Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 118    alt.sex.stories  

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

Chapter Three

	The chateau was conservative, precisely built, almost resembling a salt-box house in its design.  The wooden planks seemed to hide no secrets.  A pastor might have lived within its walls, preparing his sermons.  The roof, neatly decked with snow, shimmered in the morning sunlight.  Perhaps a bit of heaven dwelt there.  Angels, liberated from a pinhead, danced in uncounted numbers in the twinkling glare.      
	We disembarked from the coach and were let into the chateau by a husband and wife.  They were bright, cheerful, by all appearances an ordinary couple.  They had known we were coming.  All had been arranged, apparently, between themselves and mistress, privately.  They were friends of mistress, though not of the general.  The husband was a political rival of his of some sort.  The politics of the place eluded me.  
	Despite the conservative appearance of the house, no time was wasted.  Our coats were taken at once.  The wife did not ask if she could, she simply assumed, and unwrapped us.  Mandy first, then me.  Mistress shed her own coat and gave it to the man of the house.  They exchanged smiles.  His eyes admired her figure, then drifted to mine, MandyÕs.  Our bikinis were duly admired.  The husband was young, handsome.  The wife showed as much interest in me as he did.  
	I felt naked under their eyes and, thinking back, I suppose we could have arrived naked.  Just from their glances I could tell we would be sharing some secret with them, perhaps ourselves, perhaps something about ourselves.  Something you didnÕt just let anyone in on.  But they would know.  They would know all.  Manners, I guess, dictated some little show of modesty at first.  Even if that modesty was no more than a pair of trifling bikinis.  One must not be too obvious, though in our circumstances the mannerly part was not destined to last long.
	ÒCome,Ó the wife smiled.  Her hair was pretty, I thought.  Her hands, beckoning, were graceful.  I might have been at the beach, in my bikini, Mandy too, except there was snow outside.  I tossed my head.  I tried to be casual.  Perhaps we would go swimming together in a heated swimming pool.  The couple would slip out of their clothes, be found to have swimsuits beneath.  We would play innocent games in the pool and shower afterward.  We would spend the evening reciting prayers to Jesus.  Chastely, we would retire to separate beds.  Then, watching the wife open what looked to be a closet door, I gulped.  Closets did not lead to swimming pools.  Closets led to hidden places, and forbidden games.  Mistress, following, pushed me forward.  Her hands rested on my bare waist.  The husband squeezed into the closet with her and they shared a kiss, I think, even as the wife led the way deeper into the closet.  The floor gave way to stairs and we descended.  Mandy almost tripped; reaching out, I caught her, even as mistress kept hold of my waist.  It was that quick, our arrival, and our immediate descent into the sort of place Dante might have liked, all flesh and curdling screams and bared desires.  An opened door, a rustle of clothing pushed back, a forward moving of my feet, MandyÕs, urged by mistress.    
	The wife led us downstairs.  She and her husband had a private dungeon of their own.  There was no preliminary chit-chat, no tour of their home.  Just a nod, an exchange of glances with mistress.  And a moment later we were downstairs, in a little rec room, at the doorway to their dungeon.  Beside us was a pool table, a t.v., as if the couple kept them handy as a useful facade.  As a last attempt to keep out unwanted intruders.  ÔOh,Õ a building inspector might say, ÔI see this is nothing but a little game room, down here.  I wondered, you know...Õ  And then he would sign the permit.  Never knowing, never guessing.  But I knew.  For the door just beyond was open, and I was gazing into the hidden chamber beyond.  A dungeon, carpeted, with pastel-colored walls, innocent looking, just like the rec room.  Except it was furnished with a trestle, with restraints lying about the legs, loose, waiting for wrists and ankles.  Not a medieval dungeon, this, but still unmistakable in its purpose.  Gazing in at the trestle, and other things besides, I was not fooled.  We wouldnÕt be going swimming.  We might make water, but we wouldnÕt be in water.  I sleeked my hands over the front of my lycra panties.  I let my eyes glance down, around.  There was myself, Mandy, mistress and Arthur.  We would be the ones in the dungeon, I guessed.  Just us, not the couple.  Us in our bikinis.  Arthur stripped down to his Italian Stallion costume, wearing nothing but his gloves and his testicle pouch, plus his very necessary boots and collar.  
