From roller666@aol.com Sat May 03 19:32:48 1997
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From: roller666@aol.com (ROLLER 666)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: rare dreamgirls 5
Date: 3 May 1997 23:32:48 GMT
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"You are not going to hide that lovely whipping you got," Cybil
replied. "A good girl always shows off a good whipping. It won't last
long. Enjoy the admiration of your fellow guests while you can." She
turned to me. Her eyes met mine. "It certainly hurt enough getting it,
didn't it?"
"I should say so!" I replied. My hands flew to my ass on a
sudden impulse and I rubbed it. My titties wiggled.
"Think of all those silly girls who get their bottoms tattooed,"
Cybil said. "And then they're stuck with the thing for life. 'Debbie
loves Robert.' You enjoyed more pain, yet in a little while your fanny
will be as white and smooth as it ever was. I wish all girls were as
bright as you about such things.
"I didn't exactly choose it," I replied, hopefully.
"Were you ever naughty, just so your daddy would spank you?" she
asked. Her knees were apart. Indecently, I thought. Spread for someone
to enjoy himself between them. I saw she wore panties, though.
"Once or twice I might have been," I answered. Why not tell the
truth for once, even to myself? "It was fun getting Daddy all steamed up.
Knowing he'd soon tear his attention completely away from my mom, if I
kept up my antics. And sure enough..."
"Sure enough, you'd go to bed red-bottomed, and be proud of
yourself, wouldn't you?" she asked.
"So it's all my father's fault?" I asked. My eyes were wide. My
hands massaged my still-aching tushy.
"Everything is men's fault, nowadays," Cybil grinned at me. "Get
a clue."
"Dinner!!!!!" I heard beyond the door. There was a clanging of a
bell, childlike.
"You wouldn't," I said. I gripped my cheeks, despite the pain.
I did not want that little rugrat to see my condition again.
"A little humiliation is good for the soul," Cybil answered.
"Come, it's warm out. You haven't need of clothes. Besides, you'll look
sweet at breakfast, eating your cereal with your tits swinging above your
bowl."
"I don't want to," I said, but it was no use. Cybil was at my
arm, escorting me. I came down the stairs less dress than I'd ascended
them the night before.
We went to the kitchen. "Oh!" Becky turned, saw us. She was
standing on a chair, mixing something awful-looking in a bowl. "Are you
going swimming naked?" she asked. She wore a swimsuit herself, wet, no
top, just the panties. I saw that her nipples were fuller than ever,
little mounds. Had someone stolen into her room and sucked on them during
the night?
"Yes, she might swim naked later," Cybil answered, all propriety.
"Here, dear, sit." She went to the breakfast table and pulled out a
chair. "There is a cushion for you." I looked down. A plump pillow lay
upon the chairseat. Under it the chair was woven fiber.
"Okay," I said, relenting. In nothing but the heels I'd slipped
to in the bedroom, I sat down. I still had my shoes, at least. That's
all a girl apparently needed around here. At least if she were a new
girl, I mused.
Cybil sat down across the corner from me. Table-mates, we were,
with a little swimsuited, half-naked nine-year-old mermaid as our
waitress.
"I'd really prefer lunch," I said.
"I thought you would," Cybil smiled. "I think I got cancer from
the bacon this morning."
"I didn't burn it THAT badly, mommie," Betsy answered. She
seemed crestfallen.
"Of course you didn't dear. Get the sandwiches out of the fridge
that the deli man brought."
"He was nice," Betsy said. "He rubbed me to make me feel real
good inside."
"Oh, God!" Cybil said. She dropped her face into her hands.
"That's the third deli guy this week! Is she too pretty, or what?"
"She is pretty," I answered, considering. Betsy came to us, her
face radiant, her long hair flowing out behind her. I realized suddenly
that she was a junior version of myself. Her belly bulged out at me as
she carefully laid a sandwich down for me upon the table. She had an
innie. I had an innie. I wondered if Cybil had an innie or an outie.
