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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Labors of Love part 4 of 10 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
LABORS OF LOVE
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Four
He awoke to the feeling of her licking his penis. Small,
tentative licks, for she knew how big he could get once he was aroused.
But the delicacy of her licks, the small exploring nature of them, only
served to heighten his lust. In a moment, still groggy eyed, he was
huge. And, after a moment of fright at having awakened such a huge
snake in her bed, she licked him blissfully. Now they were long loving
strokes, relishing strokes, all the way from the bulging crown of his
penis down to the hairy base, then back up the bristling shaft, tracing
every thick vein that pumped blood urgently through his member.
He reached down between his legs. There amidst the hairy
muscled mass of his thighs, he found her small 12-year-old head. Her
cheeks were silk-smooth. Her lips were soft like rose petals. She
shifted her head back, as if to escape. But his hands were huge,
calloused from years in the Army, and he caught her retreating head and
held her fast. Then, reaching along her cheeks, he stuck both his
thumbs in her mouth, and both his index fingers, and as she gasped out a
protest, he pried her small lips wide apart.
He had to, given what he had planned. As she moaned and
breathed against his intruding knob (as if a breath could stop him!) he
stuck himself into her.
She coughed. She gagged. He stilled his hips a moment and let
her feel him with her tongue. Yes, she must learn to accept him. They
were lovers now and lovers must know each others’ bodies. She was 12
but, somehow, they had come together despite all those who would keep
them apart and now, knowing it was at least a little bit her fault for
the fact he was in her bed, he made her take him, and he swept all
guilty thoughts from his mind. Had not Hamlet loved Ophelia? And how
old had the “Virgin” Mary really been? And Joseph?
Between her 12-year-old teeth he slid, a big, thick shaft,
gnarled with veins and hot with his desire. Already he was wet from her
lickings. Now he made her accept him. He eased over her tongue like
the Snake easing through the grass as Eve stood eating the Apple.
Within her mouth, he let the tension of guilt and lust focus
itself in his erection. All of himself bent towards her and focused on
her and throbbed tensely and urgently within her child’s lips. Somehow
she exhaled. He felt her breath flow past the huge stopper-like
presence of his shaft. Then she inhaled. And then, putting her lips
about him with difficulty, she began to suck.
For a long time they lay like that. Together, but with him
hard and desperate and her soft and willing and consoling. She suckled
him as a baby might, and she was barely more than that, her training bra
hooked over the arm of a chair, its clasp unfastened, her panties on the
floor, next to her teddy bear which had fallen from her bed. In a chair
a big Raggedy Ann doll sat staring. Was it reproving? Disapproving?
No, it had a smile plastered on its face, for whatever might occur
within the room, the room of its little female master.
Chip flung his head back. A vision of her parents coming home
darted through his mind and he almost came in her mouth. Ginger, caught
between his legs, unable to escape him even if it were her fault that he
was here, sucked quietly. Little moans escaped her throat when he
pushed himself too deeply in her.
Chip stroked her hair. It was soft, pigtailed. He told
himself he didn’t like seeing her in pigtails, that it made her look to
young. But she was in pigtails now, and they’d fucked themselves to
sleep the night before with her in pigtails the entire time. She even
wore a new pair of sneakers he’d bought her. They were laceless
sneakers, using velcro straps instead to bind her feet, so she wouldn’t
have to fool with tying them. And they had little ponies on the side.
Little spangled ponies, with the initials MTV beside them, for there was
a new show on MTV called “Amazingly Wild Ponies” and the shoes were a
merchandising spinoff. Someone, perhaps it was Cindy Crawford, perhaps
someone else, hosted the show, and so she’d wanted the shoes and he’d
bought them for her.
