Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
Issue No. 120    alt.sex.stories  

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

Chapter Three

	Eventually MandyÕs whole pumpkin seemed suffused with some kind of ethereal warmth, a glow, and I watched in envy as sperm dribbled out of her well-fucked little hole.  She was woman.  Cosseted, fucked, loved.  I wanted what she had.  I gripped her cheeks, lightly, envious.  She mewled, pressed herself into Arthur.  Casually he stroked her.  There was a sheen across her wounded cheeks from the cream.  I wanted to shower her bottom with kisses, but mistress drew me up.  My task was done.  Standing, I looked at her, she at me.  It was my turn now.
	ÒDo you have any hangups?Ó she asked, smiling.
	ÒN-no,Ó I replied.  
	ÒGood,Ó she said, and her eyes went over to hooks in the ceiling, with straps hanging from them.
	ÒOh, please!Ó I begged.  I seemed to wilt on my feet.
	ÒYou cannot just watch,Ó mistress replied.  ÒYou are not 5-years-old.Ó
	ÒI know, I know, IÕm 15,Ó I replied.
	ÒWith the breasts of a woman,Ó she answered.  Her finger circled one of my nipples.  She flicked it.  
	Òooch,Ó I said, very quietly, just her hearing.
	ÒYou have beautiful tits, dear, you should show them off,Ó mistress urged.
	ÒThey embarrass me,Ó I replied.
	ÒAt 15?Ó
	ÒNo, but when I was 10, they were growing already,Ó I said softly.
	ÒMine were too, though probably not as big as yours,Ó she answered.
	ÒNo, not as big as mine,Ó I replied.  ÒI was the only one in fifth grade with hooters, still little, you know, but bigger than any the other girls had.Ó
	ÒWhich is why youÕre not at home now, mooning over Love Connection and Singled Out,Ó she consoled me.
	ÒNo, but IÕd like to be,Ó I begged.
	ÒArthur doesnÕt appear on Love Connection,Ó she answered.  No, a stud like him did not, did he?  He was too busy.  He would have had to put pants on, wouldnÕt he?  That was unthinkable, letting a stallion like him waste time with his pants on.  Mistress put a finger to my lips.  I swallowed hard.
	Our breath fogging the air, shivering despite our furs, we had entered the house rosy-cheeked and eager.  Our eyes had been bright, too bright, betraying our wanton plans to our hosts.  They'd smiled, knowingly, demurely, led us quickly downstairs to their adult playroom.
	Now I felt a sinking sense of dread as my turn came to contribute to the festivities.  Mistress' deep, dazzling eyes gazed at me with fiery passion.  I looked from her blonde-maned face to the suspension hooks which waited silently just beyond.  She put her arm around my waist.
	"Come, dear," mistress said, ever so politely.  Her fingers were feather light upon my hip.  Behind me Arthur and even the tear-stained Mandy gazed up expectantly.  It didn't take a genius to figure out that my bottom was going to be the center of attention for the next few hours.
	Is that how long it would take?  I wondered.  Mistress had seemed smitten with my ass ever since we met.  Now I would offer it to her, unprotected, my wrists bound helplessly high above me.  She would do awful things to it, erotic things, and it would delight Arthur's cock and he would fuck me with it.
	Who was I to complain?  Had not I cropped their smarting bottoms in the snow?  And I'd enjoyed it too, whacking their plump quivering hineys, listening to them moan and whimper.
	My long walk, only a few steps really, ended with us beneath the overhanging cuffs.  They were leather, each lined with soft fur.  Twin cuffs clipped to twin hooks hanging from the ceiling.  Daintily mistress took my wrists and lofted them above my head.  She wrapped one, then the other in a cuff and buckled it tightly.  Then I watched, arms akimbo, as she stepped to the wall.  She pressed a button.  A humming was heard and my arms, casually bent, were forced to straighten as the cuffs which held my hands drew skyward.  
	"Please!" I said, frightened, as my arms were fully stretched and I was drawn up on tip toes, struggling to keep from being pulled into the air.  She stopped it just short of taking my feet off the ground.  I stood gasping, my toes barely touching the floor.  My ribs felt like they were being pulled apart for a barbecue.  Set atop them, my boobs ballooned out before me, wobbling and stiff nippled.  I'd never seen them so dramatically displayed before.  They seemed things apart from me, yet could not be, for I felt the tingling in my hardened nipple tips.  Sexy, delicious, yet so daring, so obscene.  
