From roller666@aol.com Sat May 03 19:35:44 1997
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From: roller666@aol.com (ROLLER 666)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: rare dreamgirls 7
Date: 3 May 1997 23:35:44 GMT
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         I slammed the drawer.  I turned, frightened.  My GQ men advanced,
climbing the dais steps.  The females were gathered close.  
         "It is not all for you, dear, at least I hope it isn't," Laurie
reassured me, then turned and winked at the hostess with a laugh.
         Scared, but still willing, I turned to face the trestle.  I
pressed my upper thighs to the bar.  I bent forward, found a lower bar
beneath, gripped it momentarily, feeling the feel of my openness in back. 
Then I popped erect again, lest I be restrained that way.  I turned.  I
pushed my bottom up against the comforting leather.
         "I don't think I want to go through with this anymore," I
breathed.  My eyes were frightened rabbit's eyes.  With my every pulsebeat
my resolution not to continue grew.
         "It is too late, darling," the hostess said.  She and two men
came up to me, spun me about again.  I squawked as they pressed me down. 
"It is time, dear, you cannot delay it any longer," Laurie said somewhere
behind me.  Roughly she parted my thighs.  I felt loops of leather attach
themselves to my ankles.  
         Someone missed his cue, for I wriggled and found myself suddenly
upright again.  My ankles were bound, my legs three feet apart or more,
but the rest of me had got free of them.  The two men looked startled,
recovered, laughed at their mistake.  Each had deferred to the other in
tying down my wrists, both had missed a beat and lost his hold on me. 
Perhaps each was hoping the other would tie me while he prepared to be the
first to get up my ass.  Let the other tie her, I will fuck her!  Yes,
that was it.  The hostess had long since let go, thinking to leave the
matter to the men.
         I stood there a moment, unmolested.  They realized I couldn't go
anywhere.  My tits heavy on my chest, my legs apart beneath my rolling,
flexing bottom cheeks, I gazed behind myself.  All was being made ready. 
A line of GQ men stood with cocks displayed.  Laurie was passing in front
of them, greasing and oiling each man's shaft for the job ahead.  A female
rolled out a rack of punishment implements from some hidden closet. 
Whips, crops, paddles, unimaginable in their variety and ingenuity.  Some
had holes, others not, still others had awful-looking brass studs on them.
 My white bottom gleamed, the target of whichever or however many of those
horrid things they wished to spank me with.
         "Over, darling," the hostess said to me.  She put her hand to the
back of my head.  I felt her bend me again, felt my upward-yielding bottom
cheeks disclose their inner secrets, felt my pouch displayed in its soft
furrowness to all who stood behind me.
         Gourd-like my tits hung again.  She pulled my wrists down, bound
them tightly with leather and affixed them with loops of leather to the
bar below.
         I coughed a little cough.  I felt cool air upon my hiney.  I
wanted to cry but didn't have the willpower to do it.  Soon they would
help me in that department, I feared.

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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.