	For the moment, Arthur still wore his trench coat.  Mistress still wore her shirt and jeans.  The husband and wife were clothed.  The couple would not be playing with us, though, they said.  They spoke matter-of-factly, as if there were no dispute as to what we were here for.  
	ÒYouÕre welcome to the use of our room,Ó the wife told mistress.  She meant their dungeon, of course.  They were giving us the use of it as a favor.
	"My, this is all new since I last visited!" mistress said.  Mandy and I stood mesmerized.  There was no bed in the dungeon but plenty of strange looking "furniture," if it could be called that.  I did not want to go inside but could not help myself, so strange and fascinating did it all appear.  I found MandyÕs hand, squeezed it tight.  She squeezed mine back, reassuringly.  With hesitant steps we stepped into the dungeon.  The others followed.  
	"It's specially designed for sexual activity, with complete privacy," the young wife told us.  "Bob and I built much of it ourselves."
	"Quite a job," mistress replied.
	"You should have seen me," the wife laughed.  "I was naked except for my work belt, hammering and sawing and sweating away down here.  I could hardly ever get anything done, Bob kept saying how absolutely sexy I looked and insisting we take a break."  She clasped her husband's hand and they exchanged loving glances.  "Anyway, itÕs totally soundproofed, so you needn't worry about bothering us.  There's plenty of food in the little fridge, so you can stay down here for several days if you like.  There's a real bathroom in here too in case you get tired of washing each other with buckets and peeing into chamberpots."
	"You seem to have thought of everything," mistress replied, admiring the place, sizing it up.
	"Well, there's no bed," the wife replied.  "When you get really tired you'll have to come upstairs to sleep.  But then, I've known people who've stayed down here for over 40 hours before even thinking of sleeping."
	"Then they're so worn out they sleep for days," her husband laughed.  
	"Not exactly the perfect guests, I suppose," mistress observed.
	"Oh, they're quite delightful when they finally do come round," the wife said.  "You find them topless at the breakfast table, absolutely glowing, wolfing down food and chatting merrily.  Of course they sometimes have a few extra cushions under their tushies."
	"Everything has a price," mistress said philosophically.
	"Well, you need not worry about paying one here," the wife said.  "Save that which you extract from each other for your mutual pleasure.  Use the room as long as you like.  There's a key in the dresser so you can lock the door for absolute privacy."  She departed then, hand in hand with her husband, leaving us to ourselves.  Mistress got the key and shut the door, locked it.  She turned and looked at us.  By her eyes I could see there would not be any waiting, any interval in which one might weigh possibilities.  Did I wish for there to be?  I did not know.
	Arthur put his hands to his hips.  He surveyed the room, us, letting his coat fall open.  He looked like a general sizing up the battlefield, the soldiers, just before commencement of the war.  He tried no longer to hide his beauty.  His hairy chest showed, his hairy legs.  He was erect, his balls achingly, bulgingly full.  I squeezed MandyÕs hand hard, seeing him expose himself so casually.  I realized that my nipples were stiff, stiffer than theyÕd ever felt in my life.  They protruded noticeably into my bra.  MandyÕs too, stood upright, as did mistressÕ, tenting her blouse.    
	"Take all your things off," mistress said to Mandy and I.  We looked at each other.  There was no going back now, was there?  We were too hot, too excited.  We stood unsteadily, still holding hands, Mandy a bit fearful, me scared.  And then I let go of her hand.  She seemed even more frightened as she saw my hand slip away, leaving her own her own, bereft.  She would have to make her own decisions now.  She would have to be a big girl.  And then, she smiled.  Just like that.  She accepted the challenge, as did I.  My gloved fingers slid along the waistband of my panties, testing them, reproving them for being there.  Mandy reached up, behind herself, caught the back of her bra with her hands.  She pulled at the bow that held her bra tight.  It loosened.  Her tits sticking out, she watched as they shuddered free of her bra.  I bit my lip and lowered my panties.  My pussy showed.  I did not stop, but kept on pushing my undies down, letting all be seen.  And then they were somewhere around my ankles, and I was stepping out of them, gracefully as I could.   
