Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 112    alt.sex.stories  

D R E A M G I R L S  S T O R I E S
Love Child
Part Five
by Andrew Roller

Chapter Two

	Today I'd awoken to a fierce snowstorm.  There would not be any skiing today.  We'd all huddled at breakfast, more guests than usual present for the morning meal.  Usually we did our daytime things in little groups, even the skiing, gathering all together only for the evening banquet and the party afterwards.  But this morning we sat gloomily as the wind whipped round the building, keening and screeching and trying to reach through to us.  Snow splattered the big picture window in the dining room.  It drifted up against the pane, rising steadily.  Icicles drooped from the top of the window, outside, growing by the minute, it seemed, intent on mating with the snowbank beneath.
	The general had appeared, and proposed a day of indoor games.  We'd all thought this a great idea.  Then someone, a woman no less, suggested that the contestants compete as the ancient Greeks did in sports, without clothes on.  The general said he'd see if the heat could be brought up enough to allow this.  Sure enough, it was soon reported by a butler that it could be.  And that's how I wound up bare-assed, booted, and gloved in a big room with a roaring fire.
	A mature woman, about 40, with blazing red hair, strode out from the group of spectators milling around the general's throne.  I recognized her as the woman whoÕd greeted us on our arrival, three days ago.  In her hand she carried a trio of birch rods, bound together with a black bow.  You would have thought she was a very attractive secretary on her way to work, the way she was dressed.  Perhaps sheÕd cut the birch branches for a decorative item, one might muse, to spruce up the office.  
	A blouse was stretched taut over the redheadÕs generous breasts.  An open vest complimented the blouse, as did a scarf tied fetchingly round her neck.  She wore a daringly short skirt and high heels.  Yes, she was just a very sexy secretary, one might assume, riding to work next to you on the morning train, or passing you on the sidewalk on her way to work.  Admittedly, there were a few signs that something might be amiss:  the height of her skirt, the length of her heels, the way her breasts moved freely beneath her blouse.  Yet, perhaps, she merely worked for a permissive boss, an admiring male might assume, hoping one day to secure a treasure like that himself.  Then I spied the short, slender whip stuck through her dress' slim belt.  No secretary of any firm would be allowed this accessory.  And, sure enough, no sooner did the woman lay down her birch on a chair than she cast off her vest and, shockingly, ripped open her blouse.  She told us her name was Janet just before unleashing her boobs.  Then, tits bouncing, firm and high as those of any 20-year-old, she said, "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
	I gulped.  I felt flocks of stiff-winged butterflies take off in my tummy.  I was stark naked before this woman, my blonde muff freely displayed, itself no more or less special than the furred dells of all the other females present.  My boobs jiggled with my nervousness.  I tried to still them, tried to take slow, easy breaths.  My nipples perked upon my breasts like tiny Eiffel towers, red and stiff.
	Janet glowered at each of us for a moment, ranging her eyes over the line-up of nude, booted females that stood before her.  Then she matter-of-factly instructed us to kneel.  I got down on all fours, anxious and shivering.  Janet was one hell of a no-nonsense woman!  I couldn't figure out whether I was trembling from the sexual thrill of being naked, or of some arousal related to Janet herself.  Or, perhaps, the room was simply a bit too chilly.  Of course.  That was it.  I could hear the wind whistling in the rafters, let in through little chinks in the walls where the joints had separated.  My long hair hung down over my eyes, hiding me.  I would hide within it.     
	Through my locks, I glanced over at Kimber.  She smiled back at me.  She was confident, demure, bare as myself and kneeling beside me, a horsey just like me.  She gave her lovely ass a quick waggle.  
	Janet came along the line of kneeling girls and stuck a silver spoon into each of our mouths, the handle between our lips.  It felt like a long, thin dick in my mouth, this silver handle, and I sucked on it, thinking of my college men that IÕd partied with on the previous nights.  Where were they now?  I did not see them.  Perhaps they were watching me.  I cast my head about, gazing at the faces that gazed at me, that gazed at the other girls.  Some of the eyes were open in their admiration, others more clinical, doctors observing deviant behavior, perhaps, or cynical, Òbeen there, done that,Ó eyes.  Who cares what happens to those females, anyway?  TheyÕre just meat.  Meat in the slaughterhouse, their cunnies tingling, their boobies swaying, waiting to be slain and fucked by the general.  They would barbecue me afterward, and eat me at dinner.  ÒWould you like a leg or a breast?Ó  I could see myself, carried between mighty guards to the spit over the fire, tied to it and turned, roasted, given an indoor suntan until I was crispy, golden brown.
