so many days
ago now, though it was just a matter of hours. Slathered with sperm,
more bubbling up from its tip as he withdrew. That’s how the Alps
looked. Fertile, in a male way, despite their barrenness.
We disembarked from the train into a heated station. The woman
had me cross it briskly with her. At its other end we stepped out into
a glassed-off drive. It was open at both ends, but heat rushed down
from its ceiling, keeping us warm. When no cars were approaching the
ends of the drive were sealed by moving glass doors, to keep the cold
out.
A limo was waiting. A driver let us into its back. I found
myself alone. Then the woman slipped in next to me, without my bag. I
heard the trunk of the limo open, close. The driver stepped round the
car and got into the front. We drove off. The end of the glassed-off
drive slid open to disgorge us. We passed out into a snow-laden
street. The glass drive closed behind us. I gaped at the mountains. I
had never seen the Alps before. I clutched at myself with my arms but
it was unneeded. It was warm in the limo.
“Take off your shirt,” Matilda told me.
“Huh?” I blinked at her.
“Your shirt. Take it off,” Matilda told me again. I drew my
arms closer around myself. My bosoms, braless, bulged within my
tightly-constraining arms.
“But it’s cold outside!” I protested.
“You are not outside, you’re in the limo,” Matilda said. “You
wished to be immodest on the train, not wearing your bra. Do you think
you can now play coy and modest?”
“But--” I said. Matilda opened her purse. She drew from it a
short whip. It had many thongs. “I can undress you myself,” Matilda
told me. “But I’ll seek payment for it, from your flesh.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. I had no doubt she could. She was a tall,
big-bosomed Swedish woman. I was much littler, just 14, and petite, not
possessed with her genes. I unclasped myself. I took the end of my
shirt in my fingers. I drew it up, glancing down at good ol’ Kurt
Cobain as I did so. ‘Incesticide,’ that’s what he would have said.
Kurt would have saved me. But he blew his mind out instead, and would
never see the lights of our limo passing down the road now, in the
gathering dusk.
I pulled up my shirt. It cleared my bosoms. They wiggled
freely. I felt my nipples harden as I lifted my shirt up over my head,
blocking, momentarily, my view of all the world. Then my shirt was
off. Matilda took it, folded it neatly, and put it in her purse.
“Now your jeans,” she said.
“My--” I stammered. Then I said nothing, for I’d let myself in
for this, hadn’t I? Surely I knew a school for virgins wouldn’t be like
a regular school. A real school. I wasn’t a virgin anymore, anyway.
I unbuttoned my jeans and eased them down my hips. I drew them
off my legs, over my shoes. Matilda took them from me. I was left
wearing just my sneakers, pink socks that just covered my ankles, and
white panties.
“Roll down your window,” Matilda ordered.
“What?! The cold air will come in!” I said.
“Only for a moment,” Matilda told me. I frowned. I reached
over to the limo’s door. I looked, pressed a button. A window slid
down. Somewhere up front I imagine the driver saw it on his dashboard.
“Everything alright?” the driver asked in an Italian-accented
voice over an intercom.
“Fine, Ben. Fine,” Matilda said. She leaned close to me, then
pitched my pants out my window. “Roll it up,” she told me.
“My pants!” I shrieked. “You just threw away my pants!”
“You will not need them at the school,” Matilda replied. “Now
your panties. I will save them for you.”
I felt a tear in my eye. “I don’t want to take them off,” I
said, fingering the waistband of my panties. Matilda lifted the
many-thonged crop that she’d laid lightly in her lap.
“Off, or your punishment will begin even before you arrive,”
Matilda warned me, wiggling the whip slightly in her fingers to cause
the ends of the thongs to dance.
“I’m to be punished?!” I gasped.
“You’ll be kept in a punishment cell, what do you think?”
Matilda asked. She gave the whip another wiggle, causing its tips to
swing about with greater latitude.
“But-- but I thought it was a SCHOOL!” I said matter-of-factly.
“All manner of lessons must be learned,” Matilda said. “You
are being changed from girlhood to womanhood. It is a complicated
process. Some girls are wilful, some not. Perhaps you will be more
cooperative than most,” she said. “Now do not speak again until you
have your panties off.”