	We slipped out of our bikinis, sat down and yanked off our boots.  Then, reluctantly, we untied the little laces at the back of our gloves.  I slipped mine off, ladylike.  I placed them on the bench beside me.  It was hard wood, polished.  All the floor was soft, carpeted, but this bench, the only chair of worth that I could see, was made of oak.  Not the most comfy place for a girl to rest her bare bottom.  No bed, no chairs, how curious this place was!  What were people to do in here?  I gulped, glancing at the trestle.  Mandy plopped her gloves beside me.  Mistress took hers off too, dropped them atop MandyÕs.  I smiled up at her, she gazed at me with a superior look.  Arthur shed his coat.  He wanted to take off his testicle pouch, but mistress told him Ôno.Õ  Just like that.  Like one might instruct a dog.  ÒNo, Arthur,Ó she said.  And in his strength, his chest rippling, his biceps flexing, he relented.  He let go of the little leather tie back between his legs that would have unbound his balls.  But he frowned at her, unhappy.  She smiled.  She checked his pouch to see that it was not squeezing his balls too tightly.
	ÒPoor thing,Ó she chided.  ÒAre you too full?Ó
	ÒYou know this damn thing kills me,Ó he answered.  ÒItÕs okay when IÕm empty, I guess, but IÕm not empty now.Ó
	ÒI can see that, dear,Ó mistress answered.  She stroked the underside of his ball pouch.  ÒThatÕs what weÕre here for.  YouÕve got three cunts to fill, three mouths, three tiny little buttholes, and a dumb blonde like me canÕt even count how many hands youÕve got.  Not including your own, of course,Ó she smirked.  ÒYouÕd best be able to fulfill your duties.Ó
	ÒIÕm not called a one-man gang bang for nothing,Ó Arthur answered.  He was clearly annoyed at her teasing, though he still let her fondle him as freely as she might.  ÒI killed a girl once, fucking her too hard.Ó
	ÒAh, so thatÕs why you must hide out in dreary dungeons,Ó mistress smiled.  ÒI learn a little more about you each time we meet.Ó  She took his cock and yanked it way down, then let go.  TWANNNG!  I heard in my mind, as I watched ArthurÕs cock spring up and down like some elongated yo-yo.  Mistress burst out laughing.  I giggled too, as did Mandy, clapping a hand to her mouth for fear of offending Arthur.  He did not look amused.  But, interestingly, mistress was the one wearing pants.  He had to content himself with a ball pouch.  I smiled at him, trying to soften the sense of abuse he must have felt.  He was truly a rare and wonderful animal.  I felt like some maiden must have, just before being kidnapped and taken away by Zeus.  Except here Hera ruled, and perhaps us also, if she permitted it.  I let my eyes soak in his form, wondering if IÕd ever sit before such a glorious man again.  Slowly, knowing where my eyes really wanted to fixate, to salivate, I trained my vision on his groin.  I looked unabashedly and, reaching out again for MandyÕs hand, I think she did too.  He gazed back at us, taking us in as freely and unashamedly as we took in him.  I let my legs remain open.  I did not try to close or cross them.  My pussy showed between, I was naked, as bare as a newborn now.  Mandy too did not bother closing her legs.  All the lessons mommies and teachers had taught us were forgotten, sitting before Arthur.  He did not want us to close our legs, I could see, and we complied.  Our little cunts lay bare before him, soft and inviting.  15-year-old cunts, ÒchildrenÕs cunts,Ó as the feminists would certainly insist, but Arthur drank them in as willingly as if theyÕd been the cunts of women, Oprah WinfreyÕs, perhaps, or Andrea DworkinÕs.  Unembarrassedly we stared at him, and I sized up his equipment.   
	His cock stuck out like a prong.  There was no other way to explain it.  Out it came at you, like something from Aliens, all fat and fleshy, with only one purpose in the world.  As for his balls, he looked like he was just about bursting, so wonderfully full was he with seed.  His balls, constrained in the tight leather, nonetheless hung with visible weight between his thighs, looking like some brown-clad wrecking ball hanging there.  He was with seed and we would be with child if precautions werenÕt taken, I knew.  Which is why mistress' next step, after removing her blouse, still leaving her pants on, was to get us each a glass of water and a birth control pill.  I watched her walking to the bathroom, her back naked, slim, her hair swaying mane-like across it.  I listened as she filled glasses for Mandy and I.  