	Janet deftly placed a ripe lemon in my spoon.  She favored each of the other girls with the same fruit, weighing down our spoons as if with heavy weights of testicles, though I could still keep my spoon up properly.  ÒChin up, old girl,Ó Admiral Halsey might say.  ÒChin up.Ó  I shook my hair from my eyes to better see the long expanse of carpeting stretching away from me.  
	Janet told us we must crawl as fast as we could to the other end of the room, where we must each tip our lemon into a bucket.  Each of us had our own special bucket, I saw; mine was waiting all the way at the other end of the room, ranged in a line with the buckets of the other girls. 
	ÒDrop your spoon outside your bucket.Ó Janet instructed us.  Simple enough, I thought.  The lemon in the bucket, the spoon outside.  ÒAnd,Ó Janet continued, as if instructing children in a recess game at school, ÒGive a blow job to the man waiting for you at the other end.Ó  A gasp went up from the girls at this.  Sure enough, a line of men began arranging themselves at the far end of the room and stripping totally naked.  Soon I was witness to the spectacle of a dozen wangling schlongs swinging lazily or, in some cases, standing stiffly at the other end.  It was like a sausage factory!  And I was the official sausage taster, at least for the man assigned to me!  A big blonde hunk, fresh from surfing along the coast from the looks of his tan, spread his stance out at the far end of the room from me.  He was at least six feet in height, with a dong to match.  He stood casually, as if a lifeguard, patrolling the beach for drowning girls.  I imagined his radio playing somewhere in the background, grinding out hit after hit as he whiled away the hours of his duty.  Well, I would be drowning soon enough on his sperm if the game were to go as planned!  His balls were huge!  His dick stood out at attention, a soldier on stiff duty, even if his shoulders and biceps had a relaxed, ÔwhatÕs happeninÕ look to them.
	ÒYou may NOT use your hands,Ó Janet admonished us.  ÒFor that would take all the fun out of it, wouldnÕt it?  Just your mouths girls, such pretty mouths...Ó  Her voice trailed off momentarily.  A woman, naked and beautiful as Janet, came down the line and touched up our lips with lipstick.  She asked which color I preferred, I chose to keep my gloss, she matched it to a stick she had and brightened my lips with it.  Kimber smiled sexily at me.  Her lips were a delicious red.  They would mark a manÕs cock soon, ring him just as the scar from his circumcision did, right around the shaft, a memento of her services (perhaps her winning services?) upon him.  
	The blow job, Janet explained, actually served a wonderful purpose.  Each of us had to suck for thirty seconds on our partner's penis, at the other end of the room.  If I could make my hunk cum in those 30 seconds, he would have to take my place!  Otherwise he would replace the spoon and lemon in my lips after 30 seconds and send me scampering back across the room.  There a second man would now be waiting, and I must perform orally on him too.
	Instinctively, I turned and looked behind me.  I think all of us did.  There, waiting behind me with my tushy lofted up to him, was a man!  He was some distance back, as if in deference to the fact that our game together had yet to begin.  There was a man for each girl.  Mine was a tall, darkhaired guy.  He looked like a student from law school, too long behind the books, a little skinny, a little pale.  But he had broad shoulders and a penis throbbing with desire.  His eyes met mine.  He seemed awestruck.  I smiled sweetly back at him, liking him despite his obvious eagerness, perhaps because of it.  Yes, I will suck your cock, you libraryboy, fresh from your studies.  DonÕt worry, IÕm experienced, IÕve sucked cock every night for three nights now, and the night before that too, at a special party, a ÒcomingÓ party, where I had my coming out.  You will be between expert lips, sir, I assure you.
	Janet continued her lewd explanations, a dozen men before us, a dozen more behind, their cocks fully bared and waiting for our attention.  We were like racehorses, all lined up and ready to go, but with boobies hanging down, cows perhaps, but sleek and firm, with only our udder-like titties likening us to milk-producing heifers.  Back and forth I would go between my two men until one of them finally ejaculated.  Having lost his load, he would have to take my place.  The first girl to get herself excused from the race this way would be declared the winner, the last girl the loser.  (And, Janet told us, a special series of punishments awaited the losing girl, at the hands of the general himself.)
	"A small incentive," Janet smiled, "to keep your bottoms rushing right along."  We giggled, nervously, I at least not knowing quite what to make of the awful fate promised to the losing filly.  I was here, though, in the room.  I had chosen to participate.  I flicked my hair from my eyes and glanced at the general.  He saw me, staring at him through my veil of blondness.  He grinned.  I quickly looked away.  I needed a cowbell, that was all, to be his complete pet, his chattel.  I would scurry along the rug with the other girls, my cowbell clanging, my big nippled boobs swaying beneath me, heavy with arousal.  His men would pump me until I brimmed with their milk.  Nine months later I would bear for him, and he would suck at my teats until they hurt.  ÒFresh milk for breakfast, from our special cow,Ó he would announce to his guests.  They would celebrate.  I would lie on fresh straw in the barn, cared for, attended to, mooing for my lover, a bit in my mouth, properly shoed with fresh leather boots and kid gloves.  He would come to me at night and give me my evening fuck, to keep me healthy and with child.  I would have all his children, each healthy and bouncy.  My breasts would squirt out milk until I was old and grey and they had to send for the doctor to give me a hysterectomy.
