From roller666@aol.com Sat May 03 19:34:14 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-east.sprintlink.net!news-dc-26.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!newsxfer3.itd.umich.edu!portc01.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
From: roller666@aol.com (ROLLER 666)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: rare dreamgirls 6
Date: 3 May 1997 23:34:14 GMT
Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com
Lines: 360
Message-ID: <19970503233200.TAA14878@ladder01.news.aol.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com
X-Admin: news@aol.com
We went inside and I saw that my attempts at modesty had been
futile. There was a party in progress. Guests turned, stared at me,
turned away. It was not a pool party. Everyone was in formalwear, though
it was quite fashionable, trendy. Laurie guided me through the guests,
wordlessly. They seemed not overly concerned with my appearance, my
plight, only looked to admire my nudity. She took me to a room just
beyond the festivities.
It was small. I gasped when I saw it. It looked like a cell.
The floor was tiled, some tiles were cracked. The walls were bare. In a
corner stood an old-fashioned toilet, the tank overhead, a chain hanging
down. A roll of perfumed toilet paper, however, waited. At least that
was a luxury. There was a small sink beside the commode, a mirror for a
girl to fix her makeup in.
And then there was a bed. It was just a cot, actually, like a
prisoner might sleep on. It had an iron frame. There was just a sheet
covering the mattress. There was no second sheet, no blanket. A pillow
waited at one end. And tied to each of the four iron posts of the bed was
a black cloth strip, knotted loosely, needing only an arm and a tug on the
cloth to be fully secure.
Scariest of all, there was a stout pegboard on the wall. From it
hung a variety of whips, straps, and paddles. I nearly fainted. Laurie
pushed me into the room, closed the door behind us.
"Sit on the bed," she told me. I turned, abashed, afraid. I sat
my bottom neatly on the edge of the mattress. Quickly she undressed,
taking off everything except her boots. Then she put her jacket back on,
left it open. Her bosoms thrust out from between its halves, impressive
as ever, their cherry tips hard and wobbly, the nipples as big as dollar
coins. I watched her, feeling like a hunted fawn. She had found me. She
had brought me to her lair.
Nude and beautiful, if utterly deadly, she drew a small phone
from her coat pocket. She unfolded it. She punched a button, spoke.
"There is no cane," she said. "Bring me my cane."
A moment later the door opened. A middle-aged woman came in.
Not a partier, but a kind of washer-woman. She had big arms, wet, looked
as if she had just come from scrubbing floors. I looked down at the tiled
floor. It was sparkling clean, polished, despite its age. Perhaps she
had scrubbed it this morning.
"Here's your cane, ma'am," the washer-woman said, handing it to
Laurie. "I had to give Tommy what for this morning. Sorry I forgot to
return it. He was in the apple orchard again, picking them apples. I got
him right across his arse -- oh, my what have we here? Oh, you're going
to get it! I see you're stripped down for action, ma'am, yes indeed. Has
she been naughty, then?" the washer-woman spoke in a kind of lilting
cockney, never quite finishing a sentence or pausing before she ambled
right on to the next.
"Thank you, Hilda. She's one of my new models. I just
discovered her. I'm going to give her a few pointers, that's all," Laurie
said. She eased the old washer-woman back out and shut the door behind
her. She turned to me. "Do you remember when you answered my question
with a question?" she asked.
"Yes," I gulped. I wanted to run, to hide. I wanted to shrink
into my panties, but they were too small.
"That's one of the things you mustn't do when you work for me,"
she said. She flexed her cane. "Stand up, please." Her voice was kind,
courteous. I stood. I was all trembly, like a newborn calf. She saw my
anxiousness.
"Turn around," she ordered. Still her voice was soft, gentle. I
turned my back to her, knew where her eyes went when I did. "Yes, take
them right down, get them right off," she said to me, knowingly. I hooked
my thumbs reluctantly in the waistband of my panties.
"My heels too?" I asked.
"No, of course not, dear. The panties, that is all. Pull them
down. I won't do it for you."