“Auck!” He groaned and reached down and now he had to pry her
lips apart to get himself away from her. He opened her lips. He pulled
himself out. His cockhead gleamed wetly with her saliva, as if it had
been oiled. He waited a moment, holding himself just outside her mouth,
for the urge to discharge to pass. For a moment he didn’t know if it
would. He held her lips apart, just in case he had to re-enter for a
sudden, impulsive finale. Then he felt his balls calm a little, just a
little, and he felt himself regain possession of his penile reflexes.
They stared at each other. He stretched out above and below
her, holding him below his waist, where it wasn’t fair to punch in
boxing. She knew what he wanted. And he knew. And she stuck out her
tongue, hoping to lick him some more instead, for she was frightened by
what he wanted, for she’d only done it once before, and not with him,
and he’d learned since that she’d been a little high then, and that had
helped her through it.
Now there was no pot to save her. He didn’t do drugs, and she
didn’t have any, which meant, at least for now, that she didn’t do them,
whether or not she might have done them if there’d been some to do.
Yes, he’d learned some more about the interval between their
first meeting and their second. She’d gotten into pot, thanks to some
friends at school, and a chance encounter walking home from school one
day had led her quite quickly into club-hopping and group-gropes, with
people she didn’t even know, or care to, save that they could get her
into the forbidden clubs, where she thought she’d never go until she was
as old as he was. She’d gone, fibbing to her mom about slumber
parties. But there’d been no slumbering, down in the bowels of the
city. Instead she’d been fucked, though he guessed now it had been
petting and fondling as much as fucking, men discharging in her small
child’s hands, or between her lovely girlish breasts, just budding, and
only perhaps once per night in her too tight cunt, and only once ever in
the place he wanted to take her now.
Yes, despite the fear in her eyes, he must have her. He knew
he couldn’t afford to wait. She was developing fast. An argument, a
tantrum, might end their relationship forever. Then he might never have
another chance like this, not in 1990’s America. Or worse, he might see
her again, but after other men had had her.
She’d done it once. And she’d been not entirely herself,
thanks to a joint or two. Now she was sober and so, he told himself,
she was almost a virgin in the place he wanted her, for it would be her
first time sober. Grimly he gripped her pigtails and yanked her up.
She yelped, followed his pull, lest he yank out her hair. He slid her
up his body. Then beyond. He lay her flat on her tummy on the bed and
as she grabbed a pillow for comfort he eased apart her legs. They were
smooth, colored like cinnamon sticks from her hours of playing in her
backyard pool. Her bottom bulbed at him, white and soft and tempting.
He reached for it. He knelt between her legs. She kicked at him, but
he was within the enclosure of her legs and all she could do was bang
her heels backward against his butt.
Chip reached for her nightstand. They’d left an open jar of KY
there from their antics the previous night. He grabbed the jar.
Quickly, like a desperate man on the edge of a mirage, hoping for water,
for a fountain of youth, he slathered KY over his cock.
Chip crouched between her legs. His cock bumped her. He
separated her cheeks and exposed her little nether hole. A shiver ran
down his back. One ran down hers. How could he stick himself into such
a tiny hole? Yet another man had managed it, and now he was determined
to do the same. He lubed his finger. He prodded between her
apple-round cheeks and made her puckered hole withdraw and finally,
relucantly, open to him. He slid inside. He could not go deep. She
was too tight, even for his finger. But he lubed her, spreading the KY
within her clenching hole. Then he removed his finger.
Suddenly the doorbell rang. He saw her freeze in mid-wiggle
and her heels stopped banging against his ass. He became rigid. Every
muscle in his body contracted, stiffened. The doorbell rang again.
“I’ll-- I’ll see who it is,” he breathed to her.
“Okay,” she answered.
There was no other option. Fucking her where he wanted to fuck
her, if he was to do it well, like a gentleman, could take awhile. And
he had no intention of not doing it well. He was not a rapist.
Demanding, yes, for all men had to be demanding with their loves, lest
they despise them. He was on trial as much as she. In the end she must
accept, obey, but he must make her obey, he must break through her
excuses and her delays. The Snake had to induce Eve to the tree. She
had been as artful as he, in her own female way, but his will had
overcome hers and she had finally accepted.