With extreme reluctance, I slipped my panties down off my
bottom. I felt my cheeks connect with the bench seat of the limo,
gasped at little at the touch of the leather, then slid my undies down
my long thighs. Over my knees, down my calves they went, like a
fragile, departing white dove. I bent and yanked them over my
sneakers. I wondered if those had to go next.
“You may keep the shoes on, for now,” Matilda said,
anticipating my thoughts. “We will be stepping briefly through snow and
I don’t want you to freeze your toes.”
“Snow?” I asked. She lifted a hand, made me give her my
panties. She opened her purse, deposited them, rather diffidently, I
thought, as if she’d rather not had to put my panties in with her
things, and then snapped her purse shut.
“You will not have time to feel the coldness upon your skin,
except briefly,” Matilda said. “But I don’t want your feet getting wet
in it.” She lifted her fingers to my hair, fluffed it. It was long,
blonde, like hers. She seemed pleased that I’d spent a long time this
morning washing it and combing it out, on the train, making it as pretty
as possible. She opened her purse, took out two barrettes. “Here, pin
up your hair,” she said. “Otherwise it may fall and cover you.”
I reached for the barrettes. “You want me utterly naked,” I
said. I noticed my fingers were shivering, though it was warm in the
limo’s heated interior.
“Yes, utterly naked, except for your shoes,” Matilda replied.
‘The school’ didn’t look like anything in America. It was
built entirely of stone. Though no bigger than a modern house, it had
the look of a castle. There was a low, broken wall around it. Matilda
explained, conversationally, that the wall had been higher once, but had
fallen apart with age. The limo nosed between two gates that opened to
receive our car as it approached. Inside, within the low, broken down
wall, were the castle grounds. Small in area, like the castle was small
in height and width, compared to other castles. The limo glided across
the grounds, spirit-like, in the hushed Alpine night, guided by lights
on the castle. Otherwise, in the darkness, it would have been entirely
hidden from view from the road. We were in a remote place. The last
house I’d seen had been 20 minutes ago, further up the road, when the
road was two lanes, instead of just one. The instant the limo parked by
the castle door all its lights winked out. We’d found it. No others
were invited, I guessed.
The driver opened the side door of the limo, where I sat. He
extended his hand. I took it, my own shaking, and stepped in my
sneakers out into a sprinkling of snow. I saw I was on a walk, freshly
swept. The front door to the castle, large and made of wood, was only a
few feet away. There was a knocker on it, carved in stone. It was in
the shape of a lion’s head. I moved across the darkened walk, briskly,
my way lit by the illumination from the open limo behind me.
Momentarily all went almost black, as Matilda blocked the light to get
out. Then the light brimmed out again, softly, bathing the snow, the
front door, just reaching to the height of the knocker.
The driver left the door open so I could see.
“Knock. Knock on it,” Matilda, coming up behind me, told me.
I stood shivering in the night air, stark naked, except for my shoes.
“Knock on it so you don’t catch cold,” Matilda said to me brusquely once
she’d arrived behind me. I felt the warmth of her large body in the
gloom. I hesitated. I didn’t want to go inside! Then I felt, very
softly, a caressing of thong tips sweep across the upper shelf of my
bottom.
KNOCK! I lifted the knocker once, let go, more frightened of
it than before I’d touched it. Yet it fell, with a loud, clamourous
announcement of my arrival. Once, but I sensed that was enough. The
driver shut the door of the limo. Matilda and I were plunged into
darkness. I heard crunching in the snow behind me. I clasped myself,
hard, both in fear and against the cold. Then I realized it was the
driver, returning by instinct to the front of the car.
“Yes?” a gruff voice announced. I found myself with the front
door to the castle flung open. A dwarf stared up at me. His eyes,
finding no answer, chose to slide down my figure and light upon my belly
and bush. I drew in my tummy, instinctively. I clapped my hands over
my muff.
“I’m-- I’m here for the school,” I said, stammering.
“Ah, yes,” the dwarf answered, his eyes widening and rising, a
bit too slowly for my taste, back up my belly, over my breasts, to my
face. “I should’ve guessed. You’re wearing the proper uniform.”
My stomach sank. “Are you the headmaster?” I said, feeling
utterly ridiculous, and about to be made more so.