	Janet fastened a broad leather belt around each of our waists.  I felt her hot breath on my hiney as she did me.  So kinky, yet so real, so perfectly in accord with my daydreams.  Janet told me I had a sweet bottom and she looked forward to seeing it in action.  I glanced down my smooth belly at my newly acquired Ôclothing,Õ so little, yet so significant.  Before IÕd been as slick and free as an otter, my boots and gloves my only clothing; now I had a halter, something a man (the general, perhaps?) could grab on to.  Big brass loops hung from my belt.  I glanced about, saw the other girls were similarly encumbered.  I wondered what the belts, the loops, were for, asked Kimber.
	"Chains," she replied casually, sexily.  Apparently someone had clued her in on what the general had in mind.  Or perhaps she had asked him herself.  Boldly, freely, sure of her allure, her hold on him, perhaps she had asked him, at breakfast, maybe.  ÒWhat game shall we play, general?Ó  ÒOh, I will chain you, I think, bind you with a belt and chain you up in it.Ó  ÒIf it pleases you, general,Ó she might reply, with a bat of her eyelashes that warned him he might find her too appealing.  Her beauty would overpower him.  He would spurt, lose his virility, sign away his lands and his life to her.  ÒHalf my kingdom for one such as you, my dear!  And every drop of sperm I can ever from henceforth produce!Ó  ÒOf course, sir, I hope youÕre up to it.  If not, I might have to replace you with the stable boy, such a fine young king he would make in your place, with his balls swinging and bouncing with his every step, off to the woodpile to cut us wood...I will rendezvous with him there and he will bear my children, he will wear your crown.Ó  
	I wished to be like Kimber.  I would wrap men around my fingers like colored ribbons, putting them on, loosing them, wearing them always, or only sometimes.  I was a little like her now, wasnÕt I?  I could claim a little credit, couldnÕt I?  Playing nighttime games with my secret college boyfriends, my two male sperm-men, making them cum in my mouth, sucking and squeezing them dry.  Yes, I had risen up a little, after all.  I was still sweetly virgin but I knew now how to please a man, how to make him beg.  I felt wicked.  My heinie wiggled an invitation to whomever might be behind me to see.  Come, student boy, loose yourself in me and take my place in the race.  Spare me from whatever naughtiness they had in mind and serve valiantly in my stead, my white knight, down on your knees.  Would he have to suck the blonde surfer dude if I was excused?  The thought revolted, excited me.    
	Janet clipped steel manacles to each of our wrists.  More attire, but only just to imprison us, to make our nudity all the more apparent.  A loose chain ran between the pair of manacles, connecting them.  I wanted to protest but couldn't find the courage to.  After all, the same was being done to all the other girl contestants.  Manacles were put around my thighs then, right above the knees, with a loose chain connecting them also.  Finally a chain was run from one manacle on one of my knees, to the other manacle on my other knee, but through the brass loop hanging down from my belt on the way from my one knee to my other knee.  The purpose of this, I learned, was to keep any of us from standing up.  Still kneeling, I tried erecting my back and found that I'd only got partway up when the chain running from knee to knee, through my belt, became taut.
	I had to admit to myself that the general was possessed of quite an imagination.  Naked games were as common among couples and lovers as sex itself.  Even a virgin like me knew that.  But chains?  Manacles?  Lemons?  Surely not everyone played games like this.  I found myself wondering, in a serious way, what sort of punishments the general had in mind for the losing girl.  Certainly if I lost, there was no escape now.  I was chained to myself, unable to stand.  I could not count on my fleet feet to carry me away, as they had from boys at school.  If the general wanted me, he would have me.  In my spiked boots, belted, weighed down with manacles, I could do little more than show off my naked bottom to him.  
