Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 117    alt.sex.stories  

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

Chapter Three

	After "opening night" at the generalÕs, as mistress now gaily referred to it, Mandy and I had spent the night cuddled in her arms.  I'd lain beside her, pressed up against her glorious figure, sucking my thumb like the spoiled little baby she wanted me to be.  Next morning she'd gotten us up, bathed us, and dressed us in bikinis and fur coats.  
	"Would you like to go on an adventure?" she'd asked us.  There was a note of breathlessness in her voice.  She herself drew on blue jeans, a thin blouse, a thick fur coat.  We donned leather gloves, boots.  We nodded at her.  "I mean," she said, "a sexual adventure."
	Mandy and I looked puzzled.  We'd just dressed, albeit fetchingly, looked cute beneath our wraps, wearing our little bikinis.
	"Come," she'd said, and had taken Mandy by the hand.  The matter had been settled by our hesitancy.  A nun would have blanched, a tot would have affrighted, but we had merely gazed back at her, inquiringly, not speaking.  Our silence was, with her, our consent.
	The men were gone.  The general and his two studly pals had left us.  Perhaps heÕd taken them out hunting, or skiing.  WeÕd been used, they were finished with us.  I glanced down at my tummy.  It was smooth.  Would I bulge with their seed in a few months?  Would they remember me?  I felt a swaying in my hips.  I did not care that theyÕd departed.  We were with mistress now.  She would find new boyfriends for us.  She turned her head back to me.  Tightly she held MandyÕs hand.  We walked on a wooden floor down a long hallway.  ÒDonÕt fall behind, dear,Ó mistress told me.  ÒYouÕre open now, fair game for any man.  If you linger youÕll be caught alone.  Everyone knows by now you spent the night in the generalÕs bed.  And he is absent, as you can see.  TheyÕll pile on you and fuck you with abandon, every man taking his share.  He paid for you to come here.  He expects you to provide entertainment now, with your cunt.  Hurry, or I wonÕt be able to save you!Ó  I quickened my pace.  She took us to the basement, down the long flight of steps Mandy and I had so dreaded descending the day before.  ÒWe must have a protector.  ThereÕs a little time to fetch him,Ó mistress told us.  ÒI just hope heÕs here!Ó  We peered into the deep stone chamber.  
	ÒArthur!Ó mistress called.  She cupped her hand to her mouth.  ÒArthur!Ó  We walked across the stone floor.  I saw the cages Mandy and I had crouched in, rabbit-like.  They were open now, but had fresh pillows in them, with fresh rose petals sprinkled atop them.  I sensed new girls would be brought soon, entrapped in them.  No matter.  I had met the test, passed through.  They would have to manage on their own.  I lifted my chin, felt a little pride shiver down my spine.  I had done well, hadnÕt I?  And Mandy too.  I felt my breasts, high on my chest, contained within my little bra.  They moved easily, bouncing lightly.  I did not know where I was going, or who I would meet.  But whoever he was, I felt a little more confident than yesterday.
	We passed into another room.  And then another.  The basement ran all underneath the mansion, I guessed, as big as the house itself.  There were rooms within rooms.  I wondered if weÕd meet a troll.  Would he wield an axe and hack us up?  I shivered.  In my fretfulness I felt a little thrill.  It ran down my spine to my tailbone, and up through my newly opened cunt.  A balloon of anxious pleasure welled somewhere deep within me.  I was aware of my little bikini, so stringy, no protection at all for whatever might befall me.  And in my fur wrap I looked valuable, precious.  He would want to steal me, whoever he was.  I would be his bauble, his ornament.  I would adorn his secret cave and bear him children by the river Styx.  He would keep me with his treasure, guard me like Smaug.  Little hobbits would try to rescue me but I would be doomed, captive.  I would be a womb, nothing more, with twin teats for giving milk.  Trembling, I smoothed my hands across my new fur coat.  I heard a sound of dripping water.  Cum-dripping, it sounded to me, as if there was a man in here who could cum and cum, never ceasing, always ready to give more.  Indeed, if there were such a man here he would be as valuable as me.  A stud, fertile, kept for fucking girls and wayward women.  And then, emerging from the shadows, he stepped into my vision.  He was holding an axe, but was much taller than a dwarf, six feet at least.  
	I stopped dead in my tracks.  He looked like Hercules.  Mandy too came to a halt, startled, awestruck.  He wiped his brow.  He looked as if heÕd just been chopping wood.  He set aside his axe, leaned it up against the wall.