“Me?!” the dwarf laughed. He laughed like that little weird
boy in the Faithless video. Perhaps he couldn’t get any sleep either,
just like the boy. “Me?! No, I’m the help,” the dwarf said. “You’ll
meet the headmaster soon enough.” He turned. As he waddled away from
me, beckoning me in with a finger, he added, almost in a mutter to
himself, “And wish you hadn’t.” Then he laughed again, a raw, hard,
raucous laugh that sent shivers down my spine, right to my naked
wiggling ass.
We passed through a lavish home. I saw a big sofa with
cushions piled upon it, in front of a hearth. A fire was crackling in
the fireplace and there was a pair of loveseats flanking the sofa. I
thought perhaps I might have a moment to rest myself in one of the
chairs. But the dwarf beckoned me on, Matilda following. As I passed
the coffeetable in front of the sofa I saw a hot pot of coffee steaming
there, a fresh plate of croissants, and a mound of ripe fruit. But,
also upon the table, there was a black riding crop.
“This way,” the dwarf told me. We passed from the living room
out into a hall. It was slightly drafty in the hall. We came to a
large wooden door. The dwarf had a ring of keys around his belt and he
unfastened the ring, lifted it, standing on tip toe, and inserted a key
into the door. He turned it. There was a creaking sound, quite spooky,
and the door swung back. I saw a flight of stairs beyond. They led
down. “You’ll be staying ‘downstairs,’ as they like to call it,” the
dwarf said to me. I felt Matilda at my rear and hurried forward. I did
not want her whipping me. The dwarf led the way, flicking on a light as
we went.
Steps groaned underfoot. They were old. They were made of
wood. I worried they might break, hoped a little they would, when
Matilda, following me, stepped on them. But there was no such luck, for
either she or I, and we descended, down the half-illuminated steps, into
a glowing chamber.
Like the castle, it was made entirely of stone. Stone walls,
stone floor. Much of it remained in darkness, for the light the dwarf
had flicked
on at the top of the stairs only lit two lamps, one at the top of the
stairs and one at the bottom. The dwarf led me along a wall that ran
behind the stairs. It formed the back end of the chamber, the rest
stretching out into the darkness. He had to feel his way along the wall
as we moved, for the light grew dimmer as we left the base of the
stairs. I felt my way too, most tentatively, for the wall felt cold and
a little slimy to my touch. Matilda followed, her own fingers moving
like a blind person’s along the wall.
“Ah, here it is,” the dwarf said. He paused in front of
another wooden door. He was still holding his key ring, and he lifted
it up, having to stand on tip toe again, and inserted a key in the
door. He seemed to know his keys by touch. He did not have to look at
them to find the right one.
An ominous creak greeted my ears. I sensed the door was moving
inward. Then the dwarf reached back, and he found one of my hands in
the darkness. I tried yanking it back, but he’d caught it so suddenly,
and held it so firmly, that I could not. He drew me forward. He pulled
me around what I sensed was a corner. Suddenly I felt myself flung
forward.
“Oh!” I cried. I stumbled, my feet lost in the darkness
beneath me. My arms flew out. The dwarf held me no more. I fell to my
knees. They connected with a softness and I found I’d been pushed onto
something, tripping over it, actually, as the dwarf threw me into the
room. I ran my fingers along it. It felt like a mattress.
The door slammed shut behind me. I heard a harsh laugh
distantly, through the wooden door.
I was completely alone in a pitch-black nightmare world. I
sank down on the mattress. It felt soft under me. I was grateful for
it. I’d have hit the floor otherwise. I smelled the sheet on the
mattress and found it was scented. It smelled like rose blossoms.
Gradually my confidence returned. Someone was taking a little care for
my fortune. I ran my fingers out to the end of the mattress, where I’d
tripped. I reached beyond it. I touched wood. The door! I pressed
upon it. It remained closed.
Time passed. I do not know how long. I sat lost in the
darkness, on my mattress. I did not wish to explore further with my
fingers. The wall I’d touched outside had been slimy. I had no idea
what I’d find if I started poking around in here, wherever ‘here’ was.
I would wait, at least for a time.
I hummed my cock song again.
