Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
No. 115    alt.sex.stories  

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

Chapter Two
   
	Meanwhile, behind us, the senator announced, "Men, present cocks!"  The men stood stiffly at attention as best they could, given the fire engulfing their randy penises.  The senator strode about them.  He ordered them to drop their pants.  I sighed as I saw their haunches come into view.  Mandy looked also, gave a little breathy gasp.  Ceaselessly the men flexed their buns, so terrible was the fire burning along their shafts.  It was a sight to behold, such muscular butts, all ready for service.  Gallantly the men thrust their lances at the senator.  
	ÒDo you wish to impale me?!Ó the senator cried.
	ÒNo, sir!Ó the boys answered, and I knew they were utterly truthful.  Yet the sizzling of their cocks left them no choice but to repeatedly urge their members upon him.      
	Mandy and I returned our gaze to our mistress.  We cooed appreciatively as we applied the awful oil to her, knowing what it would do to her.  We tweaked her nipples and complimented her figure.  Like fish on a dock Mandy and I wriggled with our own need, perpetually burning, our own nipples and clitties afire with the same oil she now so bravely received.  For her part she ran her fingers through our luxuriant manes.  She did not feel the oilÕs sting yet, only its slick wetness.  She was calm, Queen Antoinette before the guillotineÕs fall.  I was told I was wonderfully blonde, and Mandy that she was the perfect brunette.  Indeed we suffered not a bit in comparison to our mistress, for although younger and skinnier, still growing, we already had a charm that surpassed our years.  And our boobs were glorious, such as any full grown woman would envy, though our mistress, being older, had bigger ones.
	"Will mine be as big as yours someday?" I asked mischievously of mistress.  As I said it my mind thought of some little boy, perhaps my lover in younger years, addressing the senator about his cock.  Surely that must have been my motive, to speak in fact of what was going on between the men.  My tits were not all that much smaller than mistresses'.  She sensed my true intent.
	"Big enough to squish a nice sized cock between them," Mistress answered.  Mandy and I giggled.  Behind us the senator ordered the men to play with themselves.
	"You must remain hard for the night's festivities," he said, "Which I'm sure you can do but I'll take no chances.  True soldiers keep their weapons presentable at all times, ready for duty.  Polish them up, boys!"
	"Yes sir," the men mumbled.  They clapped their hands to their cocks and rubbed them.  The senator made them repeat their answer, and repeat it again, until they shouted it lustily.  Mandy and I glanced at each other, a little worried.  The men were getting ready for battle!  
	Meanwhile Mandy and I had moved to mistresses' clitty.  She swooned.  Her nipples felt raw, burny.  Below, between her tender thighs, our hands were causing her to feel the first pangs of the ointment there.  
	"Hurry up, girls!" the senator shouted.  "These men cannot be kept waiting forever."  We finished up.  We left mistress in agony.  She stood sleeking her hands down her thighs and bucking her hips.  She dared not touch herself without the senator's express command.  I did not touch myself either, though I longed to do so, as did Mandy.
	It was then that the senator showed himself to be a true connoisseur of perversion.  Mandy and I resumed our posts at our lover's cocks.  We touched them uncertainly.  I looked at the general.  Was this it?  Was I to get down on all fours now, was the act to be consummated?  He smiled, sensed that I wanted the night prolonged.  Actually, I simply dreaded the loss of my virginity, though I desired it now, hotly.  But in my mind I teetered, Jiminy Cricket on one side, nature on the other, supplemented by the oil.  The senator grinned at Mandy and I.  He bade us desist.  We let go of the men.  They would have to wait.  I glanced at them.  Haggardly they stared back.  
	ÒSuch eager boys, arenÕt they?Ó the senator asked me.
	ÒIÕm sure they can hold on a little longer,Ó I replied.  My voice was sassy.  ÒSurely they are picked troops?Ó
	ÒPicked on,Ó one of the men groaned.
	ÒSilence, men!Ó the senator shouted.  Then, with gentle hands, he took out a key and unshackled us.  Mandy and I felt like little children as he got the iron cuffs off our wrists, our ankles.  Grandfather helping us down from a pony, or out of our snow boots.  Stepping from the irons I brushed my hair from my eyes.  My belly felt suddenly empty, despite my dinner.  Did I want the shackles?  I did not know.  Delicately I drew my toes from them.  They lay like broken promises on the floor.  I stretched, trying to enjoy my newfound freedom.
	ÒBe good, now, or I will replace those with little shackles...on your nipples,Ó the senator told me.  I nodded.  My eyes were wide.    
	The senator beckoned mistress from where she stood, dancing like a snake, cherishing her torment.  Her sexual parts were afire.  She could think of nothing else.  None of us could.  We were just our nipples, our clits.  The men were reduced to their penises.  All thoughts amongst us four naked jaybirds centered entirely on our ÒprivateÓ parts.  But the senator had more games in mind.	