“Don’t move,” Chip said to Ginger. His voice was gruff, like
an Army Sergeant’s, and indeed he had been released as a Sergeant.
“Okay,” Ginger’s small voice agreed. The doorbell rang again.
Cursing, Chip climbed from the bed and grabbed his pants. He walked
from her room quickly, not even bothering yet to don his trousers, for
he was walking quickly, angrily. His huge cock bounced in front of him
like a very long tent pole, flinging bits of pre-cum as he walked. His
penis throbbed and his balls felt huge between his legs and he wished to
God whoever was ringing the doorbell would go away, but they just kept
ringing, and he had no idea what to do. Perhaps the huge Tudor-style
mansion her parents owned was on fire someplace, and firemen were
coming, or already here, but he sniffed the air and smelt no smoke.
Perhaps her parents had died, and the police were downstairs, urgent to
tell her.
He walked to the front door and almost opened it when he
realized he was naked. Cursing again (but quietly!) he stepped into his
pants. He tried to zip them up but it was difficult with himself so
hard. He tried to get his cock inside the fly of the trousers but it
stuck out defiantly. It wanted to Fuck. Finally, glancing around, he
grabbed a telephone book. He placed it in front of his crotch and he
opened the door.
“Hello.” A 12-year-old boy. Fat, with a big pudgy round face
and spectacle glasses like John Lennon once wore but the boy looked too
young to even have heard of John Lennon, though he wore his glasses.
They were smudged. His face was sprouting pimples. He wore a collared
shirt with a pen protector in the pocket and several colored pens
inserted into it, plus, inexplicably, a compass and a 12 inch ruler that
stuck up into the boy’s face.
“I’ve formed the Community Protection League and I’ve named
myself Head Protector and I’m checking up on all the houses,” the boy
announced. “I understand Ginger’s parents are away right now and I’d
like to ask if she’s okay.”
“She’s fine,” Chip replied. His voice was a low growl.
Barechested he confronted the boy, and the wind outside was cold and it
blew against his chest, lifting the hair on his chest. Artfully he held
the phone book in front of him and he hoped the boy didn’t look to far
to the left or the right, for he was quite erect behind the phone book
and he doubted the Community Protection League, or rather the Head of
it, would have ‘buttfucking 12-year-old girls’ on the list of its
approved activities.
The boy held a clipboard in one hand. He raised it aloft and
drew a pen from his pen protector. “Um-Hmmm, let’s see. Ah, yes.
Ginger Elsinore. I’ll check her off as being fully protected then!”
The boy let out a careworn sigh as he checked a hand-drawn box beside
her name. And then, looking up, he asked: “And who might you be, sir?”
“I’m the cable guy,” Chip answered.
“Mmmm-hmmm, report filed by cable man,” the 12-year-old boy
announced. He wrote something under Ginger’s name. Then, pretending he
had a hat to tip, although he was bareheaded, the boy said, “And a good
day to you, sir, and thank you for cooperating with the Community
Protection League. Eternal Vigilance for Our Children!”
“Heil Hitler,” Chip replied. The boy turned and nearly
stumbled from the porch.
“Ooops! Forgot the steps were here!” he said to Chip. He
walked down the three steps to the sidewalk. He turned, waved to Chip.
Chip waved back. He felt like killing the kid but reason prevailed and
he forced a smile and withdrew inside. He slammed the door.
Chip jogged upstairs. He tore his pants off as he went. Back
inside her room, he found her bed empty. He looked about, heard water
tinkling into water. He entered her bathroom and found her sitting on
the toilet, peeing, her body still naked, save for the ribbons in her
hair and her shoes. “Don’t worry, I’m just doing number one,”
she told him. She grinned. She drew toilet paper from the roll beside
the toilet and wiped herself. Then she got up. She went to the sink
and rinsed her hands. He looked at her naked bottom as she stood in
front of him and saw that her hole was still greased with KY. He felt a
thrill pass down his spine and through his erection. She primped,
pushing her hair back from her face, adjusting her pigtails. She looked
at him in her bathroom mirror and smiled again.