“Cock, cock, cock, are you in the dock... again?
“Did you pop a girl who was too young?
“And now you’ve got to pretend?
“That by her your balls were not rung?”
I’d surely put whoever was behind this ‘school’ in the dock,
that was for sure, scented mattress or no. I felt an improvement in my
confidence. Yes, I would be Sherlock Holmes. I might suffer a little,
myself, but then I’d put an end to this wicked school, and to the evil
men and women who induced girls like me to cum here.
Ahhh, no! I scolded myself. “Come,” not “cum.” What was
happening to me? Why did I fixate so much on fucking lately? Was I a
bad girl? I should think only of getting home, yes! Of going back to
my mom and dad and of having my dad chaperone me again, wherever I went,
personally, like he still liked to do so much, interfering even with my
few dates. And I’d be under my mom’s supervision too, of course.
“Clean your room, Cindy,” I could hear her saying, even now. “I don’t
know how many times I have told you that, girl. Is your homework done?
And take down that awful poster of Nirvana! Three MEN with terrible
haircuts and no shave. That’s not a proper inspiration for a budding
feminist!”
Femme fatale was more like it now, I feared. I wasn’t Paula
Zahn, or even Paula Jones. I was Pauline, and in peril.
No! I told myself. I was Sherlock Holmes, and I’d get to the
bottom of this school and expose it.
The door opened. A guttering lamp lit up my eyes. I saw a
large blonde figure beyond, holding it, and for a moment my heart froze
in my throat. The ogre! No! It couldn’t be, how could he?! Then I
saw the figure was much handsomer than he, and slimmer, though with his
same broad shoulders. He wore a cloak and breeches, with boots, but no
shirt. The hairy expanse of his chest showed between the open halves of
his cloak. His face was unshaven, like Kurt Cobain’s, but his hair was
longer, much longer. It fell over his shoulders and ended somewhere
down his back. He had a cigar wedged between his teeth. I smelled it,
didn’t like it much.
The man placed the lamp in a bracket in the wall inside the
front door. I could see where I was now. In a room, with my mattress
underfoot. The man kept me fixed in his gaze. He reached for me. I
tried to retreat. He caught me, by one arm. With his other hand he
reached back around behind my small waist and drew me forward. Then he
found my other wrist, and had me caught by both my arms.
“Turn around,” the man said. His voice was hard,
unsympathetic. It brooked no disobedience. I turned about, quickly. I
was too afraid of him to even think of disobeying. I felt my wrists
pulled together, abruptly. The movement pushed out my bare tits. I
felt my nipples harden.
Metal cuffs came against my skin. I heard them snap together.
I wrenched my wrists away, instinctively. Too late! My wrists were
bound. I struggled, but couldn’t free them. The man laughed, grabbed
my fastened arms with one of his hands, and pushed me toward the back
wall of my cell.
He turned me again. Against the back wall he fastened me to an
iron ladder running up the side of the wall. It led nowhere, from what
I could tell. It was the room’s only acoutrement, save for the
mattress. The walls were bare. I pressed myself to the iron ladder.
It was cold. I looked up at the man. I felt my knees trembling.
“I am the Head Master,” the man told me. “There are other
masters besides myself, but I am the one you will primarily be dealing
with.”
“The Head--?” I gulped. “I thought you were--” He ignored me.
“You will obey each and every one of my instructions exactly
and precisely, no matter how repellent. Do you understand?” he asked in
a large, bold voice.
I shrank against the ladder.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” the Head Master yelled angrily. I
shivered. My knees trembled and I felt a sudden need to pee.
“I--” I stammered, but it was the only word I could get out.
“You are unresponsive,” the Head Master said gruffly. “Come,
let’s see what you’re made of.” He reached behind me. He unfastened me
from the ladder. He turned me about, quickly, and unlocked my
handcuffs. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he ordered me
to take hold of the ladder in front of me. I didn’t respond. He
grabbed me, hoisted me up, clutching me under the belly with one of his
massive arms. Frantically I reached for the ladder. I caught it. Just
as quickly as he’d picked me up, he dropped me. He reached around me
and seized my wrists and buckled them back into the handcuffs. Then he
fastened them again to the ladder, using a small small clip between the
cuffs to hook me to one of the ladder’s rungs.