I hesitated. Oh, why was I even here? Why was I even in
Amsterdam? This was so silly, so crazy...
"The longer you wait the harder it will be," she warned me. I
tugged on my panties remorsefully, drew them down, felt my bottomcheeks
spring out, into the air. It felt cool, caressing. "All the way down,"
she said. Anxiously I stooped lower, pulled the panties down my thighs,
over my small round knees, down my calves. I let go of them at my ankles.
They hung there, forlorn.
"Take hold of yourself," she said. I grabbed my ankles. I felt
my breasts swinging gently beneath my chest, saw the nipples wiggling, the
plump gourds hanging like ripe apples. "Straighten your legs," she said.
"Posture is important. Surely you know that, as a young lady, don't you?"
I raised my bottom higher, felt my knees lock. I strained to keep hold
of my far-distant ankles.
"Now we shall conduct the job interview," Laurie said
matter-of-factly. "What is your name?"
"Melody," I answered.
WHICK! The cane sliced into my bottom, catching me just below
the tender inward curving of my cheeks. "OW!" I cried. My hinds wobbled,
my tits bounced.
"That's just your first name," Laurie told me. "I need your full
name, please." She flexed her cane, as if in readiness for the omission
of my middle name.
"Melody Emily Carr," I said. I felt a tear in the corner of my
right eye.
"And your age, Melody?"
"15," I answered.
WHICK! Another wicked cut. "Yeow!" I cried. My nipples danced,
my bottom bucked and reared. I had trouble holding on to my ankles.
"15, ma'am, is how you should answer, Melody," Laurie told me. I
sniffled.
"15, ma'am," I choked out.
"Don't worry, you'll learn it all. You've quite an incentive,
don't you think?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," I answered.
"See? You're learning already. Did I have to remind you that
time?"
"No, ma'am," I answered.
"Would you like to pull your panties up, Melody?" she asked.
"Yes!" I cried.
SNICKCK! A double-salute! I almost bounded right up then,
losing my grip entirely on my ankles. "Oh, Boo! Hoo!" I sobbed out. I
did not like this whipping, not at all, though the thought of being a GQ
model girl had me tingling in inappropriate places.
"Yes, ma'am," Laurie reminded me.
"Yes, ma'am," I said, and reached for my panties.
WHACK! "Not yet!" she told me. "I merely asked."
"Oh! I can't stand this!" I cried.
"You are the chosen," she said. "Look how sparkling clean this
room is! Do you think you'd ever be made to scrub it down, except for the
pleasure of some gentleman? Of course not! Only for erotic reasons would
I ever give you a scrub brush and bucket, or anyone else, for that matter.
Look how slim and lovely you are! Surely a few disciplinary strokes of
the cane are not too much to ask. Afterward we shall dine together, you
and I, at a fine restaurant somewhere. And I will introduce you to my
male models. But first I must establish who is boss. I'll have no Beckys
here. You are too old to act like that, though you'd try to get away with
it if you could.
"Oh, please hurry!" I said. Whatever she needed to do, I wanted
her to get it over with.
"Ah, sweet dear, wait for it," she said. "There is no rush. You
are young, I am young. Show me how you can take it, be patient. Ask for
the next stroke."
"Please, then -- but not too hard!" I still wanted her to hurry
up.
WHACK! "Ooooch!" I danced about. I weaved, waved my hips. I
lurched. I almost fell on the bed. My boobies bounced like they were
spring-loaded, under the blow.
"See? You keep your posture well. You are more well-behaved
than you think, precious. I like that in a girl. Tell me what kind of
modeling you'd like to do." Laurie whisked her cane through the air,
testing it, keeping me on edge.
"Uh," I gulped. "Not bare-bottomed modeling, that's for sure," I
answered.
WHACK! Again the awful cane. I jumped up this time, I could not
bear it. My hands flew to my ass and I rubbed it.
"My, my, if you've had enough, why didn't you just say so?"
Laurie asked me.