	Below my stomach was a concavity, hollowed out, my hips spreading out beneath my thin waist.  The vee of my legs left the alluring notch between them pleasantly visible.  I could do nothing to hide my pussy.  It was on view for my captors to admire as they wished, to study, to touch.
	Gazing at me, satisfied, mistress slowly undid the buttons of her jeans.  How strange it was!  I had never seen a boy undo himself like this in front of me, so confident, so self-assured.  Always they had been naked already, or desperate, amazed that they might have me, though none ever did, except our gentlemen friends last night, now a distant memory.  But with mistress, there was a sense of possession.  I was hers, and no one elseÕs.  Yet I was not really hers, was I?  She was preparing me for Arthur.  But he didnÕt really care, did he?  I was just a momentary pleasure.  Tomorrow he would be rutting in other girls, and I would be...elsewhere.  Who was I doing this for?  Mandy?  She lay shivering and tear-stained atop Arthur, captive-like.  I barely knew her.  WeÕd met as prisoners in cages, racehorses whoÕd won by losing.  Was I doing it for Kimberly?  Where was Kimberly?  She had slipped away, leaving me on my own, to test me perhaps.  Or she had simply forgotten to come looking for me.  Perhaps she was tied to a bed at the generalÕs, or suspended like this, worrying about me even as she worried at her own fate.  
	ÒA hanging concentrates the mind wonderfully,Ó mistress smirked at me.  She slipped her jeans down her legs.  She shed them like a snake might shed her skin, so tight were they, Brooke Shields being separated at last from her precious Calvins.  A pull on one pantsleg, then the other, and she was free of them completely.  They lay in a pile on the floor.  She did not bother to pick them up.  She was manly in that way, leaving her clothes lying about.  Perhaps she expected me to pick them up when we were done, wash them for her.  Her eyes took on a kindly look.  Kindly but determined.  She turned.  Her fanny presented itself to me.  It was white, white as mine.  I wanted for all the world then not to suffer under her hand.  
	ÒPlease let me go,Ó I begged.  She tossed her head, did not look back.  There was no need to.  She had me.  We had played and teased, and now she had me.  
	Mistress touched the wooden cabinet door of an armorie set against the wall.  She drew it open.  Astonished, I saw the big cupboard held inside it a display of flagellation instruments.  Each looked expertly made, some with finely carved ivory handles, their whip cords cut and woven from the best leather.  I saw two paddles of burnished hardwood, one with holes to make it pass through the air faster.  
	Mistress' hand skimmed the implements, judging them by the lightest touch of her fingertips.  Finally she chose a penis shaped handle with an inch-wide strap attached.  She took it down, weighed it in her hands.
	"Perfect for starters," mistress said, turning.  She looked ravishing in her nudity.  Her hair partly hid her eyes.  She did not bother to brush it away.  Her big breasts bulbed out beneath the strands of her blonde lion's mane of hair.  Her pussy was as naked as mine, the springy curls inviting.  She ran her tongue over her upper lip.  She walked round behind me.  She struck my flank with the palm of her hand.  I flinched, danced on my toes.  
	"You are well made for it," she said.  "Don't worry, I won't give you more than you can take.  But no less, either.  Men are far too easy on us girls.  They don't know how much a female can endure."  I shuddered, thinking of Mandy's poor hiney.  I was going to get worse than her?  The girl had practically been flayed alive!  At least it seemed that way to me then, novice that I was.  Arthur's cock rose at mistress' teasing words.  He was hard again!  There was no need!  My bottom could be spared!
	"No!  Let me down!" I begged.  "Arthur is hard now.  I can take my turn upon him WITHOUT being spanked."  My voice was pleading.  In truth he was no more than half-hard, but given his size when fully erect he looked more than big enough for me.
	"Sweet darling," mistress chimed.  She touched my shoulder, breathed upon my ear, kissed my cheek.  Momentarily the strap came between us, flapping ever so softly across the bulging cheeks of my ass, resting upon their upper curvature.  "You must be made to suffer."
	"Please no," I breathed.  Of the four of us, one had already had her bottom defiled.  Now it was to be my turn, and I didnÕt want it.  Would mistress be next?  Arthur?  Or were just Mandy and I the victims?  Why did my tutor insist on playing such awful games?
	ÒWhat else might one do, hmmm?Ó she asked.  Her finger found one of my nipples again, tweaked it.  I gasped at the pain.  She pinched the other in turn.  ÒWhat else?Ó
	ÒI donÕt know, we could play monopoly,Ó I guessed, desperate.