"There you go!" Betsy cried. She was happy. "I've got to get
the sharks out of the pool now, bye!"
"Wait!" Cybil called after her. "I should see whether the sharks
are real or not," she said to me.
"Hmmm?" I asked. I picked up my sandwich, bit into it. A club,
with bacon (unburnt), lettuce, tomatoes... The deli man made good
sandwiches, even if he was a bit forward with the help.
"The other day, a man was swimming around just underneath the
surface," Cybil sighed. "He had his cock sticking up. Told Betsy he was
a shark, and that was his fin."
"Dum dum dum dum dum dum," I smiled.
"A nice guy, great build," Cybil sighed. "Should I just give up,
or what?"
"Did you ever even try?" I asked.
"I can't help it," she said. "I make great money doing this.
Sure, last night was just us, no charging anybody, but I thought you
needed it. Or I just got carried away. Sometimes its fun not to charge."
"I think Betsy knows how to keep the men in line," I mused. I
remembered my own childhood. Nine-years-old, dashing around the
neighborhood. Not always with the purest of intentions, either. Spin the
bottle was popular that year. And that pointing bottle neck, well, it
made a girl think of other things. Things that also pointed, but were
made of fleshier stuff.
"As long as she doesn't try to ride the shark's fin, right?"
Cybil asked me.
"Right," I replied. I moved uncomfortably on my pillow.
"Especially with her bottom."
"Well, dear, you're older," Cybil smiled wickedly. She had
mischief in her eyes. We heard a scream from the pool. I judged it,
guessed it playful. Cybil, inured already to such cries, ignored it.
Nine-year-olds were happiest when they were screaming, and they loved
doing it, I remembered. "Do you think you might like to ride a shark's
fin?"
"Ummm," I answered. I honestly did not know what to say. I
munched quietly on my sandwich."
"All girls must eventually, you know," Cybil said. I knew she
would just love to see me bent over, grunting, goggle-eyed, a man
thrusting himself up me, breaking forever into my virginity. After all,
she wasn't virgin anymore, was she? She had made the passage.
"Time enough for love," I replied.
"Who's talking about love?" she said in a low whisper.
"Oh, I can't stand you!" I cried. I jumped up. My chair fell
back. My pillow fell off the upturned seat.
"It would be best to do it while your bottom's still warm," Cybil
cooed to me.
I turned. I stomped out of the room. My titties bounced on my
chest as I walked. I was aware of their lewdness. My bottom rolled, felt
wanton, brazen.
I went into the parlor. There was a big beanbag chair in the
middle, for Becky to play in. I flopped down into it. Inevitably my legs
opened wide. I did not bother to close them. My cunt, my thatch showed.
My breasts lolled heavily on my chest. Adipose tissue. Wobbling,
quivering. The nipples stiff. I felt a sense of abandon. My long hair
streamed down alongside my face. My lips were parted.
"Well, the very picture of ladyhood," Cybil said. She sauntered
up to me, following me. "Shall I get you a cucumber, miss?"
"No," I replied, sulky.
"Answer the door for me if it rings," she said. "Can you do
that, at least? I have to go downtown."
"Who watches for you when I'm not here?"
"Why, some other girl, of course. But today you're around, so
you can do it, hmmm?"
"Oh, alright," I answered.
"Try to look presentable if its somebody on business," Cybil told
me.
I laughed. "Don't they want to see something like this?" I
pressed my knees farther apart. I arched my pussy at her.
"Don't be crass, dear," she answered. "Someone on regular
business. You know, like the deli man."
"Oh, of course. I'd be too old for him," I said.
"Not that, I mean, well, you KNOW what I mean, don't you?
Someone who has to check the water meter, or whatever. Or deliver
something."
"Cucumbers?" I asked. I still lay with my legs indescribably
wide.
"You are too naughty," she replied. There was a smile on her
lips. She turned and left then. She'd had enough of me, for now.