“If your parents ask, tell them your cable T.V. went out and
you had a cable guy come and fix it,” he told her.
“Okay,” she answered.
“Now get in bed! I want to fuck your ass,” he said hotly.
She turned, suppressed a smile. She walked past him. She
walked with an exaggerated wiggle and he knew she loved the attention he
was giving her, even if what he wanted to do to her was bound to hurt.
She kneed her way onto her bed and lay down on her tummy. She clasped
her pillow. He climbed in behind her. He forced her legs apart again
and swore to himself that this time, no matter what, he wasn’t going
downstairs again to answer the door.
He was still greased and she was still lubed in her little
hole. He stared at himself, at her. He leaned into her and pushed her
rubbery cheeks apart. She tensed, but her bottom was no match for his
hands. He thrust himself in between her silky, nervous cheeks and
lodged himself there, against her butthole, his peehole pressing hard
into her butthole.
Chip adjusted himself. He placed his hands up by her head.
She grabbed one of them and pulled it around to her mouth, perhaps to
stifle her screams, and she bit hard into his flesh.
“What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” flitted
through his mind from the bordello, and he said nothing, though he
wanted to, for her small teeth were biting hard into his skin. Instead
he jabbed at her tiny hole with his cock.
“Oooh!” Ginger gasped. She bit his hand harder. She waited.
“Try to relax,” he told her, and he thrilled at the words, for
they meant he would have her, in the secret place where he wanted to
conquer her so badly. “Just relax.” His voice was throaty. She
flinched beneath him. He pressed his cock harder against her.
For awhile he lay against her, within her tight bulging
cheeks. His peehole dueled with her hiney hole. They tried breathing
together and he reminded her to relax, but he realized eventually that
if he wanted to claim her he would have to be a little harsh with her,
though he didn’t want to be.
He tensed. He eased his hands from between her teeth. Her
bite had softened as they lay together and he was grateful that he could
get himself away from her mouth. He looked at his hand. There were
teeth marks, deeply impressed, but she had not broken the skin.
He put both his palms upon her small bottom. Easily his hands
encompassed the fleshy roundness of her little ass, for she was still a
child, a small breathing thing beneath him, scared, but she had already
had another man up her in back and now he wanted her. He was absolutely
determined not to let this opportunity pass. They were lovers but he
could not control the future. She was 12 and he was 21 and her parents
didn’t even know he existed, and they’d be coming home soon, too soon,
and she was a precocious thing and might flit away from him, find
someone else, or he might meet a woman, what he really wanted in life,
and might find it best to politely excuse himself from her life.
Chip shoved his hardness into her hole. A half inch. She
shouted.
“Damn!” he cursed. She was going to be vocal and although
she’d been vocal last night he was going to take her in an (almost)
entirely new place now, and he was worried that the Community Protection
boy might be snooping around.
Chip leapt from the bed. He walked to her dresser. She
watched him, furtively. She lay in her bed like a sheep waiting to be
sheared. He rummaged in her drawer and decided on a pair of her panties
and one of her bras. He’d hoped, perhaps, for something else, but she
was only 12 and even a sexy 12-year-old girl like her didn’t keep ball
gags or nylon stockings in her lingerie drawer. Annette might have, in
her drawer in her home, but not little Ginger. He returned to her and,
speaking softly to her, but uncompromisingly, he got her to open her
mouth. He stuffed in her panties. Her eyes bulged but she accepted her
fate, and the bra which he hastily tied round her mouth and behind her
head, against the nape of her neck.
He got back into bed. He put himself between her legs again.