	ÒThis is more fun,Ó she assured me.
	ÒFor whom?Ó I cried.
	She stroked my belly.  ÒFor you,Ó she answered.  
	ÒIt is not!  Let me down!Ó I insisted.
	ÒWell, for me then,Ó she said with aplomb.  And it was settled.  I asked again to be let go, but she ignored me, stepped behind me.  I heard the strap slither back across the carpet.  It was long.  Sinuous.  Like a snake in the grass, it would bite me, and I would have no defense.
	ÒThis is your first real whipping, isnÕt it?Ó she asked.  I bit my lip, nodded.  My nod was hasty, like a child agreeing in hopes of departing quickly.  ÒWell, I have all the honors then,Ó mistress said.  She laughed.  I heard a swish.
	ÒOh, why?  Oh, why?Ó I cried.  A last, desperate plea.  It was cut short.
	WHAP!  Full up beneath my bottom the strap came, my first slap, cupping me, lifting me harshly.  It burned deep into my cheeks.  I had my answer then.  I gaped at my breasts, set to wobbling by the blow, vigorously, nipples rigid.  No one could deny the eroticism of my bosoms, forcibly displayed, bouncing freely.  And my ass!  I danced about, frantic, my buttcheeks shaking, immodest.  Anywhere else the ass, the tits, would have been covered up.  Here they were displayed like roast mutton (or mutton about to be roasted)!  Here all MUST be seen, the girls as well as the boys, and made to perform too, most lewdly.  I shook my hind cheeks like a stripper in some cheap saloon, though IÕd much rather have been in church then, saying my prayers, taking communion.  ÔThis is my blood, feel it pulse through me, alarmed, afraid.  This is my body, naked, my fanny swaying wildly.Õ  The priest would like me.   
	"Your bottom will be so sensitive soon," mistress cooed.  She made me shiver as she traced the burning red line left by the strap.  She traced it across my bottom, her fingertip impressing itself painfully, or so it felt.  In truth she barely touched me, merely skimmed the flesh.  The strap had done its work.  
	I heard the whisper of the strap being drawn back once more.  I braced myself.  Mandy gazed up at me, snuggled in Arthur's arms.  She had paid her dues.  Languidly her legs lay open.  He stroked her round her spot.  With a shiver of desire she lifted a small camcorder, trained it on me.  
	"Yes, something for our hosts to remember us by," Arthur instructed.  "Show them what good use we made of their equipment."
	Horrified I cried into the camera as the strap provided by our hosts connected with my ass.  I lunged forward, leapt about, mortified, my flaming hiney making me a most immodest dancer.  The opening twixt my legs was never so splendidly displayed as now, my legs hopping hither and yon, all on tiptoe.  A frantic ballerina.  
	Mistress waited until I finally settled down.  
	"Men in strip bars don't know what they're missing, hmmm?" Mistress laughed.  "Arthur, did you ever pay to see young girls dance naked?"  Guiltily Arthur cleared his throat, said nothing.  "To skip about?  Showing only what they PLEASED?Ó mistress asked.  ÒHere we teach a girl how to dance properly.  And it is much sexier, no?"  I stood with huddling bottom cheeks, listening.  There was a method to her madness, undeniably.  Never had I looked so ravishing, so stunning.  My arms up, my breasts out, my legs tripping madly over themselves as I hung in place, my pussy showing.  My hosts would be most proud of me, I guessed.  Would we eat popcorn in their living room, watching my torment?  Would they save me, show me to others on their T.V., make copies for friends?  ÔHere is a wonderful little miss, getting it for the first time, you know, and how bravely she takes it!  No gag, no blindfold, just strung up by her thumbs, as it were, and not protesting too much, just a little, just enough.Õ  Yes, I was something of an Amazon, I thought to myself, just by coming here.  All wrapped in my fur, with my naughty bikini underneath.  Wearing boots, gloves, and nothing else.  Yet oh how I wished we could skip these preliminaries.  Arthur's cock stood rock hard now, a Washington monument of love.  But it was too big now, I told myself.  Much too big for my little cunt.  God forbid he should ever want to put it up my ass.
	WHACK!  
	"Yeech!" I gritted, snorting through my nostrils.  That was a hard one indeed, catching me full force right across my hiney, sending me skittering into a new ballerina's dance upon the carpet.  Or, worse, a stripperÕs dance, exaggerated, dancing for greasy dollar bills from men who would die soon of lung cancer.  