Arthur smiled, smugly.  He knew he held the very thing we had to guard against.  It was in his body, and it would soon be in ours.  I shivered.  I guessed the Ògrand openingÓ night had to be done without pills, for purity.  I was kind of glad IÕd done it naturally, though I feared being pregnant.  Hopefully a good girl like me didnÕt get pregnant with her first fuck.  Hopefully.  Now, though, I wished to be more careful.  I was glad for the pills, and I could see little Mandy was too.  Fortunately our hosts had thought to supply such.  I glanced around at the ÒfurnitureÓ again.  The trestle, a nightstand busy with lubricants, a flower vase stuffed with condoms.  The room had indeed been designed exclusively for sexual labors.  But not to any productive end.  The Pope would be most displeased.  All our exertions would be for pleasure only. 
	ÒHurry up, bitch!  Or IÕll break your arm again!Ó Arthur yelled.  He was growing impatient.  I felt my throat constrict.
	ÒOhhh, donÕt I know it!Ó mistress answered, running out from the bathroom.  She held a glass of water for myself and Mandy.  Its contents sloshed about.  Above the tightness of her jeans her lovely breasts bounced lewdly.  Her nipples were sharp peaks.
	ÒHe broke your arm?Ó Mandy asked mistress.  
	ÒShhh, dear, swallow your pill,Ó mistress answered.  Her words seemed reassuring.  I dismissed ArthurÕs threat as manly hubris.  Mandy took a pale pink pill from mistressÕ open palm, took a second, offered it to me.  I accepted.  A third remained, for mistress.  Even with her sexy jeans on, she was still female, a womb.  She might wear the pants here, but an emission from Arthur would make her five sizes too big for them, perhaps forever.  Mistress popped her own pill in her mouth and swallowed it down with a swish from her glass.  Her lipstick stained the side of the glass, I did not mind.  Mandy seemed not to either.  We were all together in this.  We would share more intimacies than a glass of water, I knew, even as we had the night before. 
	Mandy and I dutifully swallowed our pills.  We trembled a little, still obviously unsure of ourselves.  It seemed so sinful, yet so tempting, to be here.  A part of me wanted to flee, but my devilish side kept winning round after round with my guardian angel.
	And now Mandy looked like she was bereft of her angel's protection entirely.  She gritted her teeth over her gag, whining, eyes weeping.  
	Swick!  Mistress' cane zinged her awful tormented bottom once more, making the girl flinch and Arthur grow.  I watched it all with my heart pounding beneath my frail ribs.  Could I go through with it?  Would I?  I longed for the woman of the house and her husband to come back down and interrupt us, to take the decision from me.  Perhaps they could evict us for not paying our rent.  Surely such a room should be rented, not merely given away for free, even to friends.  I prayed, but they did not knock, did not play Landlord.  Instead, Arthur stood calmly greasing his cock.  He held a jar of vaseline, applied its contents with smooth strokes.  HeÕd found it on the nighttable.  There were all sorts of exotic lubricants there, but heÕd settled on old reliable.  ÔGrease Ôem up, boys, weÕre going in.  Nothing fancy,Õ I heard a drill-sergeant bark into my imagination.  I saw platoons of Marines dropping their pants, lubing their dongs.  They would parachute in without pants and fuck maidens like me behind enemy lines.  Milkmaids, and flower girls at corner stalls, and the girl in the candy store, wondering at the length of the candy canes until the soldiers burst in and showed her sweeter treats.  ÔOh, sir!Õ she would protest.  ÔThe sausage store is down the street!  You need to make your deliveries there!Õ  They would hold her then, and make her take their big things.  Up her cunt, in her ass, all greased and lubed and ready to go, no introductions necessary.  She would squeal and find that sausages in a candy store were not so bad after all.

D R E A M G I R L S  S I N G - A - L O N G

IÕm no fool, no siree
I donÕt want a woman whoÕs 33,
I want someone whoÕs young and pretty
Ôcause IÕm no fool!

IÕm no fool, no siree,
I donÕt want a bitch whoÕs fat and hairy
I want a girl with a crush on me,
Ôcause IÕm no fool!

IÕm no fool, no siree,
I know Janet RenoÕs out for me,
SheÕll stick me with ÒMiss Over 30,Ó
But IÕm no fool!

IÕm no fool, no siree,
I wonÕt be dating Òmy career is me,Ó
I know thereÕs somethinÕ better for me,
Ôcause IÕm no fool!

IÕm no fool, no siree,
Marsha Clark can forget about me,
Cherry Hill High is where IÕll be,
Ôcause IÕm no fool!

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