He spread her luscious small ass and he went to work.
A sharp cry of alarm escaped her throat. He paid it no need
now. He pressed his palms hard against her ass, jabbed his hips
forward. He stabbed inside her. He moved his hips again. He thrust
deeper. She was pinned hard to the bed by him and she urgently tried to
move but he clamped her and held her open with his palms and he pushed
his erection stiffly into her hole.
Like a snake entering the home of a small little creature who
lived in the earth, in a warm little burrow, he jammed his length into
her. It was slow, grindingly tough work, and her girlish sighs and
helpless screams made him want to spend every second he was working his
cock into her. Capive she lay beneath him, able to kick at his ass with
her sneakered heels, able to beat her little fists into her pillow, but
quite unable to escape or get free where it mattered.
Lodged within her, he reached a hand up to her face. He placed
his fingers under her nostrils. Could she still get air? Was she still
breathing? Yes. He felt an exhalation from her child’s body flow over
his fingers. Good. She was not kicking because of anything except his
Entry, and he was not about to spare her that. He resumed his work.
Like a captive bird, struggling with a tom cat, she dealt with
his cock as best she could. It stuffed and thrust into her, forcing her
hole to widen. He was bigger than the other man had been and this time
she was not softly relaxed from pot, she had to rely on her own
emotions, unassisted. She felt all the air being pushed from her lungs
and he hurt her as he bore deeper and deeper, a scratchy, burning hurt,
like a big turd being forced back up inside her after she’d already
pooped it out. She wanted to run to the toilet, to squat and MAKE the
thing come out of her, but he was a living, pulsing thing, not a turd
but a Man, a man who had been in the Army and who wanted to make himself
cum in her ass.
He gasped. She felt him shudder within her. For a moment she
thought he might spurt. She prayed for the ejaculation, if it would
make him smaller, but it didn’t come, and he remained as big and
urgently hard as ever.
Then he began moving. Back the way he came, but only to
torment her, for as he neared her tiny anal doorway he shoved himself in
again. She screamed. She was glad for the gag. He forced himself
harder. She screamed louder. In and out he moved now, fast as he
could, without (he hoped) hurting her, though with each stroke he became
less caring of her, and more concerned with his passion. He reamed
her. He lanced the hot bulb of her bottom. She squirmed, to break free
of him, and he loved her squirmings and her screams of pain delighted
him.
Desperate, sweating, Ginger clenched her teeth as best she
could against the gag, first wanting it, to quiet her inevitable
screams, to protect herself and him from the neighbors hearing, then, as
he became more ruthless with her, wishing she could somehow expel it,
and order him out of her. But she could not get the gag off, and when
she tried, briefly, to untie it with her hands he grabbed her hands and
pulled them down to her waist and held them tightly as he rammed himself
in and out of her small wounded hole.
She had wanted kissing. But here, there was no kissing. And
hugging. But she was not being hugged. Instead, she was flat on her
belly as a man, a grown man, a man who had been in the Army, knelt
between her legs and held her arms tightly against her sides and forced
his Thing deep into her nether secret hole, where she had never taken
any man, except once when she had been pleasantly stoned, and he had
been smaller than this man was.
Brutally Chip lifted her up. He shoved her hands under her
pussy and her waist and his hands, covering hers, forced her to lift and
arch up her bottom at him. He held her like this, supporting her, and
he drove himself more forcefully into her, and then pulled back and
drove in again. She panicked. The pain was indescribable and she tried
to open to him, but he was so big she couldn’t open, she was already
open, but he was bigger still, and she felt his big fleshy pestle
working in and out of her, in and out, and she wished her parents would
come home or whoever had been at the door would come back.
