ÒAh, a perfect stool,Ó the redhead announced. People gathered round me. There was a murmuring. Cocks were fondled. Dresses were upraised and pussies sought. ÒGood, good,Ó the redhead told me. I heard a snip. A branch was passed to her from a nearby tree. It was a birch branch, newly budded. I did not like that. It scared me. I urged my bowels to expel the turds faster. Plop! Plop! Two more. I felt grateful. I thanked myself for eating just the right amount of granolas. Enough to actually go, when needed, here in the garden; not so many as to embarrass myself. I had not planned it. I had prayed. God had answered.
Hoping to avoid the birch, I knelt again. I felt a last tardy turd make its way down my passage. I spread my knees on the grass. I forced it out. Then, lickety-split, I headed across the grass. My leash trailed out behind me and dragged along, loosely. I was a loose doggie. Someone would have to catch me.
I spied a sprinkler. Yes! God was with me tonight, despite my immense sinfulness. I drew the leash into a coil in front of me. I turned around. I backed into the sprinkler. I felt a rush of terrible excitement as I gasped at the icy sprinkler water spritzing onto my behind. I was douching myself, right here, at the garden party! In front of two dozen people, elegant strangers. I giggled. It was too silly to be true. Yet I was doing it! I wagged my hiney in the cooling chill of the prickling sprinkler. My lovely hair tumbled over my face, still dry, my boobies hanging dry and bare beneath me. Only my bottom was wet. I kept my legs apart, trying to aim the spray just where it was needed. I was fortunate. It was reasonably well-directed.
ÒShe is beautiful beyond belief,Ó a woman said of me, coming up. They all gathered around me. A few stole away, in the distance, to undress more fully. They were unable to wait any longer. Could I wait? I gazed up at the gorgeous cocks arrayed over my head. I licked my lips. Instantly I knew it was a mistake, for they all interpreted it as an invitation.
The birch was passed forward. The woman took it, the one who had so recently complimented me. She had long blonde hair pinned up in a bun, a few strands hanging down. She was still in her fancy gown, a true Lady welcome at any ball. ÒBad dog!Ó she said. She brought the birch firmly down on my rump. I cried out. I did not want this!
I looked up at Cybil pleadingly. My bottom, bitter-stung, bounced behind me. My mouth hung open, agape. My bosoms bounced their nipples above the grass. ÒIt must be so,Ó Cybil said sweetly, courteously. ÒThe price must be paid.Ó
ÒBad doggie!Ó the blonde said again. Her hair was whitish-blonde. Her face was delicate. Her tits bulged out above the confines of her low cut gown. Swiftly she brought the birch down again. I yelped. Like a doggie I yelped. My bottom stung all over. I felt as if IÕd backed into a rosebush. Tears brimmed in my eyes. I had backed into a beeÕs nest, thatÕs what! A whole swarm of them!
A few extra strands were free now of the blondeÕs pinned-up bun. A nipple popped free of her dress, stiff from her exertions. My eyes met hers. We were two blondes together. Gentlemen prefer blondes, donÕt they? She preferred me with a sore hiney.
ÒBad, bad, doggie!Ó the blonde admonished again, giving me a third. I bolted under the blow. I ran, crawling, dashing on my knees across the grass. The people laughed. They made way for me with my swinging tits. My ass churned through the cool night air, red-speckled from the birch. I heard someone shout that I should be greased down and made into a pig.
My leash was caught. Alas, the curse of every household pet! The blonde came forward. I cowered. I could not take any more. She smiled at me. There was a communion between us. I realized she might have played this game, months before, last summer perhaps. ÒOne more,Ó she said to me. Her eyes were bright. She reminded me of a blonde on MTV, a game show host. I saw her naughtiness. Her silken hair was tousled. Strands hung freely down around her eyes, her ears. Her nipples had wiggled free of her dress, both of them, though her bosoms were still firmly gripped by the dress farther down. They looked like half-birthed babies. Twins.
ÒThatÕs it,Ó the blonde said to me. With awful fright I raised my bottom up for her. My legs shook. I knew this one would be the worst. I could guess it in her eyes. ÒYes,Ó she breathed. She waited, savoring the wicked blow.