I dozed. I heard her go out a little later. I did not hear
much. An occasional scream from the pool, giddy. Perhaps Becky had found
another shark to scare her. I guessed the dungeon was locked. Well, they
would have to wait for Cybil. I wasn't going to check up on them, whoever
was in there, that was for sure. I listened and heard creaking sounds
upstairs. Somebody was doing it. Somebody was always doing it here. Did
I want to join them? No... I might quickly wind up with the creaking
being made by me, by somebody I didn't fancy.
And where was Alex? I felt like leaping up then, but a lethargy
had possessed me. I was still sleepy from last night's late night party.
I drew my arms around my ribs. I felt their smallness, the flesh drawn
smooth-tight over them. The undersides of my boobies rested with weighty
significance on my indrawn arms. My period was still two weeks away.
Lucky me. I still had plenty of time to play. I was like Becky. I
didn't need anything. No clothes, just a snack now and then. I could
dance around out back by the pool, if I wished. And then I felt a quiet,
gentle yearning. I wasn't quite like Becky, was I? No, not quite. I
needed cucumbers.
There was a ringing sound. The doorbell! I jumped up. I
realized I was naked. Quite naked, in fact, unless you counted shoes. I
glanced about. I ran into the hall. I spied folded laundry in the T.V.
room. I rushed in. The T.V. was off. It wasn't time for Bugs Bonker
yet. Atop the pile there was a little undershirt. It was tiny,
sleeveless. I struggled into it. The neck was scooped out, with only
frilly delicate straps going over my shoulders. The tight shirt hugged my
breasts. I looked down and saw the shirt was too short to cover my navel.
Oh well, it would have to do. Cybil's customers paid well. I didn't
want her to lose the account. She might have to cut back on cucumbers.
Titties bulging, my flaring hips as bare as my twat and my
bottom, I strode with all the elegance I could manage to the front door.
I must admit I felt a certain wickedness doing it. Wait till I turned
around! They would find out what went on here, that was for sure, when
they saw my ass. With delicate fingertips I unbolted the door, edged it
open. I peeked out. A drop-dead hunk waited there, with two women. One
looked wifely, the other submissive.
"May I help you?" I asked. I brushed a strand of hair from my
eyes.
"We have come...."
"To..." I paused. "Cum?" I licked my lips. I wanted to tempt
him.
"Yes," he replied, smiling. I beckoned and eased back the door.
They stepped within. The girl looked startled at my nakedness. The man
merely smiled, as if he had guessed such a treat might await him here.
The woman seemed unmoved.
"You have to sign in first," I said, trying to act as best I
could like the proprietress. "And, um, there is a charge card thingy
around here someplace." Trying to keep my hair back from my eyes I
glanced around the room, looked into drawers. "Oh, yes! Here it is," I
said. I found a big American Express charge plate in one of the drawers.
I got it out. The woman handed me a card. I looked at it. She was
paying. Too bad. The dreamboat was obviously going to be kept busy
tonight. I felt a little freer though, knowing I could tease without
consequences. I looked at him.
"Yes, this will do. Is the lady paying, sir?" he gulped. The
woman looked a bit peeved.
"Just run the damn thing," she said. I saw the girl was
wiggling, as if unsure should remain. The man gripped her arm firmly.
The woman stood opposite, her hand firmly pressed into the small of the
girl's back. She wasn't going anywhere without them, I could see. In
fact, I guessed she was going straight to bed. Or someplace worse...
I couldn't get the charge plate to move. "Allow me," the man
said. He let go of the girl. She quietened a bit, then. I saw she was
just being wilful. She did not try to run away. The man pushed the plate
over the card and then gave it back to the lady. I had her sign the slip.
"This way, please," I said, turning. We walked down a hall. I
let them admire my rolling derriere, so newly scored with lines, fading
now a bit, but still quite visible. The girl seemed to watch my rear
cleavage with a kind of morbid fascination. I showed them the yard in
back, pointed out the pool.