Chip felt encased in a tube so hot and lovely and tight he
could barely endure it. Each stroke he gave her was an incredible
challenge, for he wanted to spend, to just shoot and be done, but he
knew he must give her a victorious ride, a ride she could later rub her
bottom over and admit to Annette was the best she could ever have. “Why
do you have to be so good?” he wanted to hear from her afterward, and so
in his passion he forgot that she was only 12 and he rode her like he
would ride a woman, hard and demandingly, and tough on himself as he was
on her, holding his sperm in despite all of her urgent pleadings and
cries.
And then, just as he was congratulating himself on his
fortitude, he felt an sudden, desperate thrill, a deep, powerful urgent
need to spend that even He, tough as he’d been on himself, couldn’t
stop. She wriggled, bucked at him. He remembered her age and he
stilled himself in her and he vowed to himself to spare her any more
strokes. And quite suddenly, more lubrication than had ever been in her
was there, spurting from his balls into her hiney-hole.
Ginger screamed into her gag. No, he must not do That! But he
was, and she would receive all, whether she wished to or not, and she
would have to sit on the potty later and clean herself somehow. He
jetted, he pulsed with each of his jets, enlarging even more than he had
before. He was her God, she was his servant, his little disciple. He
impregnated her with his need. She took him in, she gasped and
accepted.
When he was done, he rose from the bed. He grabbed his shirt.
He tossed it on. He began buttoning it. She lay whimpering, her teddy
bear on the floor, her raggedy ann doll still staring, staring, smiling,
staring and smiling as it sat in the chair in the corner of her room.
Ginger lay with her legs apart and she wore her pony sneakers that he’d
bought her and her bottom, quite devirginated now, had his sperm
bubbling from it as she clenched her cheeks.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I’ll see you later, okay?” He
finished buttoning his shirt and reached for his pants. His underpants,
for his pants were someplace out on the stairs. He stepped into his
underpants and found that his drippy cock fit easily into them, now that
he’d had his way with her.
She lifted her head from where it was buried in her pillow and
looked at him. There were tears in her eyes. She was still gagged.
Feebly she reached for the gag, tried to untie it from the back of her
neck, but her hands were too weak, she was still too shaky and terrified
and exhausted from the Fucking he’d given her.
He walked over to her. He bent down over the bed and he kissed
her cheek where it bulged out from under her bra, the bra he’d tied
around her face to silence her screams.
“I’ll call you,” he told her. Then he turned, left, walked to
the stairs, found his pants. He slipped them on. He went back into her
room for his shoes. She was lying with her face in her pillow again.
Her hands were working at the knot he’d made with her bra at the back of
her neck. Quickly he put his shoes on. He tied them, watching her.
She was impossibly young and lovely and he longed to stay with her but
now, finished with her, her cherry popped and taken, he remembered a
woman he’d met, and he had one chance to see her, one opportunity, or
he’d miss her forever.
“I’ve got to do some... uh... work,” he said to Ginger. Her
face remained in her pillow. She struggled with the knot at the back of
her neck. He wanted to lean over her and untie her but he looked at his
watch, the watch he’d never removed, for he’d been too eager to love
her, and he saw he was almost too late now to the meet the woman. He’d
forgotten her in his lust for Ginger but now that his lust for her had
been satiated, he remembered the woman again. She had been truly
beautiful, and he wanted a woman, not a girl, in his life.
“Bye,” he said to Ginger. He strode quickly from her room,
leaving her to undo the knot in her bra that gagged her. He hurried
down the stairs. He almost broke into a whistle but he stopped the urge
at the last moment, thinking it bad form. He made for the front door
and opened it and looked around for the 12-year-old boy. He spotted the
lad, across the street, talking at another house. He hoped the
conversation had nothing to do with himself. The boy was invited inside
the house and Chip breathed a sigh of relief. Quickly, before the boy
could emerge again, he hurried to his Camaro. Cable men didn’t do
repairs from a Camaro. Suppressing an urge to floor his car, to make it
squeal and burn rubber, Chip managed to turn it around. He sped down
the street and hoped Ginger could get the gag off her mouth by herself.
30
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