ÒOh, please get it over with!Ó I begged. My hiney was high, too high, high as the clouds, scorched by the sun, though it had long since set. The yardlights illuminated my distress. My bosoms quavered beneath me, full and round and pendant. I sank forward on my shoulders. I could not bear it, no! But I kept my bottom high. My breasts touched, pressed into the grass.
WHACK! Deep-impressing the birch came then. I felt it swoop under me, scooping me up, lifting my hiney high as the moon.
ÒAughgghgh!Ó I cried out like a banshee. The buds had bitten me, my poor soft hiney, even my cunt! I wailed out my unbelievable, unending pain. Oscillating, grinding, my cheeks clenching for dear life, desperate, I worked my ass. The people laughed. They did not care. They enjoyed my display. And then I felt it. A dozen pricks spouted right onto my burning bottom. It was like the sprinkler again, except the seed was hot, blazing, like my beet-red ass.
Suddenly I pressed my face to the grass and abandoned all my principles. I knew what Cybil meant, suddenly, thrusting my hands back. I found my cunt, fingered it. In between the burning pricks where the birch had struck I found my clit. It was unharmed. The blonde was either a very good aim, or I was very lucky, for I had been fully budded when she struck. Gently I massaged my spot, but with passion, yes, feeling it upon my seeking fingertips, loving it. My bottom ground on, spermed, wet, flaming flames of strawberries and cream.
Never would I have done this, never! Upreared, my face and shoulders thrust into the padded grass, I rubbed myself to orgasm. Two dozen eyes watched, four dozen! I could not keep track of my surroundings anymore. Crying out my pain, my pleasure, I worked myself to bliss, again! Again! And yet again, in throes of untold dreams and nightmares on the dewy grass.
At last I was finished. I was a mess. There was no question. My bottom burned, my cunt was bitten, my breasts had ground their nipples into the earth. My hair and makeup were beyond repair. Quietly, almost as an afterthought, I peed out a new tribute on the earth. I felt Cybil nudging me with her toe.
ÒGet up, darling,Ó she said. I turned my face to her. I had grass stains on my cheeks. She saw me wide-mouthed, my tongue lolling on my lower lip, smiled. ÒYou are virgin yet. I have hardly begun with you,Ó she said. I gulped. I could take no more of this. ÒCome, we must treat your bottom,Ó she said to me. ÒAll play and no rest would make for a very worn out wench indeed.Ó
Unsteadily I rose. She bent, lifted me. Amidst my bedraggled hair I surveyed the scene around me now. Couples sprawled upon the grass, or on blankets hastily thrown down, imitating me in my so-recent cries. Men fucked women deeply, women worked their bottoms, elevated their cunts in quick successions. All was as if in Hell, except there were no tortures. Just wild, unceasing fucking. The tribute that the men had paid had not finalized the night. In my wild buckings they had gained new strength, watching me. With cries and grunts echoing in my ears Cybil took my hand, led me away. In the distance I saw the blonde, receiving her due. Ah, yes! The redhead had the birch now, it looked worn down. Valiantly she struck the blonde with it, besmirching her bottom, making her sob, as the blonde herself sucked greedily on a manÕs cock. So she received her due also. Good. I found myself impulsive, suddenly. I broke from Cybil and ran to where the redhead stood. I grabbed the branch from her. And then, seeing how hurt the blonde already was, I could not strike her. No, there were too many red lines already, crisscrossing her, too many little bruises marring those lovely, creamy, shuddering round hinds.
I dropped to my knees. Feeling absolutely unimpeded by any remaining morality, I laved my hot tongue over the poor blondeÕs bottom. My own knees pressed into the grass. I lost my footing on my heels and knelt like a bitch in heat, bottom upreared once more. The redhead dove down behind me. Immediately she began giving me the same tongue bath I was treating my blonde tormentress to. And Cybil, somewhere back behind it all, took up the birch and raised the redheadÕs skirts. Uncaring, I heard a howl as that well-used birch rod made a new acquaintance. Above us, the moon raced through the clouds. We were werewolves, members of the werewolf club. We had each in turn howled out to the mistress moon and she had shone down upon us, tut-tutting at us.