	"Ooch!  Ooch!  Ooch!" I huffed and puffed my way through three more strokes, all delivered forcefully, mistress stopping after each to stroke my flanks with her fingers.  To quiet me down.  My legs were long, high as the sky.  She would wait till I stopped kicking and then console me with little admiring caresses, lightly, oh so lightly, just her fingertips.  As if she meant me no harm in the world.  I would shiver, sob a little.  Upon recovering myself I would wait with pounding heart, plump hiney quivering, squeezing and clenching my cheeks.  Waiting for the next one.  My bra-less breasts juddered quietly, their tips pantingly erect.  I longed to see my reddened ass in a mirror, to inspect the damage.  Mistress could see it quite well and judged it still fit to take more punishment.
	WHAP!  Searing me, the strap fell once more, and gaping-legged I displayed myself shamelessly to the camera, to eyes unknown who might view me for decades to come.  Men, women, laughing at my predicament, commenting clinically on the size, the shape of my breasts, the hardness of my nipples.  Even my cunt would not be beyond the ÔscopeÕ of their discourse.  They would take it in at leisure, freeze-frame it, inspect it, philosophize upon it as compared with other girls'.
	Daintily mistress padded back to the armorie then, replaced the strap and returned to me with a little whip.  Open mouthed I stared at her, tears welling in my eyes.  I couldn't stand still anymore, my bottom hurt so.  
	"You--you mustn't," I gasped.
	"Oh, there isn't any hurry," she replied.  "We can take as long as you like to train your bottom.  I intend to try a variety of implements on your sweet little ass.  If you need time to compose yourself I can wait.  Would you like some wine to anesthetize you?"
	"No!," I said.  "I want it to stop!  I want to be let down!"  She felt my arms then, palpitated them, made sure they still had circulation.  
	"Nonsense!  You are doing quite well.  Of course it hurts, darling.  You would not dance for us if it did not, at least not so prettily.  Since this is your first time I'll get you some wine.  It will help.  You will not be quite so much on edge.  A bit of drowsiness will let the time slip by more smoothly."  Saying these soothing words she stepped over to the dungeon's wet bar.  The dungeon proper had no bathroom.  The adjoining room, where a toilet was available, was locked.  She had locked it when she got our water.  It was still technically part of the dungeon, our toilet.  It was not out in the game room.  But it was kept separate, in case toilet privileges should be denied.  A master might not let his slave have those right away.  Only if she was very good.  After all, he controlled the rest of her.  Why not her peehole too?  Suavely mistress had locked the bathroom, I not even noticing at the time, but remembering now.  Where HAD she placed that key?  Oh, God, was I to pee on the carpet?  I didnÕt have to go yet, but I would soon, I was sure of it.  Mistress alone knew the location of the key.  Yet the wet bar was readily accessible, and lavish.  Fresh limes, lemons, all stored neatly in a little fridge.  A small freezer held frosted glasses.  And within a cupboard stood row upon row of angled wine bottles, at least two dozen of them, from France's finest estates.  Brie and other cheeses could be had also, as well as crackers.  All was neatly contained in a corner of the room.  Everything to fill you up and make you go, but nothing into which you might relieve yourself, when you were done.  I hadnÕt seen the wet bar until now, given all the unusual furnishings in the room, but there it stood, ready to serve, a quiet reminder of the elegance with which we were to proceed in our games. 

Z I N E  R E V I E W
by holy joe

NAMBLA Topics #1, Free to members.  (Membership:  $25.00/year)  Overseas, add $15.00.  The North American Man/Boy Love Association, P.O. Box 174, Midtown Station, New York, NY 10018; Phone: (212) 807-8578, Fax: (201) 491-0334.
	Review:  ÒAnatomy of a Media AttackÓ is the title of this monograph, the first in a planned series.  (Members also receive NAMBLA Bulletin and GAYME.)  Its authors write:  ÒNAMBLA and man/boy love are rarely taken seriously by the American media.  NAMBLAÕs existence is used only for its shock value.  We seldom have a chance to respond.Ó  Here NAMBLA does respond, printing both the criticism and their responses to it.  (A surprisingly fair approach, given their stereotyping as ÒpredatorsÓ by the mainstream media, who never give them any chance to speak.  Or, more recently, who let them speak in tiny sound-bites interrupted and slanted by ominous music and biased film footage.)
	An excellent issue.  Membership in NAMBLA is totally legal but you know how these things are...if you just sit in the ÒPeanut GalleryÓ and do nothing maybe someday it wonÕt be.

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 120 EMISSION