"Just a room, please," the woman said, as if certain that I was
just trying to tempt her man, steal him away.
I led them up the back stairs. My bottom moved its big, fleshy
round cheeks as I mounted each step. I savored my whipmarks now, how they
shocked, aroused. I moved with a kind of sweet slowness. I savored each
mooning step of the stairs. My cunny felt moist.
Down a second hall we went. I opened a bedroom door at random,
found it was empty. Someone had made it up for the next guest. Well,
here they were.
"Will this do?" I asked, turning. The man entered, the girl, the
woman.
"Anything with a bed," the woman replied. "And amenities..."
"All in the armoire," I replied. Which was true. Condoms,
towels, washcloths, whips.
"Very well," she said. She saw the room key on the dresser and
picked it up herself. "Is there room service?"
"I'm the room service," I replied, with a meaningful glance at
the man. He gazed back at me with his dark eyes. He was tall,
broad-shouldered.
"We may order some later," the woman said. "Thank you." Her
eyes bade me to leave. I turned, wanting to stay. I flounced out. He at
least would see what he was missing. Quickly the woman closed the door
behind me when I'd made my exit. Dolefully I walked back down the hall.
I thought of checking in on Alex, Kali, but I didn't know which room they
had. Feeling a bit empty somehow, I walked bare-legged back down the
stairs. I decided to keep the shirt on. I returned to the parlor and
flopped down again in the beanbag chair. I closed my eyes. In a minute I
was asleep, not knowing, still exhausted from the day before. I would
wait for the deli man.
***
Several days passed. I played at giving room service. I got to
serve the dreamboat and his ladies breakfast. They let me get in bed with
them. I sucked the man. He had awakened with a big tent pole. I helped
him keep it nice and stiff. The woman wanted to whip me. I left before
she could.
I found Kali and Alex. He was tied up, his cock and balls held
by a little pouch and teased with a soft leather teasewhip. She danced
the tails over his awesome genitals. He begged her for release. I didn't
dare try blowing him. He would have cum instantly. I left them to their
games. I did not wish to see a male so abject, so desperate.
I served others also. I brought what they asked, stayed a bit
sometimes, but never quite allowed myself to fuck. Just a kiss here, a
quick blow, something fun and easy. I wanted to screw, I guess, but
couldn't allow myself to. I was scared, maybe. I was only 15. I was
Betsy with breasts.
My marks went away. I had a flawless ass again. I played with
Becky in the pool. And that's where I met my next mistress. Funny, isn't
it? I always shrank away from engaging a man directly. I mean, I might
give him a little suck, but then I'd flit away. It was as if I needed a
firm hand to guide me. It could be a man's hand, I guess, but the men
were always so nice, so concerned for my age, perhaps. They didn't want
to rob me of my so-called innocence. My so-called innocent life. But a
woman wouldn't hesitate to. There is always a little jealousy between
women. If she is roadtested, her thinking goes, why aren't I? At first,
when you're just a little girl, they persist in keeping you innocent.
Then you get older, you grow breasts, your bottom fills out, your long
legs stand in sharper contrast to your other assets. And suddenly the
other, older women of the world say to themselves, I think, "Okay, cunt.
You want to compete with me? Alright. We shall both be sexy, then. I
will let you into the world of adults. In fact, I'll help you, so you
aren't just 'legging around,' showing off to any man you please. And they
bring you into society. They make you a debutante. They hold proms for
you, coming out balls. And then you're in their world. Their hope, I
guess, is to marry you off to someone, to get you to join Concerned Women
for America. Yes, it neutralizes you. You start to worry about whether
Tide or Wisk gets your clothes whiter. Should I use liquid detergent, or
powdered?
I lay face down on a chaise lounge, my chin in my hands, my legs
bent up, kicking lazily at the sky. I was reading Cosmopolitan.
Something about 101 ways to Bed a Man. I had on a little pair of bikini
panties. My bra was lying on the cement.