	Janet's languid, slow shackling of us had one final effect, no doubt intended by the general.  We were all beginning to have to go to the bathroom.  He'd urged us to drink a lot at breakfast, orange juice in particular, which he shipped in fresh-squeezed from the lower elevations, the little villages which dotted the foothills of the great Andean range atop which we were now cavorting.  I'd unthinkingly heeded his call to benefit my health, downing several glassfuls of juice.  Now my bladder was full, and I couldn't even stand up!  A girl, no doubt less prone to embarrassment than the rest of us (or having to go even worse), asked if she could be let up to pee.  Janet replied that as soon as she'd freed herself from the race (according to the rules, with a man replacing her), she could pee.  But not before then.  It was another incentive to fire up our tushies...and our tongues, to make us really RACE across the carpeted floor.  My bladder tingling,  I found myself wishing I knew more about how to give a man a really good blow job.  A professional blow job.  I turned to Kimber.  She rimmed her lips with her tongue.  
	ÒYouÕve been practicing, havenÕt you?Ó Kimberly asked me.
	ÒNot enough,Ó I replied, blushing.  She knew my secrets.  It was hard to keep a secret in a place where everyone specialized in getting naked.  
	Janet strolled behind us, inspecting her handiwork, as we waited tensely for the race to begin (and end!)  She gave each of our bottoms a teasing flick with her pony lash.  I flinched as she saluted my heinie.  She openly admired it by saying aloud that she thought it the prettiest in the room.  Except, she called me ÒLisa,Ó instead of ÒBarbi.Ó  She didnÕt even know my name, yet already sheÕd gotten an intimate look at my fundament.  Below it my cunny pouted, waiting for Mr. Right to shove his lance in and undo me once and for all.  
	The general asked us if we were ready.  We nodded, growing more desperate each minute for the race to begin, our bladders complaining inside us.  I shifted my hips back and forth with my need, uncaring now of the rudeness of my display, wishing I'd never agreed to participate in this silly sport.
	And then the starting gun went off, fired by the general.  At once I leapt forward, kneeing my way frantically across the carpet, the other girls neck and neck with me.  With clenched teeth I hung on for dear life to the lemon perched in my spoon.  Janet ranged along behind us, birch rod at the ready, to admonish any girl who spilled her fruit.  Volleys of whipped cream streamed into the air as we crossed the middle of the room.  The shock of this unexpected tribute nearly lost me my lemon.  Spectators on either side of the race course, I saw, were firing randomly up at the rafters, letting the shooting cream settle where it may upon us scuttling girls.  Cream landed on my back, leaving a white trail across it.  
	On I raced, eyeing now the man who waited for me.  His cock was stiff as a pole and shockingly large.  I wondered if I could even fit it in my mouth!  This again nearly lost me my lemon.  A girl somewhere behind me squealed as Janet fustigated her for dropping her fruit.  
	Kimber beat me to her man and neatly tipped her lemon into an iced bucket, then spat out her spoon.  Rising up, like a stallion rearing, she grabbed her paramour's penis with her mouth.  It was one of my college boyfriends, one of the two IÕd played with just last night!  Immediately she began bobbing her head upon his shaft, swallowing him deeply, sucking ferociously, possessively.  She would have his seed tonight, not me.  Did he like her better?  He looked at me, grinned a twisted, crooked grin.  His eyes seemed to challenge me to do better.  Or to say, Ôbegone, little girl, I have a REAL woman now.Õ  I looked again at Kimber.  So perfect, so self-possessed, obedient to him yet undeniably in control of his most precious possession.  One bite would seriously impair his future performance.  I felt vengeance, wanted to claw her, but could not.  She was a goddess, my idol.  Her lovely blonde hair streamed out behind her, swaying and loose.  Her breasts jiggled heavily.  The nipples at their tips were like thorns, as dangerous as the teeth she used to lightly graze his cock, tease him with her power.
	A bee stung my bottom.  I bucked.
	ÒLisa!Ó Janet yelled.  She was right behind me.  She did not know my name, only my figure, my lips, my bottom.  A tear welled in my eye.  I tried to rub away the sting of her pony lash, found my chains prevented it.  ÒThis is not a spectator sport for you dear,Ó Janet said.  ÒPerhaps when you are older,Ó she added thoughtfully.  ÒNow SUCK COCK!Ó  She gave my ass another nip, more lightly, as if admiring my bottom too much to strike it as deeply as she might.  She was in awe of my ass, I realized.  I lived in a crazy upside-down world now, more wild than any wonderland Alice had ever slipped into. 

D R E A M G I R L S  N E W S

AMERICA:  A CULTURE OF DEPRAVITY
(If youÕre a pagan)

	ÒThere are 2,500 Christian bookshops, a 750,000,000 million-dollar Christian music industry and 163 Christian television stations, as well as a 24-hour Christian music-video channel, Christian sites on the Internet and Christian CD-ROMS.  And Christian clothing catalogues, Christian kitchenware, Christian low-impact aerobic programmes, and Christian bumper-stickers.Ó - The Economist, August 19th, 1995.

Free Naughty Naked Dreamgirls e-mail subscriptions:  send (18 or up) age statement to:  roller666@aol.com  Free back issues:  send e-mail to nnd.inf@backdrop.com  Free minicomics:  send a stamped, self-addressed envelope & age statement to:  Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868 U.S.A.  Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 1995 and a trademark of Andrew Roller.  Chat:  alt.sex.stories.d    END OF 112 EMISSION