"I-I Oh, you wicked woman!" I cried. My bottom was seared. It
was not its flawless white anymore.
"Get your panties up, we shall go to lunch," she said then.
"What about you?" I asked.
"Ah, I am not dressed. I had forgotten," she smiled. "Do you
have to pee? I have to," she said. She walked to the toilet, sat down
gracefully. I watched her bosoms jostle one another as she settled onto
the ceramic seat.
"I have to go too," I said, walking towards her, pulling my
panties up.
"Then you'll just have to take these down again," she smiled,
putting a hand out, catching my half-raised panties by the crotch. My
bottom wiggled excessively from my caning. I heard her piss into the
toilet.
She pushed my panties down my calves again. I did not know what
to say. I felt we might not make lunch, after all. I heard her pee stop.
"Sit it my lap and we'll do it together," she husked.
I straddled her. Still wriggling from the searing strokes across
my ass, I got down on her open thighs, rested my bottom between them,
facing her. She took my hair, drew me forward. We kissed. "Piss now!"
she breathed. Together we released our streams into the bowl.
We wiped each other. It was a moment of sharing, helpfulness.
It felt unique. She eased me off her legs and we both stood up.
The door opened again. It was the washerwoman. She had a little
rack of clothes. Just filmy panties, sheer nothing nighties, an
insubstantial bra or two. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I forgot to return the
clothing," she said. "I'm lucky wasn't a man with her in here. He might
have wanted her to dress up for him."
"Just put the clothes against the wall," Laurie said
dismissively. She had me by the arm. My panties ringed my ankles,
impeding me. We drifted even now toward the room's far end, toward the
bed. "Ah, now she has a nice dell, doesn't she?" the washer-woman said.
Her eyes admired my pussy greedily. "Will you be needing a hand-towel,
ma'am? I see there isn't any in here."
"No, not right now," Laurie answered. "Just privacy, please."
"Yes, ma'am," the washer-woman replied. Giving me a knowing wink
she turned, trundled out, shut the door.
"Get out of those panties and kneel up on the bed," Laurie
instructed me.
"Oh, not another spanking!" I pleaded. I knew there were still
quite a few implements hanging on the wall, all of them as yet untried.
"Just do as I say, or I will spank you indeed," Laurie answered.
I bent, sniffled, untangled my panties from the spikes of my heels and
tossed them towards the door.
"Do you want someone to trip over them when they come in again?"
Laurie asked me, seeing where I'd thrown my undies.
"I wouldn't mind," I replied. I hated that washer-woman. So
ridiculous. Big and fat and admiring me like I was some thoughtless
object.
"Get on the bed," Laurie told me. "Face on your pillow, bottom
high, kneeling." I dropped my knees onto the cot and kneed my way forward
on it. I bent my head, my back down, pressed my cheek to my pillow. It
smelled fresh.
Laurie admired my rearing ass. Clean, neat strokes of the cane
made searing red lines across it, keeping me perpetually jiggling it even
as I waited for her next move. "Do you know what drew me to come see you
this morning, to meet you?" Laurie asked me.
"No," I breathed into my pillow.
"Because I hear you're an anal virgin," she answered. Her words
were frank, scary.
"I-I-" I wanted to deny it. She took a vial of oil from one of
her coat pockets. She uncorked it. She sprinkled some on her finger.
"Noooo," I gasped. Yet I did not flinch, save for the gentle
weaving undulations of my ass.
"Yesssss," she replied. She drew close to me, bent, her bosoms
full, nipples stiff. She parted my cheeks with a thumb and forefinger,
found them tight, springy, clenching. She put a finger to my rosette.
"Do not tighten yourself, Melody," she urged. I tried to relax. I knew I
had come for this. I knew, yet I did not know. She pushed her finger
within my sphincter. I stiffened, jerked. She prodded me. I blubbered
into my pillow. She burrowed deeper still. "Have you ever had anyone up
this far?" she asked. Her voice was casual, polite. We were at a garden
party.