She sat down beside me. I ignored her a moment, then looked up.
She had raven-black hair, like Cybil. Gypsy eyes. She looked about 30,
looked as if she could read my palm and tell me my fortune. Her bust was
impressive. I imagined her at my age, wowing the men with her overgrown
breasts as she walked off to school. She was dressed in chic business
attire. A small coat, upturned collar. Her blouse had to struggle to
contain her bosoms. It was tight, perhaps purposely a size too small.
She wore pants that tucked into knee-high leather boots.
Running a hand through her deliciously curly hair she said, "Hi,
I'm Laurie."
"Hi," I replied. There was almost a lisp in my voice,
submissive. I felt naked before this woman. Well, I was naked, almost,
but, I mean... I could not express it. Her eyes burned into me. I knew
she had cucumbers somewhere, lots of them, attached to dreamboat men.
"I'm Melody," I answered.
For a moment neither of us said anything. We just gazed. My
eyes drifted to her bosoms. You could hardly ignore them, so the were so
fascinatingly big. Her own eyes absorbed the sweet hanging of my tits.
She watched as my nipples stiffened.
Cybil appeared. "Hi!" she said brightly. "Melody, this is
Laurie."
"We've already introduced," Laurie replied. I nodded, smiled. I
wiggled my tushy. My panties barely contained the cheeks.
"She's a world famous dominatrix, I'll have you know," Cybil told
me. "So don't cross her, okay?" She smiled. I shivered, nodded.
"She hasn't told me to do anything yet," I replied. My face
blushed. I looked guilty.
"Would you like me to?" she asked.
"Would you like to?" I answered.
"It's not nice to answer a question with a question," she said.
"Laurie runs a big fashion magazine in Paris," Cybil chimed in.
"A French version of GQ."
"That sounds cool," I replied.
"Put your shoes on," Laurie said.
"She keeps her men in line, I can assure you," Cybil said,
winking at Laurie.
"And how are things here? Do you have any discipline problems?"
Laurie asked Cybil. She turned from me. I sat up. I dropped my feet to
the pavement. I slipped them into my heels. My mules were my sole
companions. Nothing else belonged to me, except my body. Did I wish to
lose that too? I flicked the waistband of my panties open, let it snap
shut against my skin. This was a loaned bikini. From Cybil. Other than
that I had just my shoes. I bent and wrapped the little ankle straps
around my ankles, buckled them closed. My breasts swung as I worked.
I sat up. My breasts bounced like jello on my chest, subsided.
Laurie turned to me. She stood. "I need you," she said, and reached out
her hand, took mine. In her eyes I saw magazine covers, layouts,
cameramen with cameras and me posing for them, a GQ guy on my arm.
I stepped forward. I bent to get my bra from the walk.
"Never mind that," she said.
She pulled me. I turned to Cybil, hapless. She smiled. "Have
fun!" she urged.
Tits bouncing, leggy and awkward, I let Laurie lead me across the
well-clipped lawn.
"Do you need me for a model?" I asked.
"Of course, dear," she said, half turning, smug. "But not nude
modeling. So we can play, too." I wondered at her words. So we can
play... Did she mean? We reached the house. She took me inside, down
the hall, around a corner. We exited through the front door. Down the
front walk we went, me all naked, save for my swim panties. I put my arm
up, tried to hide my jostling tits. A limo waited out front. Had it been
there since she'd arrived? The engine was running. We got in.
Laurie poured me a drink in the back seat of the limo. I sat on
the leather bench beside her, comfortable in my new surroundings, but
curious, tentative. She was clothed, I was bare-legged, topless. My hair
was flowing and free, hers was precisely curled, permed.
We did not drive far. We got out. She took me up a walk into
her house. Again I had to raise my arm to keep from showing my boobs to
passersby, neighbors. I clutched at my breasts with my hand, did a poor
job of hiding them. I saw no one, but there could be eyes, watching.
From windows, perhaps.
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.