New wonders seized me. The redhead found my clit with her delicate tongue even as Cybil lashed her. I prayed the redhead would not bite me there. Licking, licking, licking she brought me to orgasm. I could not hold it, I groaned and moaned and bucked. I forgot about my chastised bottom. I lived in a world of bliss, eternal, licking the ass in front of me and being licked in turn in back. Rearing we formed a kind of female daisy chain. I think I peed again, doing it there, on the grass. I think the redhead drank my pee.
Later, it became obvious we were finished. The game had been completely played out. Mouths separated slowly from cunts. Final kisses were exchanged, in the most intimate places. I arose. I felt abashed. Teetering on my heels I made for the back door of the house. I had not seen it earlier. I had been blindfolded before. I was in a new landscape. Cybil bobbed up beside me, pulling up her dress, her titties hanging free. I saw others, gathering their clothes. People dressed quickly, hastily now, as if not wanting to be the last to be seen in embarrassing nakedness. I had nothing to wear. Cybil passed me a dress, said the wearer was inside somewhere. I heard a shriek. Someone played still. There was the swift unmistakable crack of leather. But the rest were done. I dropped the dress to the grass and stepped into it. I pulled it up. She was slim, whoever she was, now receiving her torments upstairs. I got it up, Cybil slipped the straps up onto my shoulders. They were spaghetti thin. I heard soft moans, a command. Another, quieter slap of the leather. And then then creaking. A bed on springs. They would be done soon too now, unless the male still had much strength left. Perhaps it was a nightcap. ÔOne for the road,Õ for lovers of discipline.
I was not one of them. I had cum, yes, but I was going now. I would go home and go back to the health club and get my ass back in shape. I hoped never to have it Ôshaped upÕ again. I would ship out. I would leave all this behind. They would be dreams, memories.
Cybil guided me by my shoulder. We passed a gentleman, a lady. She said goodbye to them. I bowed my head, too embarrassed to say goodbye myself. I was submissive again. I was with Cybil. She would take me home.
We went out the front door. Cybil took out the blindfold. I looked at her. She tied it gently over my eyes. I must not see, must I? The police would come. They would ruin it. All must be kept anonymous. Except my bottom. Flaming brightly, it knew what had happened. It would be introduced into evidence. The prosecutor would introduce it to the jury. ÒThis is her ass, let me see, mmmm, it is a virgin ass, isnÕt it? IÕd better check, to verify the authenticity of our evidence. She SAYS she has a virgin ass, but we must be sure.Õ He would jab me. The observer would change the observed.
The limo came. We got in. I could not sit in it. Cybil had my lie sprawled over her knees, my bottom up. She raised my dress and squirted cold cream on my sore hinds. I shivered. She rubbed, but lightly, gently. I cried softly then.
ÒDonÕt worry, you have a healthy bottom,Ó Cybil assured me. ÒIt will be back to normal in just a few days.Ó She grinned. ÒProvided, that is, you stay out of the dungeon.Ó
ÒIÕm already in Hell,Ó I groaned.
ÒYour bottom will have a sweet sting to it after awhile,Ó she said. ÒA kind of flush. It will present a blushing brideÕs pair of cheeks to all who see it. You must show it off, show what a good girl youÕve been.Ó
I bit my lip. A virgin showing off her cherry, blushing hiney. Yes, what a capital idea. Perfect. If you wanted your bum speared by the passing gentry in the hall.
ÒNow dear, do not be at all upset about this,Ó Cybil urged me, squirting cream directly on my still injured cunt. ÒDo not let it dampen your enthusiasm. She was a little rough with you, I admit.Ó Cybil eased her fingers over, into my cleft. ÒBut nothing too terrible. I will see to it that you are better treated in the future. The moon was full, you might say, and she got carried away. But a girl must feel it at least once, donÕt you think? That biting, right where it really makes an impression. I think so, anyway. Then you know you are truly female. It is our lot in life, you know, despite the best efforts of NOW and Hillary Clinton. We must receive if the race is to continue. This is but practise. Wait until you have a babyÕs head bulging out between your cuntlips. Then you will REALLY feel something, I can assure you.Ó
ÒHave you ever had a baby?Ó I asked. I was pouty now, sulky. My bottom jerked as Cybil touched my sore spots.