"Not-not," I gasped.
"Well, now you have," she replied. She thrust in more, I felt my
cheeks flex reflexively wide, then tighten again. "Try to relax," she
said. I felt my breath huff and puff up from my throat, past my teeth.
She drew back a little. "In and out, in and out now, just like a penis,"
she said. I felt her surge back and forth, croaked. It was an utterly
new sensation. I was sure I didn't like it. "You will have a penis in
here soon, I can assure you," she said.
"Yesssss," I breathed, gasped. Did I want that? I did not know
what I wanted. My panties were on the floor on the other side of the
room.
"In and out, in and out," she said. I felt slimness. I wanted
something bigger, fuller, deep down inside me there. "Now, let's take
this little finger of mine out and see what else we can teach you with,"
Laurie said. I heard a pop. Her finger was withdrawn. She went to the
sink and washed it. She drew and linen handkerchief from her coat pocket
and wiped her fingers. I remained quivering on the bed. I was afraid to
move, like a patient after surgery.
Laurie reached into her coat. It looked to me like she was
reaching for a gun, except she pulled out something worse. A dildo. Fine
and big and looking like it had been carved from ivory. She walked over
to me again.
****
We sat at dinner. We were elegant. It was the next evening.
The previous night, as promised, we had eaten at a restaurant. Then today
she introduced me to her GQ men. I was shy, blushing. Afterward, when
they were gone, she made me choose amongst them, telling her which I
preferred.
It was a private reception, a private dinner. There were about a
dozen people present. The hostess had received me warmly, taken my coat,
admired me. All present knew why I was here. The GQ men I'd favored were
here too, deferential, letting the women lead. Letting Laurie make all
the decisions for them. They were loyal to her. I admired her management
skills. Some of the men were massive, power lifters, though not too
heavy, they had to still look tall and fine in a business suit for her
fashion magazine.
I ate quietly. I was urged to eat. All eyes flitted to me,
away, then back again. Dessert was served. Cherry pie. I knew the
significance. And so did all the guests. I blushed as my piece was
served to me. I nibbled at it, popped a cherry in my mouth, could not eat
the rest.
"And in regards to your orientation," Laurie said at last,
clearing her throat a little before she began. She looked directly at me.
I gazed back, then had to lower my eyes. I could not hold her. They
blazed like the sun. Gypsy eyes, with dark fire, as if from some deep
shadowland fueled by volcanoes. "Permit me to be explicit, if you will,"
Laurie said to the host, who smiled back at her. Explicitness was
permitted. "You, Laurie, do look at me when I'm speaking to you,
darling." I tried to raise my eyes, did a little. "You must be whipped
first. It is necessary. Nothing too severe. Your bottom must be warmed
for it. It will make it easier for you when it comes. It will make you
more receptive. And the male (she cleared her throat softly again) the
males will stem all the more eagerly to you, feeling your hot bottom
grinding up against them."
I sipped a sip of milk. I said nothing. "Let us have her
clothes off then," Laurie said. Two females rose, two who had sat on
either side of me. They urged me up from my chair. I flinched a little
as they pulled my clothes off me. There was not much ceremony about it.
Just pull up the blouse, unzip the skirt, unsnap the bra, and (alas!) down
with my panties. They took everything right off, cooing a little, perhaps
to make me feel better, perhaps because they liked my beauty, but they
were mostly workmanlike, quick, women with a job to do and doing it.
At last I stood like Venus, unclothed, my hair pretty. My new
girlfriends unpinned it so that it hung free. My tits wobbled on my
chest. My nipples were harder than I could ever remember them being. I
felt moist between my legs.
Laurie stood. She cast her eyes approvingly over my figure.
"You look like you're about to have a bath," she laughed. The men rose.
I saw their trousers, bulging, eager to spurt out their treasures. The
hostess rose. Laurie turned me. The rest of the female guests got up.
