From roller666@aol.com Sat May 03 19:32:13 1997
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From: roller666@aol.com (ROLLER 666)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: rare dreamgirls 4
Date: 3 May 1997 23:32:13 GMT
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"Ah, a perfect stool," the redhead announced. People gathered
round me. There was a murmuring. Cocks were fondled. Dresses were
upraised and pussies sought. "Good, good," 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.
"She is beautiful beyond belief," 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. "Bad dog!" 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. "It must be so," Cybil said sweetly,
courteously. "The price must be paid."
"Bad doggie!" 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 I'd backed into a rosebush. Tears brimmed in my eyes. I had backed
into a bee's nest, that's what! A whole swarm of them!
A few extra strands were free now of the blonde's 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, don't
they? She preferred me with a sore hiney.
"Bad, bad, doggie!" 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. "One more,"
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.
"That's it," 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. "Yes," she breathed. She waited, savoring
the wicked blow.
"Oh, please get it over with!" 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.
"Aughgghgh!" 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.
"Get up, darling," 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. "You are virgin yet. I have hardly begun with
you," she said. I gulped. I could take no more of this. "Come, we must
treat your bottom," she said to me. "All play and no rest would make for
a very worn out wench indeed."
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 man's 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 blonde's 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 redhead's 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. 'One for the road,' 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 'shaped up' 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. "This is her ass, let me see, mmmm, it is a virgin ass, isn't it?
I'd better check, to verify the authenticity of our evidence. She SAYS
she has a virgin ass, but we must be sure.' 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.
"Don't worry, you have a healthy bottom," Cybil assured me. "It
will be back to normal in just a few days." She grinned. "Provided, that
is, you stay out of the dungeon."
"I'm already in Hell," I groaned.
"Your bottom will have a sweet sting to it after awhile," she
said. "A kind of flush. It will present a blushing bride's pair of
cheeks to all who see it. You must show it off, show what a good girl
you've been."
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.
"Now dear, do not be at all upset about this," Cybil urged me,
squirting cream directly on my still injured cunt. "Do not let it dampen
your enthusiasm. She was a little rough with you, I admit." Cybil eased
her fingers over, into my cleft. "But 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, don't 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 baby's head bulging out between your
cuntlips. Then you will REALLY feel something, I can assure you."
"Have you ever had a baby?" I asked. I was pouty now, sulky. My
bottom jerked as Cybil touched my sore spots.
"Not yet," Cybil sighed. "But I will soon. I want to feel it,
you know. I want to feel my belly swell with some man's seed. The
perfect father, of course. He has to be Mr. Right, not just some boytoy.
But when I find him I'll let him rut in me until I'm quite well pregnant,
I assure you. We will do it every night. And when I'm pregnant too, to
make sure I stay that way."
"I've never given birth," I said moodily.
"I didn't think so, dear," Cybil replied. I felt immature then.
I wanted to be older. Yes. And she would certainly make me older,
wouldn't she, if I let her? Still 15, maybe, but 'roadtested.'
"Model drives well, men find," the headline would read.
"It's our newest," the proprietress told the press Friday. "A
fine specimen of American engineering." 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 don'cha. 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.
"Where have you been?" 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 Betsy's
drop seat pants were open. Her little bottom stuck out. Cybil spanked
her hand across it. "Ow!" Betsy cried.
"Fasten up your seat," Cybil told her.
"Don wanna," 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.
"You taste funny," Betsy said. She wiped a hand across her
mouth.
"Then don't ask where I've been," I replied. I stood. I made to
leave. Unknown to me, as I turned, the well-slit evening dress I wore
billowed out.
"You got a spanking!" Betsy cried. She glimpsed my streaked ass,
the nearest hind. I, of course, was completely without panties, lucky to
have the dress.
"Yes, she went to get a spanking, and now she's back," Cybil told
Becky. Without even asking me she pulled up my dress in back and let the
poor innocent see my flinching, reddened bottom.
"W-Why?" Becky asked.