ÒNot yet,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒBut I will soon. I want to feel it, you know. I want to feel my belly swell with some manÕs seed. The perfect father, of course. He has to be Mr. Right, not just some boytoy. But when I find him IÕll let him rut in me until IÕm quite well pregnant, I assure you. We will do it every night. And when IÕm pregnant too, to make sure I stay that way.Ó
ÒIÕve never given birth,Ó I said moodily.
ÒI didnÕt think so, dear,Ó Cybil replied. I felt immature then. I wanted to be older. Yes. And she would certainly make me older, wouldnÕt she, if I let her? Still 15, maybe, but Ôroadtested.Õ
ÒModel drives well, men find,Ó the headline would read.
ÒItÕs our newest,Ó the proprietress told the press Friday. ÒA fine specimen of American engineering.Ó Lee Iacocca would be pleased. America had triumphed again. Except I might be a little sore, after all that test-driving. Ah, well, kick my tires, why donÕcha. Take her for a spin.
Well creamed, I got out of the limo. Cybil urged me forward, back to her house, back to new mysteries. I would go exploring once again, I knew. I loved, dreaded it.
Betsy met us as we entered. She had on pajamas, clutched a teddy bear. Her thumb was in her mouth. She seemed to have been roused from a late night movie. A cartoon Bugs Bunny squawked in the next room in Dutch.
ÒWhere have you been?Ó she asked. Her eyes met mine. I looked a wreck, I could not hide it. I smelled very feminine, too feminine. I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me. A smack. The back of BetsyÕs drop seat pants were open. Her little bottom stuck out. Cybil spanked her hand across it. ÒOw!Ó Betsy cried.
ÒFasten up your seat,Ó Cybil told her.
ÒDon wanna,Ó Betsy replied. But she set her teddy down and lifted up the flap, struggled with the buttons. Her teats budded into the front of her tight-stretched pajamas, forming twin tents. I loved her then. I bent, kissed her lips.
ÒYou taste funny,Ó Betsy said. She wiped a hand across her mouth.
ÒThen donÕt ask where IÕve been,Ó I replied. I stood. I made to leave. Unknown to me, as I turned, the well-slit evening dress I wore billowed out.
ÒYou got a spanking!Ó Betsy cried. She glimpsed my streaked ass, the nearest hind. I, of course, was completely without panties, lucky to have the dress.
ÒYes, she went to get a spanking, and now sheÕs back,Ó Cybil told Becky. Without even asking me she pulled up my dress in back and let the poor innocent see my flinching, reddened bottom.
ÒW-Why?Ó Becky asked.
ÒBecause she wanted one,Ó Cybil lied. At least I hoped it was a lie. ÒItÕs what big girls do sometimes. They get spanked, because they want it.Ó
ÒOhhh! I donÕt care how big I get, IÕll never want a spanking!Ó Betsy cried. I loved her self-assurance. For her, the world was determined fact. It would remain so until she was twelve. Then, somehow, it would begin to change.
ÒWell, youÕd better not stay up past your bedtime, then!Ó Cybil continued, as I stood with indrawn cheeks, wishing I were someplace else.
ÒBut Bugs the Bonker only comes on after midnight,Ó Becky replied. Her eyes were wide. In the next room I thought I heard a pig getting porked with a carrot.
ÒWhat?Ó Becky dropped my dress. The lesson on the bare essential meaning of life was over. ÒWhat are you watching in here?Ó Cybil asked. Traipsing into the room with the television, her hair as mussed as mine, her perfume almost as thoroughly natural, she let out a little howl. ÒGood heavens! This is pornography!Ó she cried. I heard a click. Silence followed. A scampering of footsteps. The teddy was gone, picked up again. ÒWho ever told you you could watch such trash?Ó Cybil scolded Betsy.
ÒNobody,Ó Betsy replied, wan-eyed.