All were young, though not as young as myself. Laurie pointed ahead of me
and told me I must lead the way. "Go through that door, dear, and walk
gracefully, or I will switch you before we even arrive. Be on your best
behavior now, go!" I turned. I walked on my spiked heels, my hips
swaying. My glorious nude bottom cheeks rolled with my every step.
Beyond the door was a stone passage. We were in an old part of
town, an old house with mysteries. I tread down the passageway with
fearful footsteps. Behind me the others followed.
My bottom felt huge. I felt intense embarrassment at mooning
everyone with it. But then, that's what I was here for, wasn't it? My
bottom. My virgin anus. Now was the night I was truly to receive. A man
up me. All my life I'd wondered, waited. Now, within the hour, it was to
be done. All that remained now was for the preliminary whipping. I did
not like the thought of that. I reached back, unconsciously caressed my
bottom cheeks as I thought of it. 'Necessary,' she had called it. Was it
really? She said it would make the men even bigger. Did I want that? I
realized I had already chosen the GQ guys I thought would be biggest where
it counted. I felt chilly, even though I knew the stone hallway was not
cold.
There were steps at the end. I mounted them, carefully, unsteady
in my heels. Beyond the passage turned. And then curtains, a curtain of
beads that hung down. I passed within them. They tinkled. Ah, no!
A huge round dais waited. And atop it, almost as an
afterthought, a trestle. The bar betwixt its vertical supports was
padded. For the comfort of my tummy, no doubt. I wished I could sit my
bottom upon it. That's where I would need comforting.
The others entering, the tinkling of the beads announcing their
arrival behind me. I continued to gaze at the dais. There was a bucket
next to the trestle, I saw a sponge.
"We use it all the time," Laurie whispered to me. "Sometimes we
bathe the girl first, if she's fresh from the pool, or the beach, or hot
from the summer heat. But you are perfect, darling. Just mount the
steps." Her fingers grazed my arms, ran down my back, sought even lower
still. Flinching from her I approached the raised platform. I slurred my
feet up the steps, knowing I should pay much greater care to where I was
headed. I would not come down from this platform the same girl. I would
be hot, bothered, blubbering. I would most certainly need a bath then, at
least in my hindquarters. I turned at the top step, considering. My eyes
widened. Everyone was undressing.
"I-I don't want to," I said. A man laughed.
"You cannot back down," he replied.
"Be a good girl and go to the trestle like you're supposed to,"
the hostess said to me. I knew the implication of her words. I would go
in any event, dragged or willingly, but if dragged I would need more
'warming' on my ass before the men were put to me.
Stepping distinctly now, sure of each step that it would be my
very last, hoping God would take me up at every second, I approached the
bar. Yes, I had been good, hadn't I? I used to go to Christian Sunday
School. They said if you were good Jesus would make you disappear in the
days just before his Second Cuming. I said the word wrong in my mind,
felt immensely guilty. I needed Jesus now. Cum, Lord Jesus. Oops! I
knew I was doomed then. He would not zap me up to heaven, like in the
Late Great Planet Earth. He would leave me with all the wicked people. I
turned again, saw my captors were pleasantly naked now, all the important
parts displayed. Cocks, cunts, breasts. Some wore clothes still, jackets
or stockings or boots. But all showed what they had come to give.
Themselves. Their privates. And I was to inspire their evening of
pleasure with my virgin contribution.
I walked up to the bar. I spied a cane standing against a low
table on the dais. Atop the table were vials of oil, condoms, and a
pretty vase of flowers. I turned, walked to the flowers. Delicately I
sniffed them. They were lilies. For my (soon to be gone) purity.
"To the trestle, Melody!" Laurie called. She did not want me to
see what was in the drawer slung from the underside of the table. I felt
mischievous. I reached down, pulled it open.
Oh! My eyes nearly popped out of my head. There were AWFUL
things! Tit clamps! A speculum! A ball gag! A blood pressure cuff. A
needle! Beside the needle something labelled Solumedrol. An enema, more
anal suppositories, tubing, with a tag attached saying it was for a
person's pee hole!
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.