	ÒHi, Arthur!Ó mistress greeted him.  Her voice was light, airy.  There was a note of expectation in it.
	ÒGood morning, or is it evening?Ó Arthur replied.  His voice was thick with a German accent.  Not German, no.  Austrian.  His muscles rippled.  He wore no clothes.  Instead, a kind of uniform.  I marvelled at it.  For a moment I swooned, I think.  Then I regained my senses.  When I did, mistress was telling Arthur that it mattered not what time of day it was.  He agreed, said he rarely knew the day or date.  The general kept him busy.  There were always new virgins to be deflowered, or women to be entertained.  I gazed at him lovingly.  He certainly worked for his money here.     
	He was deliciously accoutered for sex fun.  Arthur was not his real name, but his slave name, down here in the basement.  I donÕt know if he even remembered his real name anymore.  Mistress herself did not seem to know it.  Names did not matter, anyway.  
	He was a large man, muscular, tall, with genitalia that stole your breath away.  His hair was slicked back, he wore a leather collar, gloves and boots.  Otherwise he was naked, save for his balls, which were bulging inside a pouch of leather from which his magnificent cock extruded.  He was not fully erect when we came upon him.
	ÒWell girls, canÕt you at least show Arthur what youÕd look like if he met you on the beach?Ó mistress chided us.  I heard her voice only dreamily, as if from a distance.  I was still enthralled with Arthur, but scared of him a little, too.  He was so obviously made for one purpose, and one purpose only.  Fucking.  Making girls get pregnant.  Unless they were very, very careful, and swallowed their pills religiously.  Which, of course, I hadnÕt been doing.  I hadnÕt even fucked until last night.  I would have to talk to mistress about that.  I was too young to have a baby.  And whoÕs baby would it be, anyway?  Gazing at Arthur, I guessed heÕd be the sort of guy who got you pregnant, regardless.  He was the one with the cock so huge it split the condom open, or overwhelmed all the pills and precautions you might take.  Yes, that was his function in life.  He was a walking cock.  And, trembling, in my little bikini, I knew what I was.  Had I not been purchased too, paid for?  The cunt was meeting the cock.  The tart had found the gigolo.  Me, an ÔalmostÕ virgin now, and him, so experienced.  He probably wrote the manual on fucking girls.  If he could write, that is.  Perhaps he dictated it.  
	Mandy, finding her courage, introduced herself, then me.  Sensing it was required, we smilingly flashed him a look at our bikinied bodies beneath our coats.  Instantly he responded.  His cock went stretching out to a point that seemed much too far from his body.  It was incredibly long and proportionally as thick as its length.  Mandy and I stared at it wide-eyed, not speaking, wanting it yet afraid of it.  Mistress giggled and assured us that we would not be safe from it as long as we were with her.
	Arthur was quiet.  His cock spoke for him.  I suppose a man of his beauty need not say much in life.  Women throw themselves at a guy like him and he dutifully fucks them.  Men who hunger for power, for money, in the end all they want is to be loved.  To be admired.  To be told what big cocks they have.  Arthur already had, no doubt to excess, what many men spend their entire lives trying to get.  He was beset by admiring mares at every turn.  And little fillies like us.  Girls, no doubt, went out of their way to tell him what a big cock he had.  Just by their eyes they could tell him.  Obediently, politely, he would greet them.  ÒOh sir, please come upstairs with me, I canÕt turn my oven on!Ó they might say.  Or, Òdear me, I just locked myself out of my car!Ó  Then, snaring him, theyÕd keep him for days on end, begging for more.  Begging to be filled and filled by him until they were drunk with his sperm.  And now the general had him.  For women, or even gay games perhaps.  For children, or animals, whatever the general desired to see properly fucked.  Wherever Arthur went in the world, I guessed someone was always at his heels, a woman most likely, hoping to trap him.  He would live his whole life this way.  Chopping wood, lifting weights, being fed fine food so that he could exercise himself upon his latest mistress all night long.  He was a stallion too beautiful to race, put out to stud from the day his cock first began growing.  At 12 or 13, I guessed, heÕd had his first cunt, and heÕd been Ôat workÕ ever since.
	Mandy and I shivered in his presence, despite our warm coats.
	"Come, eager beavers, there is a chateau not far from here where we can explore our new friend in private," mistress said.  She led us back upstairs, Arthur in tow.  She got Arthur a coat, to hide his nakedness.  A trench coat.  He would be 007.  He had a secret weapon.  If a Russian agent met him, she was doomed. 