	He had mistress call on the phone for a servant.  It turned out to be a middle-aged woman.  I felt terribly embarrassed when she opened the bedroom door.  Here I was, buck naked, oiled, and obviously aroused, a love slave in attendance on Senator Exon.  But the womanÕs eyes passed over me as smoothly as those of a librarian, monitoring properly behaved children busy with homework.  She had seen girls like me before.  We came, we left.  The senator stayed, or flew back to Washington perhaps, only to return for a new round of parties.  And girls.  The senator ordered the woman to bring furs.  The servant must have known what he meant, for I certainly did not.
	A rack of clothing was wheeled in by the woman a few minutes later.  Senator Exon ordered us to dress.  I thought at first, with a kind of sinking relief, that we all must be going home.  My clit was on fire.  Although I would accept an offer to leave, I knew my body didn't want to.  
	The clothing brought for us was all made of soft animal skins, trimmed with fur.  Mistress smiled, realizing the senatorÕs plans.  I guessed they did not involve chastity.  She was not a woman who favored leaving cocks stiff and unspent, though she might play with them awhile, testing their virility.  And, I thought, she was not one to leave frisky girls unhappy either.  So it was with a sense of deep, awed curiosity that I obeyed the senatorÕs orders to dress.  Mandy too was cowed, tantalized.  We tugged on fur boots that came halfway up our thighs, and long-sleeved fur jackets.  But the jackets could only be buttoned over our tummies, leaving our titties sticking lewdly out, bare as ever.  And while the jackets cinched themselves tightly about our waists when closed, almost like corsets, they left our bottoms and pussies totally exposed.  They were too short to cover us where it counted, down below, and too meagre to contain our breasts.  What good were these jackets, I wondered?  At least mine kept my back warm.  But I had long hair.  I wasnÕt worried about my back.  My bare bottom, though, could have used some warmth, or at least some protection.
	Little fur caps and earmuffs completed our ensemble.  There was nothing more to put on.  No skirts, no panties, no bras.  The men put on leather boots and leather jackets, after first removing their shirts and ties.  They too were left with bottoms bare and loins fully exposed.  Finally they put on earmuffs.  The senator said we were going outside then, "to enjoy the air," and brought a riding crop with him.  
	Ah, how crisp and delicious the air outside was, though my bottom instantly got goose pimples.  We drew in long breaths, exhaled them. 
	ÒLook, IÕm smoking!Ó Mandy cried, delighted.  She tried to make smoke rings with her lips.  Mistress bent and made a snowball and tossed it at the senator.  He ordered us to form up then, just as we'd been inside, except mistress took my place.  The two soldier-boys faced off against Mandy and mistress.  Across a space of a few inches the two genders stared at each other, the boys rudely sticking their cocks out, the girls admiring, their pussies hungry, not minding the display.
	Senator Exon drew me aside and gave me four black blindfolds.  He told me to bind them over the eyes of our friends.  Mistress, meanwhile, produced the bottle of horrid ointment from a pocket in her jacket.  It had not been left inside, alas.  She said to the men that they must have yet another coating.  The men flinched at this, but Senator Exon ordered them to behave.  Mandy, cupping her hands, received her share of the oil from mistress.  Together they began once more to lave the prized members with the insufferable ointment.  
	I set about blindfolding the four as soon as mistress and Mandy were busy applying the lotion.  They did not need their eyes anymore.  They could feel where the menÕs cocks were.  When I'd finished, Senator Exon handed me his riding crop.
	"While their loins are warm, especially the menÕs, their bottoms are cold.  Apply a little heat to them,Ó he said solicitously of our friends.  ÒBut don't hit them in any regular order.  Let them be surprised."  I smiled.  How wicked of him!  With trembling hands I took the crop, not really wanting it, yet mesmerized at the thought of hitting the men right on their butts, their lovely butts, even as mistress and Mandy tormented their throbbing, aching cocks.  And, of course, mistress and Mandy must not be spared, the senator assured me, for their burning nipples and clits must enjoy the complimentary warmth of the crop as well.  
	With a determined look on my face I set about sizing up my intended targets.  I felt a sense of newfound power.  I was a child with a brand new squirt gun, eyeing my older sisters.  Mistress' bottom was full and firm, a juicy target indeed.  She wiggled it slightly in anticipation, yet I knew she must dread it as much as she wanted it.  Ah, little Mandy, how I yearned to sting her ass, so trim and saucy, just like my own.  How dare she compete with me for the attention of the men, flaunting her ass all about.  No doubt she hoped to lure both men's big cocks up her fore and aft, leaving me with nothing.  My mind made up allegations, just to punish them.  I did not need proof.  I had the crop.  They had only their naked bottoms.  It was then I drew back the crop and struck, but found I'd hit only very lightly, for I was totally new to this game.