ÒSkkeeeat!Ó Cybil cried, thrusting out her palms. ÒUpstairs with you, or youÕll look just like Melody there!Ó Betsy scurried past me. Her drop seat pants remained half-unbuttoned, her bottom showing. She dashed up the stairs and was gone.
ÒShe can be such a little dickens sometimes,Ó Cybil told me.
ÒWell,Ó I answered. My eyes were loving, reproving.
ÒAh, yes, I guess IÕm not the best example either,Ó Cybil sighed. ÒBut itÕs all natural, with me. She likes playing maid. Who cares if she sees a boyÕs cock, or a manÕs? TheyÕre all born with them, you know. A boy sees his penis from birth. Does that rob him of his childhood? I think not. ItÕs those T.V. shows that bother me, all artificial, lowest-common denominator. And that SimpsonÕs program. Making fun of cartoons that saw people in half and squirt blood all over the place. ThatÕs the problem in the world, Bosnia, Rwanda, Pol Pot, still at large, I might add, and supported now and then with United Nations funds, IÕll bet.Ó
ÒWell, my ass is sore,Ó I said, cutting her off. I felt quite in need of a bath.
ÒYes, itÕs your bedtime too, isnÕt it?Ó she smiled. She took my hand. Wriggling still with my soreness, I proceeded up the stairs with her. We bathed together, tenderly, and then shared her bed.
***
ÒWake up, silly!Ó Cybil said to me the next morning. I opened my eyes. At first I did not know who she was. ÒI licked you to sleep last night, donÕt you remember?Ó Cybil asked. I blushed. I flexed my thighs.
ÒOuch!Ó I said. I remembered my bottom. The rest flooded back.
ÒItÕs almost noon,Ó Cybil chided. ÒBetsy canÕt keep breakfast warm forever.Ó
ÒUm, no thanks,Ó I replied. Breakfast at TiffanyÕs that wasnÕt, I was sure. I rolled back over on my side to go to sleep.
ÒIÕd swat your bottom, but-Ó Cybil said to me.
ÒDonÕt you dare!Ó I shrieked.
ÒIt will be all better soon,Ó she said, lifting the sheet. ÒYou licked it enough last night,Ó I replied.
ÒI was trying to heal it,Ó Cybil said primly. She laughed. ÒSleep if you want to. For all I know youÕll wind up in the dungeon by nightfall, and be kept awake in there for days.Ó
ÒNo way!Ó I replied. I stuck my thumb in my mouth. I had seen the outer levels of Hell. I did not need to meet Satan himself. For all I knew the place did go down, down all the way, concentric walled circles spiraling in and down. It had been muggy in there, hadnÕt it? Stephen King would be at the bottom. ÔAnd the scariest thing is, my childhood was perfectly normal!Õ he would grin at me. Anne Rice would be his bride. Hades and Persephone. Ray Bradbury would be their chronicler. I Sing the Body, never mind the Electric. ÔWe have fire down here, sir, hotter than rockets. We are well lit, I can assure you.Õ
ÒYou have the cutest dimpled bottom,Ó Cybil remarked.
ÒNo thanks to you,Ó I replied.
ÒGet up, I insist,Ó she said. She threw the sheets off me, leaving me a naked babe, huddling, fetal-like.
ÒOh, you are the winner again,Ó I replied, testily. I had to go to the bathroom. She watched me walk into the toilet, my ass waggling. I had to go worse than IÕd let myself believe. I shut the door behind me, to give me a little privacy. It had no lock. Oh, great. Locks on Hell, but no lock here, where you needed it. I vowed if she opened the door I would spit in her face. She did not. She let me have my little moment.
When I came back into the bedroom she was there. She sat at a mirror, a summer dress on. She was brushing her hair.
ÒDo you have any panties?Ó I asked. I opened a chest of drawers. It seemed a ridiculous question, but I was literally without clothes. Whatever IÕd come in was long gone, I was sure, made into rag dolls by Betsy if nothing else.
ÒYou wonÕt be wearing any,Ó Cybil replied. Her voice was casual, self-assured.
ÒWhat?!Ó I asked. I lifted a hand to my bosoms, realized I needed more than panties. ÒExcuse me?Ó