	Mistress took us out to a horse-drawn carriage.  The coachman nodded, was in collusion with her.  We were escaping from the general.  We would labor no longer for him.  We would attend no more of his parties.  I would play no longer with his guests.  And I would not be imprisoned in the basement, either.  I would have sex on my own terms, not for pay for his guests.  HeÕd seen me lose my cherry, at both ends.  And Mandy too.  That was enough.  And Arthur, poor Arthur, he had sweated for the general long enough.  Yes, the general would miss us.  He would regret leaving us alone in his bedroom, abandoning us.  He would throw a fit when he returned, finding that his rented wombs had slipped away.  He would rave.  He would want us much, now that we were no longer his to have.  He would look for us but not find us.  We would hide down in a rabbit-hole somewhere, breeding.  He would range across the snow but never see us.    
	I sat in the coach looking out at the snow, wondering at our new destination.  The horses galloped briskly.  Arthur got an early start on Mandy.  He knew his role, had played it so many times he performed it unthinkingly.  He teased her.
	ÒYou are too small to fuck, donÕt you think?Ó he asked her.  His voice was smooth, German.  He was a Nazi inspector about to ÔturnÕ a French maiden.  She would divulge the resistance to him.  She would not resist.  She would try, but he was an expert in such things.  He seemed to like her petite frame.  She was a little shorter than me, with orphan-like eyes.  I had no idea how sheÕd wound up at the generalÕs.  Perhaps she was a street urchin from Rio, suddenly noticed for her beauty, suddenly kidnapped.  Now she was about to meet her unmaker.
	ÒIÕm not small!Ó Mandy replied.  She was piqued.  Foolishly, she drew back her coat so that he could admire her.  Proudly she showed him her bust.  ÒTheyÕre big as any youÕve seen!Ó she said testily.  Her bosoms were gloriously large for such a young girl.  Rightly, she was proud of them.  But he had never been referring to her bust size, as he well knew.  HeÕd only been kidding, teasing her about her age, not her tits.
	With the aplomb of a plumber, come to fix a leak, he drew open the front of her panties.  He ignored her tits, but he peered at her pussy approvingly.  ÒYou are wet, my dear,Ó he said.  Whether she really was or not I did not know, but she giggled shyly.  She ran her tongue across her lips.  
	"Come dear, do not hold your coat so tightly.  It is for warmth only, not privacy," mistress said to me.  I let mine fall open, Arthur surveyed me.
	"Where do you find such awesome girls?" he asked mistress.
	"Here and there," mistress replied with an elegant toss of her head.  "They just had their grand opening last night.  You will have to be gentle with them for they are still very tight."  Arthur nodded.  I felt a nervousness in the pit of my stomach, yet a craving too.  I could not believe that Arthur, with all his experience, with so many girls in his past, actually liked us.  After all, I was just a high school girl, and Mandy, I did not know from whence she came, but she had no more training in love than I.  How could he possibly be interested in us?  Were we not just children?  Was he really excited by us, or just pretending to be, to please mistress?  Had he played the role of Atlas Amore so often that he just conned girls naturally into opening their bikinis for him, without even thinking?  Was he even really seeing us, or just responding, stiffening on command, as it were.  ÔUp, Arthur.  IÕve brought you new babies to fuck,Õ mistress would say.  ÔEntertain me by spearing them with your massive rod.  Make them weep upon it.Õ  ÔYes, mistress, I harden on command.  It is no big thing to me, though I have a big thing.Õ  My thoughts swirled within me, resurfaced.  
	"I will want them warmed for it," Arthur said to mistress.  I knew not what he meant.  Was I not warm?  I closed my coat back over me.  Perhaps thatÕs what he meant, warmed in my coat, or by a fire or something.
	"Of course," mistress replied, deftly.  She ran her fingers web-like over the front of his coat, spider-like, seeking.  She did not have to search far.  Within his coat there was a bulge, obvious even to the coachman.  She sleeked her fingertips down over it and squeezed.  "Do I not always warm them for you?" she asked him.  He nodded.  He smiled a pleasant smile.  But was he truly into this, or just an obedient steed?  Mistress would take him for a little trot, and introduce him to new young fillies.  They would neigh politely and he would mount them.  After they were Ôwarmed,Õ of course.