	"Harder," the senator said.  "Or I shall put you in mistress' place and have her hit you doubly hard."  With this encouragement, as it were, I assumed a more serious demeanor.  Certainly I didn't want any more stripes on my bottom than I'd already had earlier this evening.  Poor Mandy, she must be made to suffer once more.  I drew back the crop, stood poised for a moment, my breasts displayed to the senator's watchful eye, heaving their heaviness as I fearfully let my breath out, drew it in.
	WHACK!  Mandy squealed, gyrated her hips helplessly.  A bright red streak appeared across her pretty ass.
	"Very good," the senator said, even as the blindfolded Mandy wailed out a protest.
	"Oooh!  Not so hard, please!"  I left her then, my heart beating hard as I contemplated doing the same to the gorgeous haunches of the men.  To see them work their hips under the searing pain I would inflict, just the thought made me flush.  I felt warm, yet I was outside in freezing snow.
	The morningÕs blizzard had stopped, leaving only a few flakes to occasionally drift down.  The moon caught them as they drifted.  They settled on our exposed skin, providing a moment's relief to those areas  so wickedly heated.  Not just by my crop, but by the dastardly oil too.  The men prayed for snow to settle on their cocks, but the girls rubbed just as quickly, eager to cool their hands.  I felt a snowflake fall on my nipple.  I savored it.  It was cool, icy.  Welcome relief.  I wanted to dive into the snow, grab handfuls of it and shove it up my twat.  But I was well-behaved.  We were all well-behaved.  And well punished, too.  The senator played our bodies like harp strings, never touching us.  Only words, only words.  Yet we obeyed him, doing horrid things to each other.  Would he have forced us to?  Would he have punished us with the crop himself, if weÕd refused?  I did not know.  I was having too much fun with my riding crop!
	I strutted from person to person, lifting my boots high, dealing out sizzling blows with my crop.  Angie Dickinson had nothing on me.  Linda Hamilton, Signourney Weaver, all amateurs.  I was Miss Bitch, the Ice Princess, and these were my shuddering slaves.  Beautiful, trembling, all nude for me where it mattered, suffering royally.  I gave each one of them something to think about, something to remember me by.  I prayed none of them would have the opportunity to repay me.  The senator surveyed all, bidding me to hit harder when my stroke faltered.  I obeyed as faithfully as I could.  I did not want to be made to stand in mistress' place.  Her bottom began to take on the appearance of a road map, though few of the stripes were more than pinkish lines, soon to fade.
	In their extremity the two couples began to kiss.  The women worked the men harder as their mouths joined with them and meshed.  I wondered if I was but spurring them, complimenting their ardor.  Certainly, though I might be flaying them alive in my mind, I was too weak-wristed to give them absolute punishment.  Instead they were just getting what they wanted, needed.  Cold...heat...an extra Ôkick in the pantsÕ to startle them to peaks of arousal.  Blindfolded, only able to grope, their senses were heightened further.  Only the girls could touch.  The men had to stand stiffly, though they bent to kiss, but nothing more.  The senator warned the men that they were on duty.  Like White House Marines, they could not turn, or reach out.  They were ornamental only.  They must endure the teasing of the females.  Little girls asking curious questions, prodding perhaps, poking.  Unzipping a zipper.  Did Chelsea ever unzip a marine?  ÒExcuse me, sir, but your fly is up.Ó  Would that break his concentration?  His single-minded devotion to duty?  ÒExcuse me, sir, but when do you pee?  No matter, IÕll help you.  Just let me get your thing out.  You can pee in my purse, no one will notice.  Your commander will think you have an excellent bladder.  HeÕll give you another medal.Ó 
	I admired the four of them.  Trembling, they skittered from peak to peak of passion, always so close, the men closer, but the women not too far away, though they lacked the tactile attention the men got.  I know the men would gladly have traded places.  But it is the manÕs lot to be teased sometimes.  So strong, you men are, well now you can prove it.  But the females, flexing their thighs, endured their own private agony.  They wished to be fucked, had the means in their hands, yet the senator would not let them.  Not yet.  They must play the game out, and they wished to.  Little Mandy, virginal, unsure.  And mistress, loving every second of the awful game.  She could find no other like it, I guessed.  The senator was a master at it.  He held us captive.  We obeyed his commands.  We were among strangers, each of us, the men nameless, we girls only known by our first names.  All our most precious, most private parts were exposed to pillage, to plunder.  There was the tenseness of the unknown.  It hung in the air like the northern lights.  The senator had threatened to Bobbittize the men.  Mandy and I had been shackled.  I gazed at them, their skin white, bared to me.  Their silly costumes covered nothing.  They were kept warm enough, I suppose, but how ridiculously!  To wear clothes that left your bottom bare?  What sort of attire was that?  With schoolmarmish indignity I swept the crop in again, slashing their reddened bottoms, loving their squirming response.  The black night enclosed us.  Snow-filtered moonlight made our skin glow.