I found myself with my back to him. It was an even scarier
position to be in than the previous one, me facing him, with him
glowering down at me. Now I could only see him by twisting back my
head. I did, and saw him open his cloak. There was a riding crop
thrust through the belt of his trousers.
“I’m going to flog your bare behind,” the Head Master told me,
matter-of-factly.
“No!” I shrieked. At last I found my voice. “No!”
The blonde man laughed. “You’re not in a position to give
orders around here,” he told me. He turned me, slightly, and then
stepped so that he was almost beside me. He placed a hand on my belly
and lifted me, so that my bottom was offered.
WHACK! The tip of the crop, which was wide and flat, came down
hard against my ass.
“Ooooh!” I screeched. His palm held my belly, keeping me
suspended, so that my feet dangled some inches above the mattress. I
clenched my cheeks. The sting of the crop burned where it had struck
me. Yet my bosoms, wobbling heavily underneath me, retained their
hardened tips.
WHACK! Again the crop. Again just the flat tip, biting into
my flesh, making me gasp, cry out, blink my eyes. I realized, somewhere
deep in my psyche, that I was receiving a school girl whipping, just the
tip being used, in deference to my age, not the whole length of the
crop, which would have left welts across my bottom. Still, it hurt like
the dickens, and despite the imprisonment of my hands against the ladder
I struggled to free myself from him.
WHACK! Came the crop again. This time he let just a little of
the crop itself touch me, the stem biting with sharp alacrity into my
skin. I hollared out, sure I’d been given a welt now, if only a small
one. A welt that would remain with me for days, for my entire stay here
perhaps, as a sign of my disobedience to him and his punishment of me
for it.
WHACK! Again the crop burned into me. I felt as if a wasp had
bitten my bottom, for he gave me just slightly more of the blade of the
crop, singeing the undersides of my cheeks, lifting my struggling bottom
up momentarily as he swung it up underneath me.
“Hoooooo!” I bleated. “That’s enough!”
“You have a most delectable ass,” he answered, insulting me
with his crudeness. He held me aloft, watching me struggle. I could
not escape his uplifted palm, try as I might. He held me balanced, and
shifted his fingers across my flat tummy whenever I threatened to topple
off him, so as to continue to effortlessly hold me. “One more,” he
breathed in my air. “Still yourself, or I’ll use the full width of the
crop and mark your lovely ass quite distinctly.”
“No!” I screeched. But, suddenly, my limbs stilled. I felt
myself hanging off his palm, cradled, my feet dangling.
“Open your legs,” he said.
“No,” I breathed, but did so, then clenched my cheeks hard
against the expectant sting of his crop on my fanny.
WHACK!
“Yeeeeeek!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. The traitor!
He had not wished to strike my bottom that time! He swept the crop
right up between my legs, and bit into my very cunt!!!
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeek!” I cried, wildly. The sting was intense, unknown
completely, something I’d never experienced, never even thought
possible. I fell from his palm and he only laughed. He did not try to
pick me up again. Bitterly I stood, still manacled to the ladder, my
legs twisted in on each other, grinding my thighs together in an attempt
to assauge the awful sting. He laughed.
“You will obey more completely next time,” he told me. “And
ere you leave you’ll bring the crop to me, whenver you fear you’ve
disobeyed, and you’ll bend over and ask me to use it.”
“Noooooooooo!” I hooted. I would never do that! How dare he
even imply it? I couldn’t look at him, though, for my eyes were clamped
shut, much as my legs were, though with my eyes I cried tears while with
my legs I rubbed frantically, trying to make my cunt better but not able
to reach it.
“And when I’ve hit you as I’ve just done, you’ll open your legs
to me, so that I might rub it for you,” he gloated.
“No!” I told him, defiantly.
“We’ll see,” he said. “We have plenty of time. You’re not
going anywhere, manacled to that ladder.” He retreated across my bed.
He walked out through the door. Had it been open all this while?
Worriedly I looked back. There were two couples there, male and female,
older than myself.
“She takes the crop well, despite her struggles,” I heard a
female say.
“Yes, but she requires much training,” a man mused. “Much
training.”
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls -----------------------
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