"Because she wanted one," Cybil lied. At least I hoped it was a
lie. "It's what big girls do sometimes. They get spanked, because they
want it."
"Ohhh! I don't care how big I get, I'll never want a spanking!"
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.
"Well, you'd better not stay up past your bedtime, then!" Cybil
continued, as I stood with indrawn cheeks, wishing I were someplace else.
"But Bugs the Bonker only comes on after midnight," Becky
replied. Her eyes were wide. In the next room I thought I heard a pig
getting porked with a carrot.
"What?" Becky dropped my dress. The lesson on the bare essential
meaning of life was over. "What are you watching in here?" 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.
"Good heavens! This is pornography!" she cried. I heard a click.
Silence followed. A scampering of footsteps. The teddy was gone, picked
up again. "Who ever told you you could watch such trash?" Cybil scolded
Betsy.
"Nobody," Betsy replied, wan-eyed.
"Skkeeeat!" Cybil cried, thrusting out her palms. "Upstairs with
you, or you'll look just like Melody there!" Betsy scurried past me. Her
drop seat pants remained half-unbuttoned, her bottom showing. She dashed
up the stairs and was gone.
"She can be such a little dickens sometimes," Cybil told me.
"Well," I answered. My eyes were loving, reproving.
"Ah, yes, I guess I'm not the best example either," Cybil sighed.
"But it's all natural, with me. She likes playing maid. Who cares if
she sees a boy's cock, or a man's? They're all born with them, you know.
A boy sees his penis from birth. Does that rob him of his childhood? I
think not. It's those T.V. shows that bother me, all artificial,
lowest-common denominator. And that Simpson's program. Making fun of
cartoons that saw people in half and squirt blood all over the place.
That's the problem in the world, Bosnia, Rwanda, Pol Pot, still at large,
I might add, and supported now and then with United Nations funds, I'll
bet."
"Well, my ass is sore," I said, cutting her off. I felt quite in
need of a bath.
"Yes, it's your bedtime too, isn't it?" 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.
***
"Wake up, silly!" Cybil said to me the next morning. I opened my
eyes. At first I did not know who she was. "I licked you to sleep last
night, don't you remember?" Cybil asked. I blushed. I flexed my thighs.
"Ouch!" I said. I remembered my bottom. The rest flooded back.
"It's almost noon," Cybil chided. "Betsy can't keep breakfast
warm forever."
"Um, no thanks," I replied. Breakfast at Tiffany's that wasn't,
I was sure. I rolled back over on my side to go to sleep.
"I'd swat your bottom, but-" Cybil said to me.
"Don't you dare!" I shrieked.
"It will be all better soon," she said, lifting the sheet. "You
licked it enough last night," I replied.
"I was trying to heal it," Cybil said primly. She laughed.
"Sleep if you want to. For all I know you'll wind up in the dungeon by
nightfall, and be kept awake in there for days."
"No way!" 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, hadn't it? Stephen
King would be at the bottom. 'And the scariest thing is, my childhood was
perfectly normal!' 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. 'We have fire down here, sir, hotter than
rockets. We are well lit, I can assure you.'
"You have the cutest dimpled bottom," Cybil remarked.
"No thanks to you," I replied.
"Get up, I insist," she said. She threw the sheets off me,
leaving me a naked babe, huddling, fetal-like.
"Oh, you are the winner again," 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 I'd 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.
"Do you have any panties?" I asked. I opened a chest of drawers.
It seemed a ridiculous question, but I was literally without clothes.
Whatever I'd come in was long gone, I was sure, made into rag dolls by
Betsy if nothing else.
"You won't be wearing any," Cybil replied. Her voice was casual,
self-assured.
"What?!" I asked. I lifted a hand to my bosoms, realized I
needed more than panties. "Excuse me?"
Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is
copyright 1995 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.
NOTE TO FUCKHEADS: "True rollers, like east Africa's Lilac-breasted roller (Coracias caudata), spend much of their time airborne, guarding their territories in a spectacular rolling flight, hence the name "roller."
- WWF Calendar, April 1997.