D R E A M G I R L S  L E T T E R S

Dear holy joe,

	I have to submit a writing sample to my law school.  What should I say? - Dazed in D.C.

	Dear Dazed in D.C. - The key word here is Òsubmit.Ó  YouÕve got to write something they will like.  DonÕt tell them you want to make lots of money putting O.J. back on the street.  Tell them you want to be a prosecutor.  HereÕs what I told my law school:       

	I am interested in a legal career because I want to be a prosecutor.  Every night as a child I watched AmericaÕs Most Wanted.  It quickly became obvious to me that America is overrun with criminals.  Something must be done.  AmericaÕs justice system isnÕt working.  In my opinion, this is the fault of AmericaÕs prosecutors.  They are not vigorous enough.  They are not properly trained.  This is why I chose to attend one of AmericaÕs top legal academies, Swinger Law School.
	And it is why I intend to go Òwhere no prosecutor has gone before.Ó  I intend to be a super prosecutor.  Already I have purchased a red cape, and taken to wearing it to all my law school classes.  Next week I will begin attending in my red underpants.  I figure, when criminals see me walking through the hallowed doors of Swinger Law School, dressed in my cape and underpants, they will say, ÒThere goes one of AmericaÕs highly trained, super prosecutors of the future.  We better quit this crime business before he gets his degree!Ó
	Yes, it is important to Dress for Success.  ÒDress the Part,Ó my beloved Law School Dean always reminds me.  I have also purchased red boots.  I got them at a bondage store.  They are bright red, and match my cape and underpants perfectly.  In addition, I have purchased bright red gloves.  These are to keep my hands from getting dirty when I am out fighting crime.  I must always go to the court with clean hands, as the law says, and if I never take my gloves off, wearing them even in the bathroom, it will be impossible for my hands to ever be dirty.
	However, there are some obstacles that I must overcome before I can be AmericaÕs first Super Prosecutor.  One of them is that I tend to pass a lot of gas.  I am told that it is difficult to get a jury to pay attention to what you are saying if you are passing a lot of gas in front of them.  Also, currently, I am addicted to masturbating.  Presently I am unemployed, so I can stay home and masturbate all day, except when I am attending my law classes.  (In which case I do it surreptitiously, under the table.)  But what about when I must stand before a judge, in a courtroom?  Will a woman judge mind if I jerk off in front of her while I am addressing the court?  I hope not.  As I see it, I am handicapped.  Maybe, just like they have handicapped toilet stalls, they can have a handicapped Òprosecutor stall.Ó  This will be for the handicapped prosecutor, like me, who needs to masturbate while he is addressing the court.
	I am confident that, despite my disabilities, I can successfully handle the legal curriculum at Swinger Law School.       

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