	And now that was just what I was seeing as I knelt on the carpet.  I was neither tied nor gagged.  I could get up, walk out, though mistress had locked the door and I would have to find the key first.  Instead I stayed, watching, holding my bottom cheeks apprehensively.  Could I bear to see poor Mandy treated this way?  I could not tear my eyes away.  Down came the cane again.
	ÒYEEEOCH!Ó  Mandy cried.  I glanced at the sperm-tracks running from the corners of her mouth.  Beneath her face, on the carpet, there was a pool of sperm, ArthurÕs sperm, slowly sinking into the rug.  Before her, wiggling, his cock grew anew, ready for more action, ready to spurt again.  She wriggled madly on the trestle.  She wanted up, but the gag kept her from asking.  Again the cane whizzed down.  Again Mandy wrenched, her hair shaking, wreathing her lovely, haunted face.  She tried to kick her slender legs but the restraints held her ankles fast.  Her boobies were free, though, and they shook madly, temptingly.  Her nipples were stiff.  I knew her clit ached too, hard beyond reckoning, tiny in its stiffness, but taunting her, telling her she loved this even as she hated it.
	I bit my lip.  I was as naked as Mandy.  I knew I could not watch without being made to take my own turn under mistressÕ hand.  Mistress relished the caning, yet her look was not vicious.  She gazed at Mandy tenderly.  She seemed to feel for the girl, suffer with her, yet she was unrelenting in her punishment.  It was as if she were saying, ÔYou must have this, darling.  It is necessary.  It is a rite of passage, part of growing up.  You are sprouting nicely and your time has come.  Someday you will be old, haggard, forgotten in suburbia, with only a pension and an old folksÕ home to look forward to.  With a young daughter strutting her stuff out on the street, embarrassing you with her newly-formed beauty, drawing all the menÕs attention away from you...forever.  But now you are the young strumpet, the daughter.  This is your moment in the sun.  It is your bottom that is sought, your little mouth that begs to be spermed, and spermed again.  It is your waggling, wiggling titties that charm menÕs eyes, and womenÕs too.  You ARE the center of attention.  You are not like me, a helper, a mistress.  You are better.  You are the ONE to whom all others look.  It is you that their eyes rest on.  It is you who draws their attention and fixes it.  Someday you will be gracefully matured, a mistress, but then some new girl will lie wiggling over the trestle.  Your breasts will still be lovely, they will still shake sweetly, freely, but then it will be the new girl whose breasts finally pin the menÕs eyes and hold them.  It will be her ass they watch with the greatest ardor, and seek to fuck.  But never mind about tomorrow.  Today is your hour, your moment in the sun.  Enjoy it.Õ
	Watching Mandy, I knew she did not hear the immortal soliloquy.  She would have given ANYTHING to get up.  She would have paid any price to be allowed to shoot from this room, feet flying, scuttling, to run upstairs and hide somewhere and nurse her stinging bottom.  That a beauty like her would one day DELIVER the stinging cuts was impossible for her to understand.  I knew, though, and it scared me stiff.  I watched, my eyes rolling, saw each whizzing strike of the cane sweep down, saw the result.  I held my ass.  I felt its whiteness, its purity, its tender softness.  I felt my breasts, too, not jostling around like MandyÕs, but simply rising, falling, up and down with my breathless breaths.  How strange we all were, naked here, within this room from which no sound could escape.  Yet our arrival had been unremarkable, a picture of perfect domesticity.

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

THE AGE OF CONSENT

	(The following was transcribed (by me) while I was watching the U.S. Senate on C-SPAN 2.  Your friend, 2squirty)

	ÒDistinguished colleagues:  The answer, in my opinion, is to simply outlaw sex altogether.  Then we will never have any problem about worrying who is what age, who (regardless of chronological age) has what experience, etc.  If a male and a female are seen together in anything other than a purely economic, business relationship, IT IS A CRIME.  They are sexual perpetrators.  They are a menace to society.  They must be shamed, humiliated, and stoned to death in the public square.  
	ÒAlso, humans must not be prohibited from having sex while animals can get away with it.  Animals must be prevented too.  Also, insects.  And none of this asexual reproduction that plants do either.  Sex is sex.  This is why God made nuclear missiles.  The sooner we launch them the sooner this problem will be resolved.Ó  --Senator Sexon

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